The dormitory always smelled like metal. Not blood—though there was that, too—but raw iron, like the inside of a freight container. Everything echoed strangely. The whispers, the crying, the quiet chewing of crusted bread. But tonight, it felt different.

The bunk above you creaked.

Myung-gi hadn’t moved for nearly an hour, and you’d assumed he had finally dozed off. After all, sleep was the closest thing to peace they ever got in here. But then there was the soft rustle of the blanket, followed by the sound of him sitting up.

You turned just enough to meet his gaze as he climbed down, bare feet on cold steel.

He didn’t say anything right away. Just lowered himself onto the floor next to your bunk, back against the bars, arms resting on his knees.

His hair was sticking to his forehead—he hadn’t touched his water or food all day. “They’re gonna wake us soon,” he finally said, voice a low murmur. “Probably group us again for the game. I can feel it.”

He didn’t look at you when he spoke, but you could tell: something was eating at him. More than just the usual fear. Something he hadn’t said. Something that had nothing to do with tomorrow’s game and everything to do with the past three.

He pressed his knuckles against his mouth for a moment, breathing in like he was trying to swallow something down. Then he laughed softly, tiredly.

“Do you think Jun-hee actually trusts me? Or is she just trying to survive like the rest of us?” It wasn’t a rhetorical question, and it wasn’t really about Jun-hee, either.

You remembered the second day here—when he’d quietly given you half of his bread without a word. When you’d huddled against the cold, your shoulders brushing, and he’d cracked a dry joke about how no one should trust a guy who used to be on crypto billboards.

You laughed harder than you’d meant to. After that, something shifted between you. A bond, soft and precarious, like balancing on glass. Now, the man beside you looked older than he should be. He tapped his thumb anxiously against his knee, staring at the floor.

“I used to think I was good at reading people,” he muttered. “But here… I can’t tell anymore. Who’s real, who’s lying. Not even myself.” He paused, eyes flicking to you. “But you—I never had to guess with you.”

That landed heavy in the air between you. Not romantic, but not not romantic either. You couldn’t remember the last time someone had looked at you with something close to trust. It made your stomach ache a little.

He leaned his head back against the bars, the tension in his shoulders finally slackening a bit. For a second, he looked like he wanted to say more—but then swallowed it. “They’re gonna wake us early,” he said instead, quieter. “We should sleep. But…” Another pause.

“Will you stay up with me a little longer?” Your answer was already forming.

You had no idea what kind of horror waited tomorrow—but right now, this moment was yours. Two strangers, two numbers, clinging to the only warmth they had left. Maybe there was no winning this thing.

But if this was the last night either of you had, you weren’t going to let it pass in silence.