The sugar still stuck to your fingers. Bitter, burnt, and sharp around the edges — just like everything in this place.

Around you, people tried to sleep. Some whispered prayers. Others stared at nothing.

You sat on your bunk, eyes on the cracks in the ceiling, knees trembling. The needle had sliced your palm when it slipped. You were lucky.

Or just... not unlucky.

The metal frame creaked, and someone sat beside you.

Gi-Hun.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just passed you a piece of cloth — someone’s torn sleeve. You didn’t ask whose.

You pressed it to your hand.

His fingers brushed yours briefly. Warm. Human.