Night settled differently here.
Not softly. Not quietly.
It pressed in.
I lay on the narrow bed, staring at the ceiling, its dull surface broken by faint cracks and uneven shadows. The light above buzzed faintly, an exhausted hum that never quite stopped. Every few seconds it flickered—just enough to remind me I wasn't alone, even when I was.
My mind wouldn't let go.
The cafeteria replayed itself again and again, like a loop I couldn't shut off. The sharp sound of the tray hitting the floor. The way conversation died instantly. How silence spread faster than fear ever could.
And Miran.
My jaw tightened.
What bothered me wasn't what he did.
It was what I didn't.
I should've stepped in.
The thought lodged itself deep in my chest, heavy and sour. I could still feel it—my body already shifting forward, instinct taking control before thought could catch up—
Then Peter's hand. Firm. Unyielding.
Don't, his voice had warned. Low. Urgent.
Not him.
If he hadn't stopped me, the scene would've ended differently. I didn't know how—but I knew it wouldn't have stayed one-sided.
That realization didn't comfort me.
It unsettled me.
I turned onto my side. The mattress creaked softly beneath my weight, thin and unforgiving. The room was small. Too small. Concrete walls. No window. No sense of time. Just a tight, controlled space designed to keep you aware of every breath you took.
I missed Korea.
Not the noise. Not the crowds.
Just space.
The way air felt when it wasn't measured. When walls didn't slowly close in on you. This room wasn't just tight—it was suffocating, like it existed to remind you how easily freedom could be taken.
Still—
Even this room felt less oppressive than the memory of Miran's eyes.
Cold. Focused. Watching.
I exhaled slowly, forcing my thoughts down one by one, locking them away where they couldn't spiral further. Tomorrow wouldn't be easy. Training never was. Whatever came next would demand clarity—not regret.
Sleep, I told myself.
Just rest.
The light hummed.
The silence stretched.
And just as my breathing began to slow—
I felt it again.
Not a sound.
Not movement.
Just the unmistakable awareness of being seen.
My eyes opened.
I couldn't keep them closed.
No matter how still I lay, my thoughts refused to settle. The room felt tighter with every breath, the silence pressing against my ears until it became unbearable.
Maybe a walk, I thought.
Just enough to clear my head.
I pushed myself up and slipped out quietly, the door closing behind me with a muted click.
The hallways were dim at night—long stretches of metal and concrete, lights spaced too far apart, shadows pooling thick in the corners. My footsteps echoed softly as I walked, instinctively careful, like the building itself might react if I moved too loudly.
It felt different without voices.
Emptier.
Like it was watching me instead of the other way around.
I traced the structure as I walked—intersections, stairwells, sealed doors. Habit. Instinct. Mapping escape routes even when escape didn't exist.
Then—
A sound.
Low. Faint. Almost out of place.
I slowed.
That's strange, I thought. Is someone else awake too?
Curiosity pulled me forward before caution could stop it.
I followed the sound down a narrow side corridor, footsteps quieter now. And then—before I could correct my path—
I turned the corner and walked straight into them.
Two figures.
Too close.
Kissing.
I froze for half a second before my mind caught up. Wrong place. Wrong time. I shifted back immediately, already stepping away, trying to vanish before they noticed me.
Too late.
Two pairs of eyes lifted.
A girl—startled, breath uneven.
And a man.
Miran.
It wasn't the intimacy that unsettled me. I'd seen worse. Done worse. That wasn't the problem.
It was the way he looked at me.
No embarrassment.
No irritation.
No urgency to pull away.
Just his eyes—sharp, steady—locking onto mine.
Like he'd been expecting me.
A chill slid down my spine, slow and unwelcome.
Was that deliberate?
Or am I just imagining things?
I didn't wait for an answer.
I turned away quickly, forcing my pace to stay controlled, even as my instincts screamed to move faster. I didn't look back.
I didn't need to.
"What a creepy man," I muttered under my breath, trying to shake the feeling crawling up my skin.
I told myself it meant nothing.
That it was coincidence.
That it was just another sleepless night in a place full of strangers.
Still—
Long after I returned to my room, long after the door sealed shut behind me—
The memory of those eyes stayed with me.
Watching.