☆Entry⁸

Nam y/nEntry no.8Note: "all I have to do is give in and I'll be safe... right?"

The sterile white walls of the visiting room feel suffocating today, just like they have for the past few weeks. The air is thick with tension, and the harsh fluorescent lights buzz overhead, a constant reminder of where you are.

You're seated at a cold metal table, your hands folded in front of you, but the unease is gnawing at you, eating away at whatever little composure you have left.

Your uncle, Nam Jiseok, sits across from you, his presence as imposing as ever. He’s always been the one who keeps everything together, the one who controls the room, the one with answers. But today, even he can’t fix what’s unraveling inside of you. His expression is hard to read, but his eyes carry that familiar warmth—though you’re not sure it helps anymore.

“Nam Y/n,” Jiseok starts, his voice steady, but with a hint of worry. “What’s going on? I can see it. You’re not yourself.”

You scoff bitterly, shaking your head. "Not myself? What do you mean? I'm stuck here, surrounded by them, and I'm losing my mind. But you wouldn't understand that, would you? You have your life. You have your power. You get to walk away from all this, but I’m here. Trapped."

Your voice trembles as you go on, but you force the words out anyway. "I'm scared, Uncle. I'm really scared. I don’t know how much longer I can handle this place. I don't know how much longer I can handle them. I just... I just want to get out of here. Please... take me out. I don't care where we go, I just want to leave. I can't breathe in here."

You feel your throat closing up as the emotion starts to crack through the façade you’ve been desperately holding in. The dam breaks, and hot tears burn your cheeks, but you don’t bother to wipe them away. You don’t care anymore.

Jiseok stays silent for a moment, his eyes softening, but his jaw tightens. He leans forward slightly, clasping his hands together. You can see the battle in his eyes—the protector and the man caught in a web of responsibility.

“Y/n, listen to me,” he says, his voice low but firm. “I want nothing more than to take you out of here. I really do. But you have to understand—there’s no way out that doesn’t come with consequences. You’re safer here than anywhere else.”

"Safer?" you snap, wiping at your eyes angrily, the tears not stopping. "How the hell am I supposed to feel safe in this place? With them constantly watching me, with the danger lurking around every corner? I’m suffocating in here. You think I’m safe? I’m gonna die in here, ahjussi! I can feel it. I can feel the walls closing in on me, the air getting thinner with every passing day, and you—you’re just standing there, acting like this is all fine. It's not fine, Uncle!"

Your chest tightens with frustration, your breath coming in short, rapid bursts as you lean forward, the weight of it all finally breaking you down. You’re shaking now, the emotions flowing out of you in a torrent you can’t control. "You don’t get it. You have no idea what it’s like here. You have no idea what they’re doing to me, what they’ve done to me already."

Jiseok watches you carefully, the edge of concern still in his eyes, but there’s a coldness in his posture now, a sense of duty that’s starting to settle in. His shoulders stiffen, and he sits up straighter, as though preparing to face something difficult.

“I know exactly what it’s like, Y/n. I don’t want to hear this from you. You think I want you here? I hate seeing you like this, trapped in a place where I can’t protect you the way I should. But you need to understand something. If I take you out of here, if I even try to get you out of Stayzone, the people who killed your parents won’t just stop. If i send you north,  They’ll come after you. They’ll come after me. They’ll know we’re in South Korea, and they’ll get their hands on you, Y/N. Do you understand what that means?"

Your eyes widen, and you sit back, momentarily stunned into silence by the weight of his words. The words you didn’t want to hear, the things you refused to consider. You stare at him, your breath shaky, trying to absorb the reality of what he’s saying.

“Back to North Korea?” you whisper, the words tasting bitter on your tongue. "So what, you’re telling me my only choice is to stay in this hellhole, or risk being sent back there?"

Jiseok doesn’t hesitate, his gaze unwavering. “Yes. And if I send you back, if we go back to North Korea, the consequences won’t just be on you. They’ll be on the whole family. Your grandparents will be killed. My own family, my wife and children—they’ll be deported, put in danger. And they won’t hesitate to come after me, after you, after everyone you’ve ever loved.”

You feel your chest constrict, the panic starting to churn in your stomach. Your head feels light, dizzy from the weight of everything crashing down around you. You don’t want to hear this. You don’t want to be forced into a corner with no way out.

But the anger, the rage you’ve been holding inside for so long finally bubbles to the surface. You slam your fist down onto the table, the sound of it sharp in the quiet room.

“Then why didn’t you protect me better?” you shout, your voice raw. "Why didn't you do something before? Why am I stuck here, being tortured by all of them? Why do I have to suffer like this?"

Jiseok flinches, just slightly, but it’s enough for you to see how the words hit him. His face hardens, but you can see the sorrow in his eyes. He stands up, pacing slowly, hands rubbing the back of his neck as he thinks of what to say next.

“I am trying, Y/n,” he says, his voice quieter now, full of regret. “I’ve always been trying to protect you. But sometimes, the choices are harder than you think. If I pull you out of Stayzone, we risk everything. If I don’t... I don’t want to think about what they’ll do to you. They’ll twist you, break you down, until you’re nothing. Do you think I want that for you?”

You’re seething now, the frustration and fear fueling your anger. You’re so damn tired of feeling like there’s no way out, like everything’s been decided for you. And right now, with Jiseok standing there, trying to control everything, trying to justify why you’re stuck here, it’s all too much.

“I hate this! I hate you for putting me in this position!” you scream, tears streaming down your face. "I hate how it feels like I’m nothing, like nothing I do matters. You’re supposed to be my family, and you’re just sitting there, telling me I’m stuck. You’re the reason I’m here. You—you’re the one who made me think I had no other choice."

Jiseok stands frozen for a moment, his face falling, the weight of your words hitting him harder than any physical blow. He looks at you for a long moment, as though weighing the situation in his mind.

And then, softly, he finally speaks. "I’m sorry. I truly am. But the reality of the world is much darker than you can imagine. I didn’t want to put you in this position, but I’m trying to keep you alive. I’m trying to keep you safe."

You don’t know if you can keep listening. It’s all too much. The anger, the fear, the helplessness swirling around you in a storm you can’t control.

But you have no choice but to stay, and it crushes you.

Nam Y/n Side entry ⁷00/00/0000

The room is unnervingly quiet, the walls too white, too sterile, almost suffocating. You’re sitting on the edge of the bed, your body feeling like it’s made of lead, your limbs heavy and unresponsive from the pills the older had slipped you earlier.

