It rained all night.
It was not the kind of rain that keeps coming in short bursts, but the kind that stays and settles in, like memories or grief. The roof quivered lightly beneath its weight, the gust of wind sneaking through the gaps of the wooden window frames, constantly whistling. Soo Young lay fully awake, her eyes fixed on the paper walls almost touching her face. Her back was aching, but not because of the floor.
She couldn't sleep that night, not because of the rain and thunder, but because of everything else.
The rain didn't stop until just before dawn.
By morning, the rain faded into a mist, clinging to the windows like haze. The grey light entering the house made everything look washed out, like an old faded photograph. But the warmth of cooking porridge on the fireside, her mother's presence in the kitchen, and the playful voices of her siblings gave the morning a foothold she could hold onto.
When Soo Young got up, her bones were stiff and her limbs were heavy. She wore her shawl over her shoulders and stepped out. The air outside was chilly and damp, and the scent of wet grass and parched wood was all over the village.
After breakfast, a simple meal of barley porridge and pickled radish, she assisted her mother in hanging laundry beneath the covered porch. Her siblings were inside, playing a game accompanied by much laughter and the occasional squeal. It had been a while since the house felt so full of life. In the last few days, Soo Young had been so engrossed in the unraveling mystery that she almost forgot the daily routine of her family's life: her mother's tired yet steadfast presence, her sister's unmelodious humming, and her brother's unending questions.
As she hung a damp shirt on the line, her mother spoke without turning around.
"You didn't sleep last night."
Soo Young didn't lie. "A lot happened."
Her mother nodded, her hands busy flattening out a towel. "You're your father's daughter. He never slept well when something weighed on him."
The comparison caught Soo Young by surprise. She never considered herself like him in that way.
"Do you remember him much?" she asked.
A pause. The towel lay idle between her mother's hands. "Bits and pieces. He kept things quiet, even from me. But I remember he never turned away when someone needed help. Even when it hurt."
Soo Young's throat felt tight. The weight of her father's legacy felt heavier than before.
Jun Ho arrived before afternoon, holding a wrapped bundle and an umbrella dripping with raindrops. His coat was slightly wet from the drizzle, and his eyes a little red, maybe he also didn't sleep, or maybe something else.
"I brought these," he said, handing her the bundle of two rice rolls, wrapped in cloth, still warm.
"For the road?" she asked, looking up at him.
He nodded. "Im Hyeok said they're meeting us at the fork near the old stone well. The one we used to race to when we were kids."
The memory made her smile softly. She always used to lose those races. Jun Ho had longer legs, but still, he always used to slow down before the finish line to let her catch up.
"I still remember how you used to wait for me," she said.
"I still do," he replied, whispering in a low voice.
After midday, they left the house, leaving the village covered in a thin sheet of mist. The wind slowed, and everything felt quiet and peaceful, like the world had held its breath. Tae Soo didn't join them. He stayed back just in case anything else came to light.
The path leading to the cliffs hadn't changed at all. The same narrow track, covered with mud and moss, the same twisted and gnarled trees leaning forward like old gossipers. But Soo Young was looking at it differently now. Every bend, every pebble, every blow of wind whispered something deeper.
They saw Im Hyeok and his nephew standing near the stone well, hunched over a small fire. Both stood when Soo Young and Jun Ho arrived.
"Did you tell anyone else?" his nephew asked.
"No," Jun Ho replied.
Im Hyeok looked up at the sky. "Good. The fewer who know, the better. We don't know who might still be listening."
The trek to the outpost took longer than expected. The hillock trail got slippery due to the rain, and fallen branches obstructed the path. But Soo Young kept moving forward without hesitation. Jun Ho stayed behind her, supporting her whenever she stumbled.
"Your father used to walk this path," Im Hyeok said while climbing. "He never brought anyone. Not even me. But I followed him once, curiosity got the better of me. That's how I knew where to look."
Soo Young's chest tightened up. She imagined her father alone out here, walking under the same clouded sky, hiding messages in a high-risk environment.
They reached the outpost mid-afternoon. It was a little more than the falling shell of an ancient watchtower, hidden by the rocks and overgrown vines. One of the walls had fallen entirely, revealing a small room with rotten floorboards and the desk's remains.
"It's here somewhere," Im Hyeok said, crossing the threshold cautiously.
Jun Ho assisted Soo Young into the space. The place smelled of damp wood and old leaves. Her eyes examined the area, looking for something out of place.
She instinctively moved towards the desk, pulled by some invisible tether. Beneath it, jammed into a recess in one of the beams, she found a small tin box, rusted but still intact.
Her fingers shook as she opened it. Inside, she found two old reels of tape, wrapped in oil paper. One was labeled in faded pencil: "To My Daughter." The other had no label.
Soo Young grabbed the reel and held it against her chest, closing her eyes. She didn't cry, but she felt a pang of pain deep in her chest.
"We'll listen when we get back," Jun Ho said softly.
But Soo Young shook her head. "No. We listen here."
The others looked at each other, then nodded. Im Hyeok took out the small portable player from his satchel and set it up carefully. The machine started with a fizzling sound.
After a soft hum, her father's voice, older, quieter than the last tape.
"Soo Young-ah… if you're hearing this, then it means I didn't make it home. I'm sorry. There was so much I wanted to tell you… But I couldn't. Not when it might have hurt you. I did what I had to do to protect others. To protect you."
Soo Young's breath caught.
"You always asked me why I liked fixing radios. It was because they carry voices across distance. They remind people they're not alone. That someone, somewhere, still remembers them."
The tape continued, but Soo Young didn't hear the rest. Her heart was flooded with emotion, grief, pride, and wonder.
When the tape ended, the room was filled with silence. No one moved.
She finally looked up at Jun Ho with teary eyes.
"I think… I'm finally beginning to understand who he really was."
Jun Ho nodded, quiet and calm beside her. "And maybe who you are, too."
Nobody said anything on the way back. The wind had picked up, but this time it felt different, not cold or eerie. It felt like a breath of fresh air.
As they passed the old stone well again, Soo Young stopped for a second and looked back once, toward the cliffs.
Towards her father's voice.
Towards the place where the past had finally caught up with her.