The next morning, the house was unusually quiet, almost unnaturally so. No loud laughter echoed through the hallways, no teasing voices, no hurried footsteps. Just silence, thick and unsettling, clinging to every corner of the mansion. Slowly, the girl stirred, her body heavy as if she had barely slept at all. She pushed herself upright with a quiet groan, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, her body still heavy and sore as if it hadn’t fully recovered from the night before.
Her gaze wandered through the unfamiliar room — the bed, the curtains, the faint morning light slipping through the window — and then it hit her. Memories rushed back all at once, unfiltered and brutal. The forest. The gunshot. Blood. Screams swallowed by the night. Her breath caught painfully in her chest.
Confusion settled deep in her bones as she slowly swung her legs off the bed and stood up on shaky knees, her movements cautious, almost hesitant, as if she was afraid that one wrong step would confirm everything.
She padded through the hallway, barefoot and hesitant, toward another bedroom door, her heart pounding louder with every step.
For a brief moment, she honestly hoped it had all been nothing more than a fever dream — a twisted hallucination caused by pain and exhaustion.
She just needed confirmation.
She needed someone to tell her it wasn’t real.
“Hey, Chanie, I—”
Her words died in her throat the moment she pushed the door open.
Inside, two figures were sleeping peacefully in the same bed, their bodies instinctively drawn toward each other in a way that made her chest ache. One arm was loosely draped over the other, as if seeking comfort neither would openly admit needing, their breathing slow and synchronized.
For a moment, she simply stood there, watching.
A soft smile tugged at her lips—small, fragile, but genuine.
Carefully, almost reverently, she closed the door again, unwilling to disturb that rare moment of calm. Whatever had happened last night, they clearly needed this rest.
With quiet steps, she made her way downstairs, her heart still beating unevenly, her thoughts tangled somewhere between fear, confusion, and relief.
The kitchen greeted her with soft morning light and the comforting smell of coffee.
“Good morning, Soul! You’re awake this early?” a familiar voice called out, gentle but surprised.
The sudden voice made her flinch slightly, her shoulders tensing before she turned toward the kitchen.
“Woah— Yuta oppa…” she breathed out, startled before forcing a small smile. “Yeah… I slept a lot yesterday, I guess.”
He chuckled softly, watching her more closely than usual, as if silently checking whether she was truly okay.
“Hey, oppa?” she asked after a moment, sitting down on one of the chairs opposite him.
Yuta leaned casually against the counter, one hand wrapped around a steaming cup of coffee, his posture relaxed — though his eyes were already focused on her with subtle concern.
“I… I need your help with something,” she continued hesitantly, her brows furrowing as she searched for the right words, her fingers nervously picking at the sleeve of her hoodie.
“Mhm?” Yuta hummed in response, pushing another cup of coffee toward her.
She took it subconsciously, her fingers curling around the cup, the warmth seeping into her cold fingers, grounding her just a little.
“I—I had a fever yesterday,” she began carefully, her voice quieter now, “so I don’t know if what I remember was a dream… or if it really happened.”
She lifted her gaze to his, desperately searching his eyes for reassurance, for denial—anything that would tell her she imagined it all. Her fingers tightened slightly around the mug as flashes of the night replayed in her mind.
