Anger never builds; it only tears down. In the heat of a single moment, it can feel like strength, an armor to hide behind. But when the fire fades, all that's left are the ashes of what once mattered. Anger doesn't solve anything-it devours patienc...
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Life doesn’t get easier, you just get stronger.
Chapter 12: Tears
The fire was finally out. A suffocating silence hung heavy in the air, broken only by the crackle of dying embers and the hiss of cooling beams. Smoke still curled upward from the blackened ruins, carrying with it the bitter stench of charred wood and melted plastic. When the firefighters finally stepped aside, they gave Taehyung permission to enter what was left of his home.
His legs felt numb, but he forced himself to move forward. Every step across the threshold felt like stepping into a grave. The floor, though cracked and dirtied, had miraculously remained intact, but everything else—the roof, the walls, the furniture—was gone. The familiar warmth of the house had been erased, swallowed by flames, leaving behind nothing but skeletal remains coated in soot.
For some reason, it was only his house. The other buildings along the street still stood untouched, as if mocking his loss. His chest constricted at the thought—why his? Why now? He had no answers, only the cruel reality of blackened ash where his life used to be.
Taehyung’s eyes stung, though he couldn’t tell if it was from the smoke or the grief clawing up his throat. He wanted to find something—anything—of his mother’s. A photograph, a piece of jewelry, even the smallest scrap of cloth that had survived. But when he reached down and sifted through the rubble, all that slipped through his fingers was ash, brittle and weightless. His home, his memories, reduced to dust that scattered with the faintest breeze.
There was nothing left for him here.
With a long, shaky breath, Taehyung turned to leave. But something caught his attention. The corner of a floor tile, near the center of the room, seemed out of place—slightly raised, cracked as if pried open before. He crouched down, his trembling hands brushing the soot away until his fingers hooked under the uneven edge. Slowly, carefully, he lifted it.
Beneath the tile was a shallow cavity, and inside it, a small brown envelope, browned but miraculously untouched by the flames. His brows furrowed. He had lived in this house his entire life, cleaned every corner, scrubbed every inch, and yet he had never known this compartment existed. Heart pounding, he reached in and pulled it out.
As the envelope shifted in his hand, something else glinted beneath it—a small USB drive, wedged tightly into the space. Taehyung froze. He didn’t recognize it either. Neither the envelope nor the USB belonged to him or his mother, at least not to his knowledge. A sharp unease washed over him.
What was this doing here?
He was about to tear the envelope open when a sudden shadow fell over him. A pair of boots appeared directly in front of him, planted firmly on the scorched floor. His head jerked up.
