You wake up to movement.

Not loud. Just small sounds. Scratching. Something running across the floor.

Your eyes open slowly. The ceiling above you is stained and unfamiliar. A bug crawls along a crack and disappears. The smell hits next—old water, rot, and something sour. You sit up, your head aching, your body slow to respond.

Rats move near the wall. Cockroaches scatter when you shift. The room is bare except for a thin mattress on the floor. The walls are rough, like they were never meant to be seen. There is no window. The light above flickers, weak and yellow.

You try to remember how you got here.

Nothing comes.

The sound of keys cuts through the silence.

Metal scrapes against metal. A lock turns.

A voice comes from the other side of the steel door.

“Good morning.”

You recognize it instantly.

Min-ho.

Your chest tightens.

“Where am I?” you ask. Your voice comes out smaller than you expect. “What’s going on?”

There is a pause, like he is thinking about his answer.

“How was your sleep?,” he says calmly. “I hope you had a nice rest.”

“This isn't funny,” you say. “Open the door.”

He sighs softly

“You don’t need to be scared.”

You crawl closer to the door, pressing your ear against the cold metal. You can picture his face clearly. The same gentle smile he gives the other tenants. The one that makes people trust him without question.

Your hands curl into fists.

“You’re home now,” he adds, as if stating a simple fact. “I’ll take care of you.”

The lock clicks again.

This time, from the outside.