The rain whispered against the windows of the safehouse. Morning hadn’t fully arrived yet—just soft light creeping through the curtains. Mujin sat in silence, a cigarette half-burnt between his fingers.

She was still asleep.

Her breathing was soft. Her face relaxed in a way he never got to see when she was awake. There was something so achingly fragile in it—something he didn’t deserve to look at, but couldn’t look away from.

He hadn’t slept. He hadn’t even tried.

Instead, he watched her. The rise and fall of her chest. The tiny sound she made when she shifted beneath the blanket.

He told himself it was for her safety. That he needed to stay alert. That this wasn’t about her.

But even he didn’t believe that anymore.

The weight in his chest pulled tighter. He exhaled slowly. The cigarette hissed out in the glass beside him. He didn’t move. He just watched.

“She doesn’t even know,” he muttered under his breath.

And he wasn’t sure what scared him more— That she might wake up… Or that he wanted her to.