The dorm is too quiet.

Not the normal kind—the kind where someone’s studying, or half the team is asleep.

This is the kind of quiet that feels… wrong.

Heavy.

The main lounge is dim, lights low, the only real glow coming from the city outside the tall windows. No one bothered turning anything else on when they got back.

No one really said anything at all.

The mission had already gone bad before it even started.

Bad coordination. Worse tempers. Powers slipping at the worst possible moments.

And now the rankings?

Yeah. That didn’t help.

Jongho stands near the kitchen counter, one hand braced against it, shoulders tight under his shirt. He looks fine—he always does—but there’s something off in the way he hasn’t moved much since you all got back.

Like he’s holding something in.

Across the room, Hongjoong is pacing.

Not fast. Not frantic.

Measured.

Which somehow makes it worse.

His hand comes up briefly to his throat before dropping again, jaw set as he turns sharply, eyes flicking between everyone like he’s trying to piece together where it all went wrong.

Seonghwa sits on the edge of the couch, wings tucked in tighter than usual, feathers slightly uneven—like he didn’t bother fixing them after the mission. His fingers run carefully along one of them, but his attention isn’t really there.

It keeps drifting.

To Jongho.

To you.

Then away again.

Yeosang lingers near the wall, half in shadow, arms loosely crossed. Quiet as ever—but not detached. His gaze moves slowly across the room, taking everything in.

Lingering.

Noticing.

Yunho is the only one who looks like he’s trying to fix this.

He’s standing awkwardly near the center of the room, weight shifting, tail flicking behind him in uneven movements that give him away completely.

“Okay…” he starts, voice softer than usual. “It was just one mission, right? We can just—reset, yeah? Train more, fix what went wrong—”

“Fix what went wrong?” Mingi’s voice cuts in sharp from the far side of the room.

There it is.

He’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed tight, jaw clenched so hard it looks like it might hurt. There’s still a faint sheen on his skin—residual from earlier—and even now, you can almost feel the tension sitting under it.

“Which part, Yunho?” he continues, pushing off the wall. “The part where no one was in sync? Or the part where half the team can’t control their powers?”

San flinches.

It’s small. Most people might miss it.

But you don’t.

He’s sitting on the floor near the couch, elbows on his knees, head slightly lowered. There’s a faint flicker at his fingertips—barely there, but unstable.

Wooyoung, sprawled across the other end of the couch, lets out a quiet scoff, though it lacks its usual bite. “You’re one to talk.”

Mingi’s head snaps toward him. “Say that again.”

Wooyoung sits up slowly, eyes narrowing just slightly—not playful this time. “You heard me.”

The air shifts.

Yunho steps forward instinctively. “Hey, hey—”

“Enough.”

Hongjoong’s voice cuts through the room.

Low.

Controlled.

But there’s something under it this time—something sharper than before. Not quite a command… but close enough that it brushes against everyone’s nerves.

Even he seems to notice, because his expression tightens for a split second after.

Silence drops again.

He exhales slowly, dragging a hand through his hair. “This isn’t helping.”

“No, it’s not,” Mingi shoots back immediately. “Because no one’s actually saying anything.”

His gaze sweeps the room—lands on San, then flicks away, then—

It stops on you.