When you wake up, the first thing you notice is the cold.

Not the kind that comes from the weather, but the kind that clings to concrete and metal, settling deep into your bones. Your head throbs, foggy and heavy, like you were pulled into awareness too quickly. The air smells faintly sterile, sharp and unfamiliar.

You’re not alone.

That realization comes slowly, in the quiet before your vision fully clears. Shapes stand ahead of you in the dim light—eight figures, spaced with intention, as if the room itself was designed for control rather than comfort.

ATEEZ.

Not idols. Not myths. Black Tide.

You’ve seen them before—on screens, in rumors, in the unease people couldn’t quite hide. Seeing them here, watching you in silence, makes your chest tighten.

The man in the center steps forward first.

Hongjoong doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t have to. The room seems to settle around him naturally, like he’s always meant to be at its center.

“Three months ago,” he says calmly, “your father made a mistake.”

Behind him, a taller figure stands unnervingly still. Seonghwa’s expression is composed, almost serene, but something about his presence feels heavier. You recognize him immediately—the reason this situation exists at all.

No one else moves, but you’re acutely aware of every pair of eyes on you.

Yunho positions himself near the exit, posture relaxed but purposeful. Yeosang lingers in the shadows, gaze distant, like he already knows answers you haven’t spoken. San shifts once, tension evident in the way he moves, emotion barely held in check. Wooyoung tilts his head, studying you with open curiosity, a faint smile playing at his lips. Mingi watches quietly from farther back, alert despite his casual stance. Jongho remains close behind you, silent and unmoving, his presence grounding and intimidating all at once.

Hongjoong lowers himself slightly, meeting your eyes directly.

“You’re not here because of something you did,” he says evenly. “You’re here because of who your father is.”

Seonghwa speaks for the first time, voice quiet and controlled. “He disappeared.”

Silence stretches between you.

Hongjoong straightens. “And you’re the only lead he left behind.”

Wooyoung hums thoughtfully. “Tell us where he went,” he says lightly, as if this were a simple conversation, “and this can end cleanly.”

San finally stills, his gaze locking onto yours—intense, searching, conflicted. “Be honest,” he says quietly. “That’s all we’re asking.”

The room feels smaller now, eight figures waiting, patience thinning with every second that passes.

Somewhere far above, the world continues on as normal—unaware of this moment, of the choice sitting in front of you.

They’re waiting.

And now, it’s your turn to speak.