𝑃𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑜𝑛 / 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑠𝑢𝑛𝑔

S2 ch 60

Night fell, cloaking the island in shadows and silence. The waves lapped gently at the shores, and the breeze carried the scent of salt and something older—something buried.

Inside his room, Jiwon sat at the desk with only the dim light of a lamp. His hands trembled as he held the pen. The paper before him had only a few lines:

> Rafayel,
I’m sorry.
I really tried.
But this place is killing me. I can’t breathe here. I can’t feel like myself. I miss who I used to be.
Please don’t follow me. Let me go.
— Jiwon

He folded the note with shaking fingers and set it neatly on the pillow.

The hallway was silent. Rafayel’s room light was off. Jiwon crept quietly, heart pounding against his ribs like it was trying to escape too. Down in the kitchen, he slipped off his sandals and moved barefoot. He opened the drawer slowly, careful not to make a sound.

The knife he chose wasn’t the biggest—but it was sharp, sturdy, and fit in his hand like it belonged there.

He made his way outside, every sound amplified by the night. Cicadas buzzed in the distance. The soft crunch of gravel underfoot felt deafening.

He reached the docks. Moonlight shimmered on the water, painting the ocean in silver.

But a guard stood at the end of the pier, back turned.

Jiwon hesitated. He couldn’t go back. Not after this far.

He crept behind the guard silently, holding his breath.

And then—swift, clean—he pulled the blade across the man’s throat. A quick, practiced motion. The man gurgled, hands reaching up, and fell to his knees. Blood spilled down his shirt, pooling on the dock.

Jiwon looked away.

His hands were slick with red.

Without looking back, he shoved one of the smaller speedboats off the dock, climbed in, and started the engine. The hum was loud in the silence—but no one stirred.

He sped into the darkness of the sea, the stars overhead spinning above him. The wind whipped at his hair, salt stinging his eyes, but he didn’t stop. Not until the island vanished from view behind him.

Only then did he feel the weight of what he’d done.

The sea was endless. No compass. No phone. Just a knife, and a hollow ache in his chest.

His arms trembled from exhaustion. His eyes drooped.

Eventually, sleep took him—curled in the small boat, drifting on the open ocean.

---

Back on the island, just before dawn, Rafayel stirred.

He reached out instinctively to the other side of the bed.

Empty.

“Jiwon?”

He sat up. Silence.

A creeping chill ran through him.

He checked the bathroom—nothing. The halls. The balcony. Panic rising now, he rushed back to the bedroom—and that’s when he saw it.

The note.

He snatched it up, eyes scanning the words, jaw tightening with each line. His hands crumpled the paper as he threw it across the room. The fury inside him roared to life like wildfire.

“No… no no no—”

A loud knock.

“Sir! You need to come. The dock—something’s happened.”