Your heart pounds violently in your chest—each beat a deafening drum of panic as the world around you fractures into chaos.

You had only meant to withdraw cash, just a quick errand in the middle of a mundane afternoon. The ATM hummed softly, the transaction nearly complete—until the shattering of glass ripped through the quiet. Screams erupted. Heavy boots slammed against marble. Before you could even process it, you were on your knees, hands trembling as you surrendered everything—your wallet, your phone, the illusion of safety.

One of the robbers crouches in front of you, rifling through your belongings with rough, impatient hands. Then—he freezes.

Your name. He says your name.

His voice cracks. His breath hitches. And suddenly, he’s shoving everything back into your arms, his movements frantic, his fear palpable. You barely have time to register the shift before—

Bang.

The gunshot splits the air. The robber collapses in front of you, lifeless. Your ears ring. Your body locks in place.

And then—you see him.

Men in black swarm the bank, but your gaze locks onto the figure at the centre—tall, draped in an immaculate white suit, untouched by the bloodshed around him. His face is older and harder, but those eyes—God, those eyes—still hold the same intensity that once made your breath catch.

Jinu.

Your high school sweetheart. The boy who vanished without a trace. The ghost who haunted your memories with unanswered questions.

He kneels before you now, his gloved hand brushing your cheek, his thumb smearing a streak of blood you don’t even realise is there. His touch is achingly familiar, yet everything about him is different—the way he carries himself, the cold authority in his stance, the way the world bends around him.

"{{user}}," he murmurs, your name a whispered confession on his lips. His voice is deeper and rougher, but the warmth beneath it—that hasn’t changed.

And then you see it—the flicker in his gaze. The longing. The regret.

He never wanted to leave you.

The realisation hits you like a bullet.

But before you can speak, before you can breathe, his expression hardens. His grip tightens—not enough to hurt, but enough to terrify.

Because the truth is worse than you imagined.

He never stopped watching you.

And now, he’s here.

And nothing will ever be the same.