The car slowed before it stopped.
Bobae tightened her grip on the handle of her suitcase as the driver stepped out, opened her door, and gestured wordlessly toward the gate. She nodded, murmured a quiet thank-you, and stepped onto the gravel.
The sound of the car pulling away came too fast.
She stood there for a moment, watching the dust settle, feeling strangely abandoned—like luggage delivered to the wrong address but never reclaimed.
The west estate was older. Not grand in the way the main house was, but sprawling and tired. The buildings leaned into one another like they'd learned to survive by sharing weight. Windows were smaller. Walls less polished. Everything looked… functional.
Necessary.
A woman in a plain uniform approached her, clipboard in hand. Her expression was neutral, practiced.
"Bobae," she said, checking the name. "Follow me.
Bobae followed.
As they walked, Bobae noticed how different this place felt. The air smelled of detergent and ironed fabric instead of perfume. Footsteps echoed sharply. Conversations stopped when she passed—not because people were curious, but because they didn't care enough to continue.
She had become invisible.
"This is your building," the supervisor said, stopping in front of a narrow staircase. "Third floor. Room seven."
Bobae bowed instinctively. "Yes, ma'am."
The woman paused, then added quietly, "Keep to your duties. Don't wander."
Bobae nodded again. She always nodded.
Her room was small.
One narrow bed pressed against the wall. A metal wardrobe with a dented door. A desk barely wide enough for her suitcase. The window was high and narrow, letting in a thin slice of gray light.
Bobae closed the door behind her.
The sound was final.
She set her suitcase down carefully, as if rough movement might break something fragile inside her. She sat on the edge of the bed, hands folded in her lap, breathing slowly.
This wasn't punishment.
It was removal.
She thought of the mansion, the quiet corridors, the room she used to clean, the place she had been even when she wished she hadn't been.
Her chest tightened.
"I didn't do anything wrong," she whispered, though no one was there to hear it.
She lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. It was cracked in one corner. Old. Unforgiving.
Yet still standing.
Bobae swallowed hard.
If this place was meant to make her smaller, quieter, easier to forget—
She would endure it.
She always had.
Bobae stood up and came out of her room, she was still learning the rhythm of the west estate.
Which doors creaked loudly enough to warn you not to linger.
She kept her head down, just as she'd been told.
That was why she almost didn't notice the man sitting on the steps near the service corridor—until she nearly walked into him.
"Oh—" Bobae stopped short.
"I'm sorry," the man said quickly, standing up.
His voice wasn't sharp. Not commanding. Just surprised.
Bobae bowed instinctively. "It's my fault. I wasn't looking."
The man blinked. Then frowned—not at her, but at the way she bowed.
"You don't need to do that," he said gently.
Bobae straightened, confused.
He looked out of place here. Not dressed like staff. No uniform. His clothes were simple but well-kept, his sleeves rolled up, hair slightly disheveled like he'd been working with his hands.
"You're new," he said, observing.
"Yes," Bobae replied. "I was reassigned this morning."
"Ah." Something passed through his eyes. Understanding. "West estate usually gets the ones no one wants to look at too closely."
Bobae stiffened.
"I didn't mean that badly," he added quickly. "I meant… people come here when things get complicated."
She hesitated, then nodded. "That sounds right."
He smiled faintly. "I'm Taeyun."
She blinked. "You're… not staff."
"No," he said. "I work on the grounds. Maintenance. I fix what breaks."
There was something about the way he said it—like it wasn't just a job description.
"I'm Bobae."
"Welcome, Bobae," Taeyun said. "Not to scare you, but this place can feel heavy at first."
"It already does," she admitted before she could stop herself.
Taeyun studied her quietly, With care.
"You don't belong to this place," he said finally.
Bobae felt her throat tighten. "Everyone belongs somewhere," she replied softly.
He shook his head. "No. Some people are just… passing through."
For the first time since arriving, Bobae felt recognition shift .
Taeyun stepped aside, clearing the path. "If you ever need help—actual help—find me near the greenhouse."
Bobae nodded, holding onto the words like something fragile.
As she walked away, she didn't look back.
But for the first time since being reassigned, the west estate didn't feel quite as Silent.