They promised relief, but it’s not the kind of relief you imagined—it’s a dull, aching emptiness that clings to you like a second skin. Your mind is fuzzy, distant, but your eyes are wide open, staring at the wall ahead, not really seeing anything.

The sound of footsteps approaches, sharp and deliberate. The door creaks open, and a familiar figure steps into the room. Chan.

You don’t move, barely even acknowledging his presence, but you feel his eyes on you, feel the weight of his gaze pressing down on you as if he’s assessing something—something broken, something that needs to be fixed. His footsteps stop near you, and you can hear the quiet jingle of keys in his pocket.

“Y/n-ssi,” Chan’s voice is smooth, low, like the hum of a well-tuned instrument. He’s close, standing just a few feet away, but you don’t look at him. You don’t want to. His presence is overwhelming enough to make your already fragile state feel worse.

“You’ve been quiet lately,” he observes, his voice tinged with something—something between concern and something darker, a possessiveness that you can’t quite place.

You don’t answer. You can’t find the words.

“I know you’re in a lot of pain right now,” he continues, his tone softening, and you can almost hear the fake sweetness, like it’s wrapped in sugar to hide the bitterness beneath. “It’s okay. You don’t have to talk. I’m here, alright? You don’t need anyone else, Y/n , You only need me. I’m the only one you can trust in this place.”

His words seep into your mind, clouding it, slowly taking over as he steps closer, sitting beside you on the edge of the bed. The mattress shifts under his weight, but you still don’t move. You don’t have the energy to.

“You don’t belong anywhere else. Don’t fool yourself into thinking there’s some kind of escape.” Chan’s voice lowers, his words almost soothing, like he’s telling you a comforting truth that you can’t fight. “You belong here. With us. With me.”

You don’t reply, but his words keep coming, steady and calculated. It’s like he’s chipping away at whatever’s left of your will to fight, each sentence an effort to make you crumble just a little more.

“I know it feels... overwhelming,” he continues, his voice taking on a slightly different edge now, more forceful. “But I’m the one who knows you the best. I’m the one who will take care of you when everything else falls apart. You don’t need to go running to anyone else. You don’t need to find comfort from anyone but me. Do you understand?”

His hand rests lightly on your arm, the touch gentle but possessive, as if he’s marking you in some way. “When it all gets too much... just come to me. I’ll make it stop. I’ll be your comfort. I’ll make sure no one else touches you, no one else gets to have you. You belong to me, Y/n. You know that, don’t you?”

You feel a strange tightening in your chest, something between anxiety and confusion, but it’s dull, like you’re too far away from it to truly grasp the feeling. You want to protest, you think you should, but the words don’t come. The pills have blurred your thoughts, and his voice fills the silence, the space in your mind, until you can’t tell where you end and his words begin.

“I’m the one you can depend on. Not anyone else. Not Seungmin. Not Hyunjin. Not Minho, Changbin, felix, jisung, jeongin. Just me.” Chan’s hand moves from your arm to your shoulder, squeezing it lightly, the touch almost too intimate. You can’t bring yourself to shrug it off. "I’m the one who sees you, Y/n. I’m the one who understands you. You don’t need anyone else. I’m here, and that’s all you need."

His voice has a way of sinking deep into your consciousness, curling around your thoughts, twisting them into something else, something that feels... inevitable. Like he’s telling you a truth that you should already know, one that you can’t escape. You belong with him. You belong here.

And suddenly, you realize, you don’t want to fight it. The numbness, the emptiness, it’s easier than the chaos, the confusion. Maybe it’s not so bad to just let go. Maybe it’s not so bad to just... let him have you.

His fingers gently brush your hair, a soft caress, and you don’t pull away. You don’t want to.

“You’ll see,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you, though the words still sink into your mind. “I’ll take care of you. You’ll come to me whenever you need comfort, and you’ll realize that no one else can take my place. You’ll realize that you don’t need anyone else. Just me.”

And as he speaks, you feel a faint sense of reassurance, the way his words wrap around you like a blanket. The pills are still making your mind fuzzy, but they’re also quieting the storm inside. And you realize, with a dull, sinking sense of acceptance, that maybe this is all there is.

Maybe this is all you can have.

You belong to him. You belong here.

The air feels thick, heavy with the weight of his words, as if the space around you has been warped to fit his presence. Chan’s voice continues to flow, low and soothing, laced with authority. Every word he speaks seems to blur the line between care and control, wrapping itself around your mind, tugging at the frayed edges of your thoughts.

Your body still feels numb, heavy from the pills, but it’s more than that. There’s a dullness to your thoughts now, a sort of surrender settling in the pit of your stomach. Everything he’s saying—all of it—sounds too convincing. Too comforting.

"You're not meant to be anywhere else," he murmurs, his voice lower now, a dangerous undertone creeping into it. "Only here. Only with me. You don’t have to fight it anymore. You know that, don’t you? You know that you’re mine."

His words just go in one ear and out the other "from having you have an obvious crush on me when I happened to enroll Into the same highschool as you..  just when my parents though I needed to be around people my age to get better... seeing you... .. made me want things I'd never though I'd ever have... and that teacher..."

He smiled softly at you "His name is irrelevant... the one they said you slept with... I know you didn't , so for you I made sure to burn his house down with him and his entire family inside... guess that's how I disappeared randomly huh... don't you remember me? Huh.. Chris? Hmm? The dyed blonde Australian teen you fawned over every single day?"

Again. You didn't register his words.

You feel his hand slide across your shoulder, his fingers tracing along the edge of your jaw, gentle but firm, like a tether. You don't pull away. You don't have the energy to. His touch is magnetic, and against the haze of your mind, it feels like the only thing that’s real right now.

“I’ll take care of you,” he continues, his face inches from yours now, eyes dark and unreadable. His breath brushes your skin, warm and slow, like he’s savoring the moment. "You’re the only thing that matters to me here. Everything else—everyone else—is nothing."

Your breath hitches, a small, involuntary sound that doesn't escape your lips, but he hears it, his eyes narrowing, the intensity in them sharpening.

"You want to feel safe, don’t you? You want to stop being afraid, to stop feeling lost." His hand moves up, curling around the back of your neck, pulling you closer, the pressure gentle but undeniable. “Let me give you that, Y/n. Let me make everything stop.”

You don’t respond, don’t have the strength to form the words. His presence is overwhelming, a tidal wave of warmth and control that sweeps over you, drowning out everything else.

Without a word, his lips are on yours.

