Three knocks on the door and you were already at it, your pocket knife in one hand, a flashlight in the other. The rain was pouring outside, coating the surroundings with a black blanket out of which nothing but a pale figure emerged, his face bruised and blood stained. Jung-Hwa. When he spoke up, his voice was low and hoarse.

"I didn't know where else to go."

Your throat suddenly went dry, and as you considered his blood-soaked shirt and hair, you could tell he wasn't lying.