It was the middle of the night when the young girl stirred awake. She shifted under the thin blanket, rubbing her eyes before glancing at the digital clock on her bedside table. Three o’clock in the morning. The quiet of the house felt heavy, almost suffocating, and the dim moonlight spilling through the curtains cast long, eerie shadows across the room.
She stared at the ceiling, her thoughts wandering in circles, when her stomach growled loudly, breaking the silence. She hadn’t eaten all day, not even properly all week. Fear had gripped her so tightly that the thought of food had felt unbearable, and now, with her hunger gnawing at her, her body reminded her that survival came before fear.
She had been too scared to eat anything, even though Doyoung, Mark, and Jeno had shown her kindness and encouraged her to eat at least a little. Haechan had also managed to get a few bites into her earlier, but the hunger and thirst she felt now were undeniable, gnawing at her with a quiet insistence.
Hesitating, she slipped out of bed, her bare feet making soft whispers against the wooden floor. She cracked the door open and peeked into the hallway, ears straining for any sound. Silence. Nothing moved.
Once she was certain the house was empty, she tiptoed down the stairs toward the kitchen. She fumbled in the cupboards for a glass, filling it with water and bringing it to her lips with trembling hands. The cold liquid slid down her parched throat, a small comfort in the still, silent house.
Meanwhile, upstairs, Taeyong lay in his bed, wide awake. His eyes were open, staring at the ceiling, mind racing. Thoughts of the girl gnawed at him, mixing with the remnants of frustration and guilt from the arguments with Jaehyun, Kun, and Doyoung earlier. He had convinced himself that his actions were necessary, yet the image of her fearful, trembling eyes haunted him relentlessly.
In his mind, he tried to justify it. Somehow, keeping her here seemed right—one of his members had been severely injured because of her, and the thought of her roaming freely made him uneasy. She was unpredictable, fragile, yet potentially dangerous, and the responsibility of protecting everyone rested squarely on his shoulders.
Yet the others were right too. She hadn’t asked to be kidnapped or dragged into this mess. The terror etched into her every movement was real—fear that no act, no lie, no pretense could mask. Had she been working for Wonchan, or someone else behind him, her fear would be calculated, controlled. But this—this was raw, innocent fear, and it pierced Taeyong’s chest more than he expected.
No actor could mimic the terror that shone in her eyes, not even the best trained. Taeyong knew it instinctively. Even her twin, her own family, could not pierce the armor of fear she had wrapped herself in. She flinched at the smallest noise, as though the world itself might tear her apart.
He exhaled shakily, running a hand through his hair. His chest felt tight, his thoughts circling like wolves. Finally he swung his legs out of bed. Maybe water would help. Maybe silence. Maybe anything.
For a moment he even considered going outside for a night walk despite the cold—but he dismissed it. He couldn’t leave the others unprotected. Not again.
As he quietly descended the stairs, a faint rustling sound drifted from the kitchen. His muscles tensed instantly.
This wasn’t Haechan’s usual midnight snack routine—Haechan stomped, dropped things, and sang while raiding the fridge.
This sound was careful. Soft. Sneaking.
His heartbeat sharpened. His instincts flared awake.
Automatically, his hand reached for the weapon at his hip—only to grasp empty air.
“Shit,” he whispered under his breath.
In one smooth motion, he pivoted toward the hallway flowerpot, lifting it just enough to reach the pistol taped underneath. His pulse steadied. His breathing slowed. Leader mode activated.