It’s not a kiss that comes with love or care, though he makes it seem that way. It’s slow, calculated, a press of dominance against your stillness. His mouth moves against yours with purpose, almost as if he’s marking you, making you a part of him in a way that is impossible to undo. His kiss is possessive, claiming, and the weight of it pulls you deeper into the fog of numbness.

At first, you don’t react. You don’t feel much of anything. But then, his tongue brushes against your lips, coaxing them open, and it’s like a switch flicks in your chest. The numbness fades, but only to be replaced by something else—something darker, more complex. His hands tighten around your neck, pulling you in, and suddenly, you can’t breathe, but you don’t care. You don’t fight it.

His kiss is all-consuming, every movement slow and deliberate, making sure you’re fully under his control. His lips press harder against yours, his tongue exploring as if he’s marking every part of you. The world around you fades, the room spinning, but he’s all there is. He’s the center of everything.

And for the briefest moment, you feel like you’re drowning in him.

When he finally pulls away, it’s slow, calculated, like he’s savoring every last second. His breath is ragged, and he watches you with that same unreadable expression, his fingers still tangled in your hair, holding you in place. You don’t look away. You don’t move.

“You belong to me,” he whispers, his voice soft but filled with an unshakable certainty. “Only me. No one else can have you, Y/n. Not now. Not ever.”

"So your fantasy about the rest, will. Stop okay? If they don't,  don't cry when they randomly disappear" he whispered

You want to argue, to push him away, but the words don’t come. There’s nothing left to say.

Chan smiles, just barely, as if he’s won. And in that moment, you realize you might be too far gone to even want to fight it anymore.

"You're mine, Y/n," he repeats, voice smooth, like he’s simply stating a fact. "And I’ll make sure you never forget that."

And soon you find yourself under him finally realising what he had meant by you couldn't handle him... so you let him take whatever he wanted.. if you let the drug force you into enjoying it... it would hurt less.

[Present]

The art room on the second floor smells like fresh paint, the air thick with creativity. It's a small space, a quiet escape from the chaos of Stayzone. The walls are cluttered with canvases, some half-finished, some raw with emotion, but all of them undeniably his. You sit in the corner, observing him at work, your eyes tracing the strokes of paint that have become more and more familiar.

The transformation of his art has been subtle, but undeniable. It started with abstract, chaotic pieces that seemed to mirror his mind, but lately, every canvas he’s touched seems to revolve around one theme—you. His eyes, his brushstrokes, all of it, focused on you. The first few paintings, you thought nothing of it. You were just his muse, right? But now, with every portrait, with every line, you start to wonder how much of him is embedded in each piece.

Hyunjin is standing in front of one of them now, a smile playing on his lips as he adds the final touches to your face, his hand careful, deliberate. You watch, tracing the line of his fingers as they paint.

He doesn’t notice at first, but then he speaks, his voice light but with a teasing undercurrent.

“You know, I was hoping you’d come sit closer," Hyunjin says, his eyes flickering up to meet yours. "But I guess I can’t blame you. I know I’m quite the distraction." His smile grows as he finishes a few strokes on the canvas, his eyes briefly flickering toward you again. “I think this one’s my best yet.”

You look at the painting, taking in the brushstrokes—your face, carefully crafted with an intensity you’ve never seen in his other works. You feel a small pang in your chest, a mix of confusion and discomfort.

"Hyunjin," you start slowly, glancing back at him, trying to keep your tone even, "all of your art… lately. It’s all of me. Why? What happened to all that abstract stuff?"

Hyunjin pauses, his lips curling into a knowing smile. His gaze flickers between the canvas and you, a playful glint in his eyes.

“Well, you’ve become my favorite subject,” he says, his voice smooth, like he’s testing you. “It’s not like I’ve been wanting to paint you, y/n, You just... keep appearing in my head.” His fingers trace the canvas, but you notice the way his hand hovers just a little too close to where your image is—his fingers not just painting, but almost caressing. His gaze doesn’t leave you.

He tilts his head slightly, looking at you with an almost possessive gleam. "It's... hard to ignore. You're always on my mind. You’ve kind of ruined me, Y/n. You know that, right?"

A nervous laugh escapes him, but it’s not really a laugh at all. It’s more like a release of tension, a way to mask the strain that’s building in his eyes. You try not to think too much about it, but you can feel it—he's becoming more... intense.

His voice drops, just a bit quieter now, and the shift in his tone doesn’t escape you. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. Not since we met. Since that... kiss.”

You feel your throat tighten at the mention of it, the memory flooding back. How his panic attack had subsided when you kissed him, how his tense body had melted into yours. You hadn’t thought much about it at the time, but now—now it feels like that kiss was the catalyst for something much deeper.

“It was just a kiss,” you murmur, looking away from him, but Hyunjin doesn’t let that slide. His voice comes out soft, almost teasing, but the underlying possessiveness is still there.

“just a kiss?” His laugh is low, the sound almost dark, but still tinged with affection. He steps closer to you, and you can feel the heat radiating from his body, but you don’t move away. “You didn’t see the way my heart skipped when it happened. I don’t think you really understand what it meant for me.”

His fingers brush against your arm, a touch light enough that it could be dismissed, but something about it makes you feel like you're being marked. You freeze, but he doesn’t seem to notice—or maybe he’s pretending not to.

“I think about it every day,y/n,” he continues, a little more quietly now, almost as if he’s talking to himself. “You were the only one who’s ever... made me feel that way. And that feeling? It doesn’t go away. I’m obsessed with it. Obsessed with you.”

You look back at him, your eyes narrowing slightly. There's something strange about how easily he speaks of his obsession. Like he’s used to feeling this way, like it’s normal. But he sees the way you’re reacting, the tension between you growing, and he steps closer, the intensity in his eyes deepening.

“Don't be scared,” he says, his voice lower now, teasing again. “I’m not going to bite. Not yet, at least.” He smirks, but there’s something darker underneath it. “I just don’t know how much longer I can keep it all bottled up, you know? Seeing you, being around you, and knowing... he has you. Chan. I don’t know how he does it.”

You can feel the words twist in the air between you, thick and heavy. The mention of Chan makes something tighten in your chest, but you try to stay focused. You can’t let Hyunjin drag you into whatever web he’s weaving with his words.

“I’m just here to make art, Hyunjin,” you say, trying to distance yourself, but he laughs softly, the sound of it sharp, edged with something you can’t quite place.

“Art, huh?” His eyes darken, his gaze flicking to the painting on the canvas again. “I guess you could say you’ve become my... masterpiece.”

