POV: Jun-ho
I saw him because I wasn't supposed to be awake yet.
That was the only reason. Morning on the island had a rhythm by now—late risers, slow breakfasts, staff patrols that followed the same loops like clockwork. Most students slept in after the previous day's beach trip, bodies heavy and satisfied.
I'd woken early anyway.
Habit.
I stood near the dorm balcony, brushing my teeth with one hand while watching the campus wake up below. The sky was pale, the sun still low enough to cast long shadows that stretched like fingers across the concrete paths.
That's when I noticed the staff member.
He wasn't part of the usual morning rotation. He moved fast, head down, jacket half-zipped despite the warmth. He cut across the open lawn instead of following the paved path, shoes dark with dew.
When he reached the edge of the campus, he slowed, glanced over his shoulder once, and slipped through a service gate marked RESTRICTED.
The gate closed behind him with a soft metallic click. I froze, toothbrush still in my mouth. That gate had been locked every time I'd passed it. Always watched. Always reinforced by two signs and a camera angled down like an unblinking eye.
The camera was still there.
It didn't move.
I spat into the sink and leaned closer to the balcony rail, eyes tracking the tree line beyond the fence. The staff member vanished into the forest, swallowed by shadow and leaves.
No radio chatter followed. No alarm. No reaction.
Just…gone.
A chill slid down my spine, slow and unwelcome.
Maybe it's maintenance, I told myself. I didn't believe it.
—
The unease stayed with me through the morning.
It clung like damp clothing, no matter how much I tried to ignore it. Even as we gathered a small group to head toward the coastal cliffs—a sanctioned trail, marked and approved—I couldn't stop scanning my surroundings.
Ara walked beside me, quiet as usual.
The path wound upward through low brush and jagged stone, the sea visible in flashes through breaks in the foliage. Wind whipped harder here, carrying the scent of salt and something sharper underneath.
"Your shoulders are tense." Ara said without looking at me. I blinked. "They are?"
"Yes."
"Guess I didn't sleep as well as I thought." I exhaled and forced myself to relax. She hummed softly, unconvinced. We reached a lookout where the land dropped away sharply, cliffs plunging into churning blue. Waves smashed against the rock far below, sending mist up in brief, violent bursts.
Beautiful.
Lethal.
Ara stepped closer to the edge than most people would have dared, boots planted firmly, stance balanced. She looked completely at ease.
"People like edges. They think it makes them feel free." She said suddenly. "And you?" I asked. "I like knowing where the edge is. So I don't cross it by accident." She replied. I thought of the staff member slipping through the restricted gate. "Yeah. That makes sense." I said quietly.
She glanced at me then, sharp and searching. "You saw something."
It wasn't a question.
I hesitated.
This was the part I struggled with—deciding when concern became burden. When speaking up helped versus when it just spread unease.
"I might be wrong. But I don't think everything here is as controlled as they want us to believe." I said carefully. Ara nodded once. No disbelief. No panic. "Jisoo feels it too. He just doesn't know how to make people listen." She said.
I followed her gaze down the path, where Minjae was loudly recounting yesterday's wrestling match to a couple of students who'd already heard it three times. He was laughing. Alive. Unconcerned.
For a moment, I envied that.
—
Minjae didn't take Jisoo seriously at lunch either.
"You're acting like we're in a horror movie. Next, you'll tell me the island's cursed." Minjae said around a mouthful of rice. "I'm not saying that. I'm saying the staff behavior doesn't line up with what they're telling us." Jisoo replied, trying to keep his voice level.
"So? Adults lie. News at eleven." Minjae shrugged. I watched Jisoo's shoulders slump slightly. "Minjae, he's not saying panic. He's saying awareness." I said.
Minjae looked at me, surprised. "Wow. You too? What is this, a conspiracy club?" He grinned. I didn't smile back.
"Just…be careful." Jisoo said quietly. Minjae softened, just a bit. "Hey. I am careful. I haven't drowned since yesterday, have I?" That earned a few laughs. The moment passed. But the feeling didn't.
—
That afternoon, I found myself hovering closer to the younger students than usual. Walking them back from activities. Making sure no one wandered off alone. It wasn't something I consciously decided—it just happened. Protective instincts were strange like that.
They didn't ask permission.
I remembered my cousin, small hand gripping mine too tightly whenever we crossed a street. How I'd adjusted my stride automatically, without thinking, to keep him half a step behind me instead of ahead.
I hadn't known why I did it then.
I did now.
Fear wasn't always loud. Sometimes it was quiet, precise, and patient. Sometimes it told you to stay alert even when everyone else was laughing.
—
Night came heavier than before.
Clouds rolled in from the sea, blotting out the stars. The wind rattled the dorm windows with uneven force, making the building creak like it was adjusting its spine. We were almost asleep when the first bang echoed outside. It was distant. Hollow.
Metal striking metal.
I sat up instantly.
Another bang followed. Closer this time. "What the hell was that?" Minjae muttered. "Construction?" Someone offered weakly. But there was no rhythm to it. No pattern. Just impact.
Then silence.
We waited.
A third bang shattered it, loud enough to vibrate the window. Jisoo swung his legs off the bed, face pale. "That's not animals." I moved to the window, heart pounding. Outside, darkness swallowed everything beyond the nearest lamppost. Trees bent and swayed, shadows colliding and breaking apart.
No movement.
No staff.
Just the echo of something heavy being struck against something else.
"Jun-ho." Jisoo whispered behind me. I turned. His eyes were wide, fixed on the dark. "Something's wrong. I can feel it." He said. So could I. And for the first time since arriving on the island, I stopped trying to convince myself otherwise.