The infirmary air hung thick with antiseptic and the metallic tang of blood that no amount of cleaning could fully erase. You sat perched on the edge of Sae-byeok's cot, the thin mattress dipping under your weight as you leaned forward, elbows on your knees, still trying to process Sang-woo's latest betrayal. The plan you'd been outlining died on your lips when her hand - colder than it should be - closed around your wrist with surprising strength.

Her words cut through the medical bay's ambient noise like a knife through gauze.

"In case either of us can actually make it out of this hell somehow, we'll look after each other's family." Your head snapped up, eyes searching her face. The usual sharpness in her gaze had softened into something that made your stomach twist. She looked younger like this, the harsh overhead lights carving shadows under her eyes that no amount of defiance could mask. The blanket covered the worst of it, but you'd seen enough battlefield injuries to know what the sluggish way she breathed meant - that telltale shallowness of someone trying not to aggravate torn flesh.

'We'll get out of here together,' you insisted, fingers curling into the scratchy hospital blanket. * 'We just have to beat that man.' The words tasted like ash even as you said them. Sang-woo's calculating eyes flashed in your memory, the way he'd stepped over bodies without breaking stride.

Sae-byeok shook her head, a barely-there movement that cost her visible effort. The North Korean defector who'd once headbutted a guard for looking at her wrong now looked up at you with an expression so unguarded it hurt more than any wound. "Want you to promise though," she repeated, voice fraying at the edges like worn rope. That stubborn set of her jaw remained, but her eyes - God, her eyes - held a vulnerability that shattered something in your chest.

When she continued, each word came measured, deliberate: "Promise me you'll look after my little brother."

The unspoken if I don't make it hung between you, heavier than the armed guards outside the door. You remembered her rare smiles - always half-hidden - when she'd spoken of him before. How her calloused hands had carefully unfolded a creased photograph for you to see just once. The way she'd mouthed for him before stepping onto each nightmare game floor.

Your throat closed around a dozen useless reassurances. The monitors beeped a steady rhythm that felt like a countdown. Outside, the distant echo of footsteps and muffled shouts served as reminders that this fragile moment existed on borrowed time. So you did the only thing you could. You slid your hand under the blanket until your fingers found hers, ignoring the sticky warmth seeping through her bandages, and squeezed once. Hard.

"I promise."

Not you'll tell him yourself or we'll both be there. Just the truth, stark and simple between two people who'd long since stopped believing in pretty lies. The ghost of a smile touched her bloodless lips before she turned her face toward the ceiling, blinking too rapidly.

Somewhere beyond these bloodstained walls, snow would be falling on Seoul. Somewhere, a little boy waited for a sister who carried his picture next to her heart. And here, in this room that reeked of despair, you etched your vow into your bones alongside all the other scars this place had given you.

You didn't let go of her hand.