SHADOWS OF DECEIT

Chapter 39

The air inside the Samuel's apartment was heavy with tension, the kind that wrapped around the lungs like wet cloth, slow and suffocating. 

The dull hum of the computer filled the silence, broken only by the frantic clack of Samuel's fingers hammering against the keyboard, windows flying open and snapping shut like the desperate fluttering of a moth caught behind glass. 

His brows were furrowed so tight it looked like the skin might split. Sweat clung to his neck, despite the sterile chill of the underground flat.

Seokmin stood beside him, arms folded, jaw set. His eyes were sharp, hawkish — watching every line of code and system response with the quiet intensity of someone who didn't trust anything anymore. Not the machine. Not the code. Not even the one writing it.

Joshua sat on the edge of the couch, elbows on knees, fingers knotted together in front of his lips. He hadn't said much in the last hour — mostly because there was nothing to say. 

He was no use here, and he knew it. This wasn't his arena. What Samuel and Seokmin were trying to undo — whatever the fuck had gone wrong — it was like watching surgeons cut through bone, but blindfolded. And bleeding out.

Samuel let out a low, panicked breath as another diagnostic failed. A warning blared. He silenced it with a frustrated slam of the spacebar.

"I don't get it," he muttered, more to himself than to anyone else. "I've triple-layered this thing. Redundant pathways. Anti-trace encryption. It was airtight."

"Clearly not airtight enough," Seokmin said, not unkindly, but without sugar either. His voice was clipped. Focused. "Whatever cracked it knew exactly where to look. And how to make you look the other way."

Samuel's jaw clenched. He didn't want to hear that — not from Seokmin, not from anyone.

"Yeah," he said bitterly. "I figured that much out myself, thanks."

Joshua sat forward, sensing the rising temperature. "Hey. Sam," he said softly. "You'll figure it out. You always do."

But Samuel didn't answer. His eyes were fixed on the code, hands hovering over the keys, frozen mid-thought like a man on the edge of a high-rise trying to figure out if the wind will carry him or kill him.

Then — a buzz. Low and persistent.

Joshua blinked, dragged from the spiral of helplessness, fishing his phone out of his pocket. The screen glowed.

Sakura.
His frown deepened.

He answered. "Hello?"

"Joshua?" came Sakura's voice, tight, harried. "I'm sorry to call, but we need you at the hospital. There's no attending in the OPD. The morning shift's over, and Baekhyun called in sick an hour ago."

Joshua closed his eyes, drawing in a slow breath through his nose. "I already called in for the week," he said, voice low. "You know that. I told them I was out. Family emergency."

"I know," Sakura said, her voice softening. "I know, and I wouldn't be calling if it wasn't— Joshua, we're drowning here. There are seven patients in the lobby. Two kids, one elderly. There's no one else."

Joshua didn't answer right away. His eyes lifted to Samuel.

The younger boy hadn't even flinched at his name, but Joshua could feel the weight of his attention, the way those fingers paused just long enough to show that he had heard. That he was holding his breath.

Joshua sighed. Not angry — just... tired. So fucking tired. Of the guilt. The weight. Of never being able to be enough for all the people who needed him.