The word lingers in the air between you two, unsettling. You don’t know if he’s joking or if he’s serious, but you’re starting to think it’s a little of both. His eyes return to you, a playful glint in them, but you can see the obsession, the intensity, right beneath the surface.

“You know,” he continues, his voice softer now, almost sweet, but his gaze is anything but, “I wish I could take my time with you. But I can’t. Not with him around.”

You swallow, but he doesn’t give you a chance to respond before stepping even closer, his presence almost overwhelming. “But... maybe one day, when things aren’t so... complicated. I’ll get my turn, right?”

You look at him, unsure of what to say. His smile is like a silent promise, but the unease in your chest only grows.

And as you sit there, staring at the painting of yourself in front of you, you can’t shake the feeling that the more you let Hyunjin in, the harder it’s going to be to get out.

You’re sitting alone in the open area, your tray of food balanced carefully in front of you, the sterile atmosphere of Stayzone doing nothing to dull the dull ache of being here.

The chatter is a hum in the background, but it's mostly just you and the food—though, honestly, you’re not sure if you’re eating because you're hungry or because it’s just another way to distract yourself from the rest of this place.

That’s when you hear it—the telltale shuffle of sneakers on grass, the soft hum of someone approaching. Without even looking up, you can feel his presence.

Jisung. 

You don't need to see him to know exactly who it is. He’s the kind of guy who makes everything feel just a little too loud. A little too much. You brace yourself, waiting for the inevitable.

You don’t acknowledge him when he plops down beside you, but you can already feel the heat of his body next to yours, like he's trying to crowd you without actually touching you. The way he sits, cocky and careless, tells you everything you need to know—he’s not here for a friendly chat.

“Don’t look at me like I’m gonna poison your food, Y/n,” he says, his voice laced with mock sweetness, but there’s a bite to it that makes your skin prickle.

You raise an eyebrow, only sparing a glance at him before resuming your half-hearted attempts to eat. “I don’t care what you do, Jisung. But you’d probably mess it up anyway.”

He scoffs, but there's a slight smirk on his face. “Oh, I see how it is. Get all high and mighty with me because you don’t need to be careful with your food. Must be nice.” He leans back, crossing his arms over his chest like he’s already mentally getting ready to argue.

You roll your eyes, the sarcasm slipping out naturally. “Sure, I could use a little poison in my life right now. Couldn’t hurt more than you already do.”

Jisung snickers under his breath, his eyes flickering to your tray and then back to you. “Oh, so you’re calling me poison now? What a lovely compliment. Should I add that to my list of things I don’t give a shit about?” He takes a bite out of his own food with exaggerated slowness, like he’s trying to annoy you on purpose.

You lean back slightly, glaring at him for the pure fun of it. "Maybe you should," you say, your voice cutting through the air with a slight edge. "It’d match your personality." You can’t help but smirk at the way his jaw tightens at the jab.

He shoots you a look like he’s trying to figure out how to get under your skin, and you can practically feel the gears turning in his head. You’ve known him long enough by now to read his intentions, and honestly, you’ve stopped caring. 

“I don’t know why you still hang out with me, Y/n” he says with a lazy shrug, his tone dripping with fake sincerity. "I mean, you obviously don’t like me. Or is it more like you don’t like me, but I’m too damn entertaining to leave alone?"

You shoot him a dry look, stabbing your fork into your food a little harder than necessary. “You overestimate yourself. I don’t like you, but I also don’t hate the way you waste your time on me. It’s like watching a car crash—no one’s enjoying it, but everyone’s too curious to look away.”

His eyes flash with amusement, and you can tell he’s not exactly hurt by the insult, just amused by how well it fits into the game you both keep playing.

“You’ve got a lot of interesting things to say for someone who’s barely keeping it together,” he retorts, his lips curling into a smirk as he watches your expression closely. “But it’s cute, you know. Your little act. Like you’re not totally off your rocker already.”

You pause, locking eyes with him for just a beat too long, before you finally allow a chuckle to slip out—bitter, sharp. “And you’re cute too, Han. Like a quokka who just realized he’s not the center of attention.” You put extra emphasis on the word “quokka” watching his face twitch as it lands.

Jisung doesn’t flinch. Instead, he leans forward, almost predatory, his tone dripping with more venom now. “I’m not the one here with a ‘hot mess’ label hanging over my head. You sure you want to keep pretending like you’re so much better than me, Y/n? Everyone here is broken in some way, but you’re especially good at hiding it, huh?”

His words hit harder than expected, and the sting of it surprises you, though you try not to let it show. But you don’t back down either. “Keep telling yourself that, Jisung. Whatever makes you feel better about yourself. It’s not like anyone cares what you think.”

He leans back, crossing his arms again, still smirking like he’s got some advantage, but the shift in his eyes shows something else. “You know, you’re not as tough as you pretend to be. You want people to see you as some badass, but deep down, you’re just scared, aren’t you?”

You blink, the sudden accusation hanging in the air. “Oh, please,” you scoff, rolling your eyes. “You’ve known me for how long and you’re just now figuring that out?”

“I’m just saying,” he shrugs, nonchalant as ever. “People are more than they show. You’re a mess, but you hide it. And you can pretend all day that you don’t give a shit, but we both know you do.” He leans back in his chair, his eyes flickering toward you again. “You just hide it well. Guess that’s why you’re still here.”

Your stomach tightens, but you push the feeling away. You’ve learned by now to let him jab at you, to not let it get to you. Jisung’s too busy trying to be the asshole everyone expects him to be. He thrives on the chaos, and you can’t help but wonder if you’ve started to feed into it, just by being here.

You take a deep breath, forcing a smirk onto your face. “Yeah, well, maybe I don’t mind being here. Maybe you’re the one who can’t handle it.”

Jisung lets out a little huff, clearly not pleased with your retort, but there’s an odd flicker of respect behind his eyes now. He leans back, stretching his arms behind his head like he’s given up on trying to get under your skin. “Maybe you’re right,” he mutters, but there’s something softer there now, though it's quickly masked by his usual smugness. “But don’t think for one second you’ve won, Y/n. We both know who’s really in control here.” (neither of you.. lmao)

You don’t even bother to respond, opting instead to take a bite of your food, the silence stretching between you both, just for a moment. It’s not friendly, not by a long shot. But there’s a weird, unspoken understanding between you now. Like you both get something the other doesn’t say.

He watches you for a second longer, his usual playful smirk fading a little.

