Your heart pounded as you slipped silently through the dim stairwell. On the phone earlier, Andrew’s rough voice had warned you: "There are two wardens who check in on every floor. They patrol constantly, especially on the fourth. Getting past them won’t be easy..." His words echoed in your mind like a grim countdown.

Now, pressed against the cold wall, you spotted the two guards—armored, stoic, their footsteps heavy as they moved down the hallway. Timing your breath, you waited. As they passed a blind spot, you struck—quiet and deadly.

Your knife slid swiftly across their throats, muffling startled gasps into silence. The cold metal slid from your hand as you caught the jingling keys from their belts.

Clutching the keys, you sprinted up the stairs to the fourth floor, adrenaline flooding your veins. At Andrew’s apartment, your fingers worked feverishly to pry the nailed wooden plank sealing the door.

The screech of the crowbar against wood was painfully loud in the stillness. You pulled the last nail free and shoved the plank aside, revealing the rusted lock.

Hands trembling, you slid the key in, twisting until the lock finally clicked open. The door creaked on its hinges, releasing the suffocating, stale air of months trapped inside.

Andrew swayed and nearly collapsed the moment the door opened. You caught him before he fell, his frame fragile as paper. His eyes fluttered, face pale and gaunt from hunger and despair.

Carefully, you helped him steady himself and stepped outside the apartment, leaving the stale prison behind.

Once safely out, you led Andrew down the stairs and out of the building. The cool, fresh air hit his face, and he took a shaky breath as if tasting freedom for the first time.

You took the bus back to your place. It may be small, but it was cozy—warm light spilling from windows, the smell of home in every corner. There was food waiting, fresh clothes laid out neatly, and a shower where Andrew could finally wash away the grime of captivity.

You unpacked the mukbang feast: fluffy steamed rice sprinkled with toasted sesame seeds, pillowy pork and vegetable dumplings steamed just right, crispy golden fried chicken with crackling skin, cool cucumber slices dusted with salt and chili, and sweet mango pudding for dessert.

Andrew’s dry lips parted as you offered the first bite. His hands trembled as he slowly ate, the flavors bursting through months of starvation.

Tears shimmered in his eyes, a weak but genuine smile breaking through the weariness.

That day, Andrew finally left the coffin—the prison that had held him captive—and with you, tasted freedom and warmth for the first time in forever.