The basement door creaks open and Irene descends the narrow stairs, Hoseok following closely behind, his eyes filled with caution and concern as he watches the young woman in front of him.
Irene's nose crinkles as the first wave of stench hits her—a pungent, overwhelming scent that claws at her senses. It's unmistakable: decay, rot, the odor of something, someone, decomposing. The dim lighting only makes the creeping horror worse as it wraps itself around her heart, and she feels her chest tighten, her breaths growing shallower as she approaches the bottom of the stairs.
Suddenly, she can't control herself. She moves faster, practically running, her injured body screaming with pain, but she ignores it, driven by an all-consuming fear. "Taehyung," she whispers, her voice trembling.
Hoseok rushes after her, his brows knitting in worry. "Irene, slow down!" he calls, but she isn't listening. Her pace quickens, the bandage around her waist pulling painfully against her ribs as she stumbles forward.
The sight that greets her at the end of the room leaves her breathless, her eyes widening in sheer horror. There, on the cold concrete floor, lies a figure, an unmoving figure. Her heart drops into the pit of her stomach, bile rising in her throat as tears immediately blur her vision.
“No…” she whimpers, her voice cracking, turning away, her hands flying to her mouth as sobs break free. She squeezes her eyes shut, the reality of it all too much to bear. "No, no, no..."
Hoseok is by her side in an instant, his hands hovering uncertainly, wanting to comfort her but afraid to push too far. "Irene," he says softly, reaching out, but she weakly pushes him away, her fingers trembling as they grip the fabric of her dress.
"Don’t!" she gasps, forcing herself to open her eyes, her vision swimming as she stares at the crumpled body on the ground. She needs to know. She needs to see for herself. With a shaky breath, she steps forward, stumbling over her own feet as she rushes to the figure.
“Taehyung…” The name falls from her lips in a desperate plea, her hands reaching out, only to freeze mid-air as the features of the figure come into view—features she doesn’t recognize.
It's not Taehyung.
She blinks, her tears falling freely as she stares down at the lifeless form before her. The man is young, his face twisted in pain, his body still as the grave. Irene chokes on a sob, her knees threatening to give way, so confused and so desperate.
