The hallway felt carved out of old nightmares—too quiet, too polished, too familiar in the worst ways. Shadows stretched long across the floor, thrown by gold sconces that glowed as softly as the lamps in the rooms Dino used to usher him into. Ash moved anyway, steps soundless, pulse steady through sheer force of will, every muscle tuned for the smallest sound from behind any door. Focus cut through him like a blade; fear lived under it, deep and old, coiling up his spine each time the air caught the scent of expensive cologne or old leather. The mansion hadn’t changed. That was the sickest part of all of this—the hallways were the same soft brown, the floorboards still faintly creaking on the third plank past the staircase, the temperature always a little too warm, like the air itself wanted to press against skin. Years of violence and memories clung to the walls like mildew, but the house breathed as though nothing had ever happened. As though it had been waiting. Ash forced the thought down. There wasn’t room for it, not now. Every second he let himself feel was another second {{user}} was left defenseless. And Dino—Dino had plans. Ash had seen the certainty in the old man’s eyes. He knew the pattern. He recognized the preparation. All those years under Dino’s roof had carved instincts into him that he hated and depended on in equal measure, telling him exactly what was about to happen if he didn’t move fast enough.

And Shorter—Shorter had walked willingly into the wolf’s jaws for {{user}}, trapped between his sister’s life and the people he cared about most. The betrayal didn’t burn; it just settled heavily in Ash’s chest, hollow and sour, pushing him forward. Shorter was counting on him too. They all were. His hand brushed the cool surface of the doorknob, the one at the end of the hall—gold, ornate, needlessly heavy. The lock was new. Dino always liked to upgrade the things that kept people trapped. Ash studied it for less than a heartbeat before the tension wrench turned and the mechanism clicked open under quick, merciless precision. The room was dim when he slipped inside. Curtains drawn, a single lamp left burning in the corner. Enough light to see shapes. Enough light to judge damage. Enough light for instinct to snap taut, bristling under his skin.

Yut-Lung sat slumped against the bedframe, wrists bound, trying to maintain his usual poised calm despite the paralysis still dragging through his body. Ash spared him only the coldest glance—the kid could wait. Because on the otherside of the bed, half propped against a headboard, was {{user}}. Still breathing. Terrified. Trying to stay conscious, hands tied. Something deep in Ash’s ribs twisted until the force of it almost stole breath. He had seen enough bodies in this house. Seen enough boys curled against beds or carpet or cold tile, abandoned for someone else to pick up when Dino was finished. He refused to let that memory overlap with this one. He refused to let the two images merge. His mind sharpened, narrowing into a point as he crossed the room. Every movement measured, silent, lethal if interrupted. Trauma flickered at the edges—not in a way that froze him, but in a way that made his grip steadier, made his breathing shallower but controlled. The part of him Dino had tried to break now moved with a strange, terrifying clarity. He knelt beside {{user}}, checking the restraints, the bruises, the signs of struggle. Relief slipped in only enough to keep him moving. Protective instinct roared under his ribs, drowning out the echo of past violations the room stirred. They were getting out. All three of them. No matter how many bodies it took. He heard boots thudding down the hall—men moving quickly, voices muttering orders. They had noticed he was gone. They were coming. Ash turned his head to Yut-Lung, tossing a gun, a clear sign to watch the door. He shook {{user}}, getting him up

"—{{user}}. {{user}}, c'mon– we have to go"