“Whatever you say,” he mutters, as he stands up to leave, shaking his head like it’s all a game to him. “But don’t get too comfortable, princess. I’m not done with you yet.”

You don’t look up as he walks away. Instead, you pick up your fork, stabbing at your food, your thoughts too tangled up to process any more of the nonsense he’s spouted.

But deep down, you know Jisung’s words hit differently than the others. And you wonder, for the first time, if maybe you are starting to get comfortable in this chaos.

The room is quiet, except for the soft sound of Felix brushing your hair, each stroke gentle and calming. The bristles of the brush glide through your tangled strands with ease, a contrast to the chaos of Stayzone outside. Felix hums quietly to himself, his fingers working delicately, trying to be careful not to pull at any knots.

He’s sitting behind you, his legs crossed under him, his posture relaxed but steady as he focuses on the task at hand. You can feel the warmth of his presence, the comfort of his touch, and for a moment, you almost forget where you are. You breathe in, trying to push aside the fog of the pills they’ve given you earlier, focusing on the rhythmic motion of the brush instead.

Felix’s voice breaks the silence, his tone light, almost playful. "You know," he says, his fingers pausing for a moment as he looks at your reflection in the small mirror on the wall. "Jisung can be a pain in the ass sometimes, but... he's not that bad once you get used to him. He’s actually kinda sweet."

You raise an eyebrow at his words, turning your head slightly to look at him in the mirror. "Sweet? Are we talking about the same Jisung?" you ask, half-joking but also genuinely curious.

Felix laughs softly, his shoulders shaking a little as he continues brushing your hair. “Yeah, I know, I know. He comes off like a total jerk most of the time, but once you crack through that tough shell of his... you’ll see. He’s got this soft side to him. It’s kinda funny, actually.”

You stare at the mirror in front of you, the irony of Felix’s words sinking in. "Really? I didn’t realize Jisung had a ‘soft side’," you respond dryly, your voice laced with sarcasm. "I think I missed that memo."

Felix chuckles, his hands moving to untangle a particularly stubborn knot in your hair. "Trust me," he says with a teasing smile, "You’ll see it eventually. It’s like... a little reward for putting up with his crap." He continues brushing your hair, his fingers gentle. "I mean, once he lets you in... I think you'll realize he’s just trying to protect himself in his own messed-up way. He's not as bad as he pretends to be."

You lean back slightly, trying to relax into the feeling of his hands in your hair. It’s soothing, but Felix’s words are still on your mind. "And what about you?" you ask, trying to shift the focus a little, even though part of you is curious about Jisung’s ‘soft side.’ “What’s your ‘soft side’ like, Felix?”

He pauses mid-brush, his fingers lingering for a moment before continuing. There’s a playful but serious glint in his eyes when he looks up at you through the mirror. "Me? Well, I’m pretty sweet, aren’t I?" His voice is teasing, but there’s an undertone that’s almost... possessive, though he tries to keep it light.

You can’t help but laugh, your own sarcasm making an appearance. “Sweet? Sure, if you consider  everything about you sweet—until you get moody, of course.”

Felix pouts dramatically, pretending to be hurt by your comment. "I’m sweet all the time!" he protests, but the grin on his face betrays him. "Just because I have a little... self importence streak, doesn’t mean I’m not a good guy."

You tilt your head, watching his reflection. "You don’t hide it very well, you know. It’s pretty obvious when you get into one of those moods."

Felix chuckles softly, the sound warm and easy. "Maybe, but I’m still sweet. You’re just not used to my... charms, Y/N." His voice drops a little, almost softer now, but still playful. "Besides, you’d really know if I wasn’t sweet. Trust me."

The air between you both shifts for a moment, the mood light and comfortable, but there’s something more beneath the surface that neither of you is fully acknowledging. You can feel it, the connection between the two of you, the way Felix’s touch lingers in your hair, the way his words hang between you both.

“I guess I’m lucky, then,” you say, your voice quieter now, but still teasing. “I don’t get the ‘narcissistic’ version of you. Just the... ‘sweet’ Felix.”

Felix smiles softly, his fingers brushing through your hair one last time as he finishes detangling it. "Lucky for you," he says, his voice softer than before, almost tender. “But, you know, I’m always here if you need anything. Sweet or not."

You nod, your eyes meeting his in the mirror. There's something warm in his gaze, something genuine, but it doesn’t quite reach the depth you’re used to from the others. It’s different, softer in a way you’ve started to appreciate.

"Thanks, Felix," you say, genuinely this time. You don’t know what to make of the complicated emotions swirling around you, but for the moment, you’re grateful for his touch, for his presence. It's a small comfort in this place that feels so overwhelming.

Felix's smile widens, his earlier playfulness returning. "Of course. And hey," he adds with a teasing wink, "If you ever need a partner in crime, I’m your guy. Just... don’t go making me angry. That’s when the real fun begins."

You roll your eyes at him, though you can’t help but smile back. "I’ll keep that in mind."

Felix lets out a small, contented sigh, brushing the last of your hair into place. “Good. You better. Now, how do you feel about some snacks to go with that sweet, calm Felix energy?”

You raise an eyebrow, but before you can respond, you feel the familiar pull of a smile tugging at your lips. Despite everything, this moment—this small, soft interaction—is a fleeting but rare comfort and you were now smart enough to know that this was all fake and that the real Felix... was nothing like this version he created to draw you in.

The room is dimly lit, the faintest glow from the low-hanging ceiling lights casting soft shadows along the walls. You’re nestled against Seungmin on his bed, your head resting on his chest, the familiar, steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your ear. It used to comfort you, these moments of quiet. You would curl into him and let yourself breathe, feeling safe in his silence, the warmth of his body a steady, unspoken reassurance that you were, for once, allowed to rest.

But now, every second of it feels like a lie.

You shift slightly, pulling away just enough to glance at Seungmin's face, his eyes half-closed, the soft curve of his lips drawn in a neutral, almost blank expression. The absence of words, the lack of communication—his selective mutism making it impossible for him to speak his mind—it should’ve been comforting. In another life, another version of yourself, you might’ve relished it. But now, knowing what you know about him, about how he played his role in all of this, it feels suffocating.

Every touch, every stolen kiss, every night spent curled up against him—it all feels fake. The intimacy was never real. You were just another thing for them to control, another game to play. And Seungmin, sweet Seungmin, was no different.

