The villa felt wrong.
Not loud, not chaotic—but tense in a way that crawled under the skin. Conversations happened in hushed voices, footsteps were careful, as if everyone was afraid of making a sound too loud, of tipping something fragile over the edge. The air itself seemed heavy, thick with sleepless nights, unspoken guilt, and a fear no one wanted to name out loud.
Sungchan stood at the end of the hallway, his back against the wall, hands clenched so tightly that his nails dug into his palms. He had been pacing for several minutes now, stopping, turning, starting again—anything to avoid what lay behind the closed office door at the far end.
Taeyong’s office.
The light underneath the door was still on.
That alone told him enough.
Inside that room were the people who held everything together when things fell apart—Taeyong, Jaehyun, Ten, Kun. The ones who made decisions. The ones who carried responsibility like a second spine. And right now, Taeyong was already breaking under the weight of one missing child.
Sungchan swallowed hard.
How do you tell someone who is already drowning that the water just got deeper?
His chest felt tight, each breath shallow and uneven. Images kept crashing into his mind uninvited—Soul laughing that morning, her voice when she was annoyed, the way she always waited up for him no matter how late he came home. And then the empty house. The broken door. Her necklace lying lifeless in his hand.
His fault.
The thought wouldn’t let go.
If he had talked to her sooner.
If he had been honest.
If he hadn’t been so consumed by Hyunseong, by Taeyong’s pain, by the mission—
His head dropped forward, forehead resting briefly against the cool wall. He squeezed his eyes shut.
I’m supposed to protect her.
That was his job. As her brother. As her twin. And he had failed.
Footsteps echoed softly behind him. Sungchan didn’t need to turn around to know someone had stopped a few steps away. The presence was familiar—steady, grounding.
Johnny.
“You don’t have to do this alone,” Johnny said quietly, not pushing, not demanding. Just stating a fact.
Sungchan let out a shaky breath. “I do,” he replied hoarsely. “It’s my responsibility to tell him.”
Johnny didn’t argue. He never did when Sungchan was like this. “Then don’t carry it like a sentence,” he said instead. “Carry it like information. We need him clear-headed.”
Sungchan nodded faintly, though his hands were still trembling. He straightened slowly, rolling his shoulders back like he was bracing for impact. His gaze lifted to the door again.
Behind it, Taeyong was already fighting to keep himself together—for his sister, for his nephew, for all of them.
And Sungchan was about to shatter what little illusion of control remained.
He took one step forward.
Then another.
His hand hovered in front of the door, hesitating for just a second longer than necessary.
