The engine of the van hummed low, but air inside was thick with silence.
Not the comfortable kind.
The kind that pressed against Sungchan’s chest until breathing felt like work.
The city lights slid past the tinted windows in long, distorted streaks of white and gold, Somewhere outside, normal people were heading home, arguing about dinner plans, complaining about traffic, laughing too loudly with friends. Sungchan envied them more than he wanted to admit.
He sat rigidly in his seat, his hands resting on his thighs, fingers flexing and unclenching again and again as if his body couldn’t decide whether it wanted to move or stay frozen. His gear felt heavier tonight. The earpiece pressed uncomfortably against his skin, the familiar weight of his weapon case grounding and suffocating at the same time.
His jaw was clenched so tight it ached as his thoughts stubbornly refused to stay in the present.
He hadn’t slept.
Every time he closed his eyes, her voice came back to him.
Her anger.
Her hurt.
The way she’d looked at him, like he had turned into a stranger right in front of her.
Focus.
He told himself that over and over again. Just focus.
Across from him, Taeyong was going over the final details on his tablet, posture straight, expression unreadable. The leader hadn’t raised his voice yet—but Sungchan could feel it coming. He always could.
“Listen up,” Taeyong finally said, breaking the silence. His voice was calm, but it carried weight—enough to make everyone straighten slightly. “We’re five minutes out.”
The van slowed as it turned into a darker street, the mansion now visible through the trees ahead. Warm lights glowed from inside, music faint but present, the illusion of celebration masking the reality underneath.
“This is not a rush job,” Taeyong continued. “This is a clean extraction and intel confirmation. We go in clean, we go out clean. No unnecessary moves. No hero acts. No emotional decisions.”
His eyes lifted, locking onto Sungchan instantly.
“And that means you too.”
Sungchan swallowed.
“Sungchan,” Taeyong said sharply. “Look at me.”
Sungchan lifted his head.
“Tonight, you do your job,” Taeyong said. “Nothing else. You don’t let your emotions run this mission. You don’t drift. You don’t improvise unless I tell you to. Do you understand?”
“Yes, hyung,” Sungchan answered immediately.
Taeyong didn’t look away. “I mean it. This isn’t something you can apologize for later if you mess up. If you lose focus, people get hurt. Innocent people.”
His words landed hard.
Taeyong leaned back slightly, crossing his arms. “Whatever is going on in your head right now— the moment we step out of this van, you leave it behind.”
The van went completely silent.
Sungchan met his gaze, shame and frustration burning in his chest.
The words hit harder than a shout would have.
“Yes, hyung,” Sungchan replied quickly, more firmly this time. “I understand.”
Taeyong held his stare for a long second longer, then nodded once. “Good,” he said, though his tone remained guarded. “Then prove it. Stay sharp. And don’t miss my orders because your head is somewhere else.”