He’s still holding you close, his arms wrapped around your shoulders loosely, but the comfort you once sought from him is slipping through your fingers like sand. You swallow hard, trying to push down the rising tide of frustration, but it’s impossible not to feel it now—the creeping sense that everything you’ve experienced here has been manipulated, twisted into something you never asked for.

You try to breathe, to calm yourself, but it doesn’t help.

Seungmin shifts beside you, and despite the lack of words, his actions seem to scream louder than anything he could’ve said. He pushes you slightly, guiding you back to lay against his chest, his hand sliding over your hair in that familiar, soothing motion. But there’s a tension in his touch now, an undercurrent of something more intense, something raw. His fingers, usually so gentle, are almost forceful, gripping your hair just a little too tightly, and you’re not sure if it’s an accident or if he’s trying to hold onto something that’s slipping away, too.

You close your eyes, trying to shut out the thoughts that are swirling in your mind, but his next words hit you like a punch. His voice is barely above a whisper, the words strained, the frustration in his tone unmistakable, even though he doesn’t speak them out loud.

"Chan..." he mumbles, the name soft but heavy with meaning. "He... He won’t let me—"

His words falter, and you can almost feel the weight of them pressing down on him, the frustration building up in his chest. Seungmin has always been silent, his selective mutism keeping him from speaking, but it’s clear now that the frustration with his inability to express himself is bubbling over.

Seungmin shifts again, his grip tightening around you for a moment before he pulls away slightly, as if he needs a little more space, but not enough to let go. The tension in his body is palpable, his every movement betraying his inner turmoil.

“He’s controlling everything,” Seungmin mutters, barely audible, his voice shaking with the weight of his unspoken thoughts. "Every... every little thing. Even now, with you..."

You feel your heart drop at the words, the rawness of his confession cutting through you like a knife. You want to say something, to reassure him, but you can’t. The truth is, you don’t know what to say anymore.

You thought that maybe, just maybe, Seungmin could’ve been a safe space for you—someone who wouldn’t be part of the mess here, someone who wasn’t trying to manipulate you. But now, the cracks in that illusion are so obvious, you can’t ignore them.

He shifts again, moving closer, and this time, it’s almost as if he’s trying to cling to you, to find some way to make sense of everything. His fingers brush against your cheek, his touch almost too gentle now, as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he holds on too tightly.

“I don’t want to be like him,” Seungmin whispers, his voice raw, barely a breath. “I don’t want to control you like... like Chan does.”

You can hear the guilt in his voice, the regret, and it makes something twist painfully in your chest. The man who once held you like you were the most precious thing in the world is now the one who’s struggling to keep his own grip on reality, torn between his feelings for you and the realization that he's been just another pawn in this twisted game.

His words sink in, and despite the anger and hurt you feel, you want to reach out, to comfort him. You want to tell him that he can still be different—that you can still salvage something between you. But you can’t bring yourself to speak, because the truth is, you don’t know what you’re holding onto anymore.

“Seungmin, you…” you start, your voice shaking, but you stop. You can’t find the words that would make any of this make sense. There’s no simple way to explain what you’re feeling, no way to separate the love you thought you had for him from the manipulative reality that’s been forced upon you by everyone here.

He looks at you then, his eyes searching yours, and even though he can’t speak, the weight of what he wants to say hangs in the air. His fingers trail across your cheek, almost desperately, as though trying to find a way to make things right between you.

“I never wanted to hurt you," he says softly, but there’s something in his eyes now—something that almost seems defeated. He doesn’t need to say more. You can feel it in his touch, in the way he’s holding you, the way he’s trying so hard to make up for all the times he failed to protect you from Chan, from the others.

But in the end, it doesn’t change what you know now. It doesn’t change that everything between you feels tainted. The comfort you once sought in his embrace now feels hollow, the warmth fake. The intimacy, too... it's as if everything you thought was real has unraveled, thread by thread.

You close your eyes, unable to hold the tears back anymore, the weight of it all crashing over you. Seungmin doesn’t speak again, but his presence feels heavier now, as if the silence between you both has grown too thick to breathe through.

You pull yourself further into the corner of the bed, trying to distance yourself from Seungmin, though you know it’s futile. His presence is all-encompassing, a silent force that you can’t ignore. His fingers are still gently brushing through your hair, but there's a heaviness in his touch now, a weight you can’t quite shake. You can’t bring yourself to meet his eyes, so instead, you stare at the blanket beneath you, trying to ignore the suffocating feeling rising in your chest.

It’s hard to think of him the way you once did. The man who used to comfort you with nothing more than a quiet presence, a soft touch. Now, every memory of him is tainted, every smile he gave you now feels forced, every gesture seems laced with something darker than affection. You can’t escape it—the way his hands had once turned violent when words failed him.

You remember the first time he did it, and it still haunts you. You were sitting in the lounge, just talking. It was a casual conversation, as light as any other.

You hadn’t noticed the tension building in Seungmin until it was too late. He had been quiet for a while, his eyes unfocused, his jaw clenched. You were teasing him playfully, trying to get a reaction, when suddenly, his hand shot out, grabbing you by the throat. His fingers dug into your skin, choking the air out of your lungs, and his eyes—those eyes, usually so calm—were burning with frustration, something you couldn’t quite understand.

You struggled beneath him, gasping for air, the force of his grip suffocating you. He didn’t say anything, and yet, everything he felt was in the pressure of his hand around your neck.

The silent rage he couldn’t release with words poured into that moment, and for the first time, you saw the man you thought you understood slip into something else. He released you quickly, his face paling, and he tried to apologize without saying a word, his hands shaking in the air, begging for forgiveness without uttering a single sound.

But it didn’t stop there. Over time, there were more incidents—brief, sudden, moments when his silence became too much for him, when his frustrations, his inability to communicate, turned into aggression.

You learned to anticipate it, the way his eyes would harden, the way his posture would shift, the way his hands would twitch as if they wanted to grab something. You hated the way you learned to brace yourself, how you found yourself holding your breath whenever he got too quiet, fearing the moment when his silence would break.

And still, you stayed. You let him hold you, let him pull you close, trying to convince yourself that the softness you felt was real, that the comfort he gave you was genuine. But it wasn’t. It couldn’t be. Not when his touch felt as though it had the potential to hurt you just as easily as it could comfort you.

You try to push the memories away, but they flood back in waves, relentless and suffocating. The strangling incidents—the way he would grab your wrist too tightly when he couldn’t express his frustration with words.

How, sometimes, when the tension built, he would pull you close in a way that wasn’t protective, but possessive, as though he needed to keep you there just to make sure you wouldn’t escape the anger that churned inside him.

