The leader sprinted out of the training section and across the courtyard toward the main house where all of them lived.
His boots hit the concrete rhythmically, echoing the sharp, restless pounding of his heart. Something felt wrong—too wrong—like the entire atmosphere had shifted half a degree into danger.
He kept his eyes wide open as he crossed the courtyard, scanning every shadow, every window, every blind spot—but nothing seemed out of place. The absence of anything unusual didn’t relieve him—
it made everything worse.
A threat you can see is manageable.
A threat that hides is the one that kills.
His steps sharpened, posture tense, hand already brushing the grip of the gun inside his waistband as he neared the main house.
The moment he stepped inside the house, he kicked off his shoes and bolted up the stairs two at a time. He knew exactly where she would go—her temporary room, the assistant’s room, the only place she felt safest in.
The thought made his chest tighten.
She still didn’t feel safe anywhere near him.
When he reached the door, he froze.
He pressed his ear against the door.
Listened.
He expected crying. Panic. A struggle. Something—
—but nothing.
No footsteps.
No breathing.
No crying.
Just silence thick enough to be suspicious.
The quiet didn’t soothe him.
It made his pulse rise.
Instinctively, his hand slid toward the gun beneath his hoodie, fingers resting on the grip.
Not to draw—
just to feel prepared
If anyone had followed her inside… if someone had been waiting for her… if this was the moment the enemy had chosen—
He refused to finish the thought.
He pushed the door open, slow and controlled, his stance ready to shoot—
and then his entire body deflated in relief.
No intruder.
No threat.
Just the twins curled up together on the bed, their breaths in soft, steady rhythm, their bodies relaxed in the innocent way only people who trusted each other completely could sleep. The girl was tucked against Sungchan’s chest, his arm slung protectively around her waist, pulling her close as if shielding her from the entire world.
And she, exhausted from fear and emotional chaos, had buried her face against his shoulder, finally peaceful.
The boy wasn’t just comforting her—he was keeping her grounded, keeping her safe in a way Taeyong himself couldn’t without triggering her fear.
The leader lowered his gun.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Like any loud movement could shatter the fragile quiet in the room.
A warmth spread through Taeyong’s chest he hadn’t expected.
For a moment, the worry eased.
He didn’t see a problem.
He saw comfort.
He saw family.
And he envied Sungchan—
not because she trusted him more,
but because he could comfort her in ways Taeyong himself couldn’t.
Not yet.
Maybe not ever.
Despite the tension knotting his muscles, a genuine smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
They looked… safe.
Something he had failed to give her so many times already.
The scene felt almost unreal in such a chaotic day—
two kids holding onto each other in an otherwise merciless world.
He closed the door silently and leaned back against it for a second, letting out a shaky exhale.
For the first time today, something felt… okay.
