The air was thick with soot and metal fatigue. Damp cables slithered like veins along the ceiling, and somewhere above them, the city slept unaware of the bodies crushed beneath secrets.

Han-jae crouched beside the terminal wreckage, blood drying on his forearm. The wound was superficial—by definition, not consequence. His eyes weren’t on the console. They hadn’t been for minutes.

They were fixed on the shadow across from him.

The silence was unbearable. Not the empty kind, but the kind that carried weight, like something had already been said between them...or maybe screamed, in a frequency only guilt understood.

His jaw clenched. The sound of static from his earpiece buzzed like a mosquito, but he didn’t reach up to silence it.

A breath. Not his. It pulled his gaze higher.

{{user}} stood with that usual posture—half-commanding, half-detached—like the chaos hadn’t just brushed fingers with both their necks. Their eyes held the same glint as always: impossible to read. Impossible to ignore.

Han-jae’s throat worked around the words that refused to come.

You’re not bulletproof. You think you are. You act like you are. But next time, I might not be fast enough. Next time, they’ll hit you first. And I’m not built to survive that kind of silence.

He didn’t say it. He just stared. Let the ache throb behind his ribs. Let the blood drip onto his glove, warm and proof that he was still here.

A hand extended toward him. Efficient. Professional.

But when Han-jae took it, his grip lingered—tight, unforgiving. A silent scream made contact. His fingers trembled against theirs for one half-second too long.

He didn’t let go.

Not immediately.

And {{user}} didn’t pull away.

In another world, another timeline, he would’ve said something soft. Would’ve made a joke about them owing him stitches and a beer.

But in this one, all he gave was a warning glare—sharp, shaking with the kind of fury that masks fear.

Don’t do that again.

Then he dropped the hand like it burned.

The tunnel ahead flickered, another electrical fault echoing in the dark.

Han-jae moved forward, silent and bruised, heart pacing faster than it had during the firefight.

And behind him, he knew…they were still watching.