It all starts to feel like one big lie.

Seungmin still doesn’t say anything, but you can feel the tension between you both, the quiet desperation in his touch. He tries to soothe you, brushing your hair back from your face, but the tenderness feels hollow now.

It isn’t the soft touch it used to be. It’s a reminder of everything you’ve been through here, of the lies you’ve been fed, of the manipulation and control that runs through every interaction you’ve had with the people in this place.

You finally pull away from him, unable to stay still under his touch any longer. He doesn’t force it. He doesn’t try to stop you, but the hurt in his eyes is palpable, and for the first time, you wonder if he even understands how much he’s hurt you. He’s silent, as always, his gaze dropping to the bed between you both.

The only sound in the room is your shallow breathing and the distant hum of the building, everything else drowned out by the weight of unspoken words.

“I never wanted this,” he whispers finally, the first words he’s said in a while, though they’re barely a breath. It’s like he’s talking to himself, not you, and the guilt in his voice almost breaks you. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

You don’t know how to respond. Part of you wants to tell him that it’s too late for apologies, that the damage has already been done, but another part of you—one that’s still holding onto the past, still hoping for some semblance of the man you thought you knew—wants to reach out, to comfort him the way you used to. But you can’t. You can’t go back to what it was.

Because you know, deep down, that even if he means those words, they don’t erase the fear, the hurt, the control. And the truth is, you’re not sure if you can forgive him for it. For all the times he quietly hurt you when you weren’t looking, for all the moments you felt trapped in his silence, unable to escape from the pressure he placed on you without ever saying a word.

The silence stretches out again, and you can feel it suffocating you, choking you with its weight. You want to speak, to say something—anything—but the words won’t come. You’re not sure they ever will. Instead, you turn away from him, your body aching with the unspoken emotions that swirl between you both, too tangled to unravel.

And as you lie there, still and silent, you wonder if you’ll ever be able to escape this place, escape him. Or if, like everything else here, you’ll be stuck in this twisted, suffocating web for far longer than you ever wanted to be.

You can hear the soft footsteps echoing down the hallway, and for a moment, you think it’s just another one of those games they always play here at Stayzone. A little hide-and-seek, a distraction from the chaos that surrounds you. You’ve played along before, finding solace in the simplicity of it, the chance to forget what’s really happening. But this time, there’s something off. Something that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, a chill creeping up your spine.

You crouch down behind one of the old, rusted lockers in a forgotten corner of the second-floor hallway, your breath shallow as you strain to listen. The footsteps are closer now, slow and deliberate. Then, the familiar voice of Jeongin echoes from the distance, calling your name with that trademark flirty, sarcastic edge.

“Y/nnie, where are you hiding? Don’t tell me you’re scared of little ol’ me.”

You almost let out a breath of relief, thinking it’s just Jeongin, his usual teasing self. But then, you hear a soft metallic clink—the sound of a knife’s blade lightly tapping against the floor. Your heart stops. That wasn’t part of the game.

You barely breathe, pressing yourself further into the corner, praying he doesn’t hear the sharp intake of air. It’s silent for a moment, but then, the voice changes—subtle, but enough to make your pulse quicken.

“You think you can hide from me, Y/n? Do you even understand what I can do?” The words come from somewhere darker, colder. This isn’t Jeongin anymore. It's I.N.

You’ve heard the stories. His second personality. I.N. has a way of slipping into Jeongin’s skin, and when that happens, everything shifts. The playful flirtation turns into something twisted, something far more dangerous. You swallow hard, your mind racing.

“Where are you hiding, princess?” I.N.’s voice is smoother now, almost too calm. “You know, it’s not nice to play games without following the rules.”

You can hear him move closer, the sound of his boots brushing against the floor, his footsteps a little too calculated, a little too deliberate. The knife tap on the ground is almost rhythmic now, each sound like a countdown.

“Come out,” I.N. says, and you can feel the threat in his words, even if his tone remains soft, almost hypnotic. “Or I’ll come find you. And trust me, you won’t like what happens next.”

Your heart hammers in your chest as you glance around, searching for an escape, but the walls feel like they’re closing in. There’s nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide.

Suddenly, the atmosphere shifts again, and the voice softens, more childlike, almost pitiful. You almost don’t recognize the change.

“Y/nnie?” It’s Innie now, the youngest personality, the one you’ve always felt sympathy for. “Please, I don’t want to play anymore. Can we just... can we just be friends again? I don’t want to hurt you.”

You can hear his voice crack, his vulnerability raw, like a wounded child who never had the chance to heal. The knife seems to still in his hand, and for a moment, you almost think that maybe, just maybe, you can talk him down, make him see reason. But you know better than to trust Innie’s innocence. He’s still dangerous, even if he sounds like a scared little boy.

You don’t say anything, frozen in place, trying to decide if you should respond. The tension is unbearable.

Innie’s voice trembles again. “I’m... I’m sorry. I just wanted to be good, like you said, Y/n. But... but they all make me hurt people. I don’t want to hurt you.”

You feel your chest tighten. You know Innie is just a fragment of Jeongin, the lost part of him trying to break free from the control of the other personalities, but even so, there’s a sense of danger lingering in the air. He’s still holding the knife, and you know it only takes a small push for him to snap.

“Don’t be afraid, Innie,” you finally whisper, trying to sound calm, to reassure him. “You don’t have to do this. I know you don’t want to hurt anyone.”

Innie pauses, the tension hanging between you like a razor-thin thread. Then, with a soft sniffle, his voice drops lower. “You promise?” His words are almost too quiet to hear. “I don’t want to be bad. I just... I just don’t know how to stop.”

Before you can answer, a sharp, mocking laugh cuts through the silence. It's Jeongin’s voice now, the original one. He’s back, and this time, there’s no mistaking his tone—sly, sarcastic, and dangerously amused.

“Look at you, Y/n-ah,” Jeongin says, his voice dripping with amusement. “You think you can save him? You think you can handle all of me?” His laugh grows darker. “You’re a fool if you think you’re safe here.”

You don’t move. You can feel his presence just beyond the corner, and you know he's watching you—waiting for a response. The knife in his hand is no longer just a weapon. It’s a symbol of control, of dominance.

“You’re mine, Y/n,” Jeongin continues, his voice almost seductive now. “You’re mine to play with. And if you think you can escape me, you’re sadly mistaken.”

You can feel the weight of his words pressing down on you. Your heart races, but you force yourself to stay calm. You need to think, to survive this. You’ve survived every other game they’ve played with you. This won’t be the one that breaks you.

Innie’s voice slips back in, fragile and small, the contrast so jarring. “Please... please don’t leave me,” he whispers. “I just want to be... loved.”

The knife shakes slightly in his grip, and you take a slow breath, trying to find your center. You can’t let fear overtake you. Not now. Not when you need to stay in control more than ever.

You take a step forward, not daring to look at the knife yet, but keeping your voice steady.

“I’m not going anywhere, Innie,” you say softly. “But I need you to listen to me, okay? We can talk this through. You don’t need to hurt me. You don’t need to hurt anyone.”

The silence that follows feels deafening. Then, with a shuddering sigh, the knife drops to the ground with a soft clatter.

“I just want to be good,” Innie whispers again, his voice trembling with the weight of his emotions. “I don’t know how anymore.”

Jeongin’s laugh rings in your ears again, but it’s quieter now, more distant, like he’s slipping back into the recesses of his mind, retreating into the shadows.

“You’ll never be good enough for me,” Jeongin mutters, his voice almost a growl. “But Innie’s not so bad, is he? Maybe you should stay with him, Y/n. He’s the one who wants to protect you.”

But you know better. You know that all of them—Jeongin, I.N., Innie—they are still one. They all want control. They all want something from you.

And as you stare into the darkness, you can’t help but wonder how long you’ll be able to survive in a place where everyone wants a piece of you, but none of them are ever satisfied.

So that's how you found yourself running.

Entry number wripped outNam Y/n00/00/000

You froze. The shock coursed through your body, seizing your muscles, rendering you immobile. Your gaze dropped, a sickening realization creeping up your spine as you stared at the blood pooling beneath your feet. It was thick, dark, and sticky. The sight of it made your stomach churn, but what struck you the most was the calmness that seemed to bleed from the man sitting in front of you.

He lifted his head slowly, a grin stretching wide across his face, jagged and terrifying, like it belonged to a predator about to savor its catch.

"J-jeongin..." you gasped, your voice barely a whisper, trembling from the dread crawling its way up your throat. You wanted to move, to run, to get the hell out of there, but your legs felt like they were made of stone. You were rooted to the floor, paralyzed by fear, too terrified to even reach out, too terrified to even breathe too loudly.

Jeongin, bound to the chair, looked at you with an expression that made your blood run cold. His grin stretched impossibly wide, eyes glinting with something dark. It was a look you had seen before, but not like this. No, this was something new. Something more dangerous.

"Ya... you're really stupid, Y/N-ah," he laughed, his voice a mocking, rasping sound that didn’t belong to any sort of humor. The laugh itself was chilling, hollow, and full of malice. You felt the cold sweat break out on your skin as his eyes never left you, following your every movement. You wanted to bolt. You needed to bolt. Every fiber in your body screamed for you to run, but your feet were cemented to the ground. It wasn’t just fear; something, or someone, had their arms wrapped tightly around your waist, anchoring you in place.

You didn’t need to look down to know whose arms they were. The heat that radiated from the muscular arms around you burned through your thin clothing, seeping into your skin, and the pressure was suffocating.

Jeongin’s laugh echoed in the room again, louder this time, as more blood dripped from his mouth. He seemed to take no notice of it, or maybe he reveled in the violence of it. The sight of him, with his multiple scars—some fresh, some old, some looking self-inflicted, others much worse—made your stomach twist. He looked like a man broken, torn apart by his own demons. But what made it all the more horrifying was that you couldn’t look away. You were forced to watch as he shifted in the chair, the blade lodged deep into his side, its hilt barely visible, blood oozing from the wound.

You should’ve been disgusted, terrified beyond reason, but all you could do was stand there, frozen, as his eyes gleamed at you.

"Hyungie," came the choked voice of someone behind you, a mocking chuckle barely escaping their lips. "She looks so... scared."

A hot breath ghosted against the nape of your neck, and a cold shiver ran down your spine. Your skin prickled as his lips brushed the sensitive spot, and you barely held back a gasp as he whispered against your ear, his voice low, dark, and dangerous.

"Are you scared?" he purred, his breath sending waves of dread through your body. His voice was like velvet laced with poison, and every word made your heart race faster, each beat like a countdown to your inevitable end.

A part of you wanted to scream, to run away, but the fear was too thick, too overwhelming. The grip around your waist tightened. The fingers digging into your side felt like chains, each one a reminder that escape was impossible. Your thoughts scattered, desperate, but the truth clawed its way to the surface.

You should’ve listened to Lily. You should’ve listened to Chan. You should’ve stayed away from all of them. But now, here you were, trapped in their game, unable to stop it.

As the breath of the man behind you tickled your skin, the panic swelled in your chest. It wasn’t just the thought of death that terrified you. It was the realization that it wasn’t just death you were running from. No, it was them It was everything they’d done to you, everything they’d made you into. And there was no way out.

A strangled whimper left your lips as you felt his tongue, hot and unsettling, slide against your neck. You felt sick, but the laughter that followed sent a ripple of cold dread across your body. It wasn’t funny. It wasn’t amusing. He was feeding off your fear, savoring it, and you realized—he enjoyed this more than anything else. Out of all of them, Jeongin was going to be your end.

Out of all the twisted games they played, he was the one who was going to break you first.

“Y/n,” his voice was a whisper now, barely audible, but the command was clear. “When I let go…” he paused, his breath coming even slower, deeper, and it sent a shiver crawling up your spine. “…run.”

Before you could even process what was happening, his arms were gone. You didn’t have time to think, didn’t have time to question why or how. The second his grip loosened, you bolted, your heart hammering in your chest, a surge of adrenaline pushing you forward.

You didn’t look back. You didn’t dare to. You just ran.

The door swung open as you raced down the hallway, your feet slapping against the cold, hard floor. The sounds of your footsteps echoed, each one a reminder that you were not safe yet. Not by a long shot.

And then, you heard it.

A voice—Chan’s voice—cut through the air, clear as day, sharp and mocking.

“When we catch you, don’t bother begging,” he called, amusement dripping from his tone. “It just turns them on even more!”

You could almost hear the smirk in his voice. You didn’t stop. You couldn’t. You had to keep running.

Your mind was a blur, each footfall taking you further away from them, down one hallway after another, past endless doors. Down the flights of stairs that seemed to stretch into infinity, until your legs burned and your breath became ragged. But even with the sharp ache in your body, something—something—made you smile.

The numbers on the floor kept counting down.

And that, more than anything, made your heart race.