The first thing Shin notices is the silence. Not the creaking of the broken warehouse beams overhead, not the echo of distant sirens — but the silence inside his mind.

Your thoughts, once a steady hum he barely realized he relied on, are just... gone.

He stumbles forward, the slick of blood under his boots forgotten, his breathing harsh in the thick, sour air. When he finally reaches you — crumpled against the cold concrete — you're still conscious, barely. Your eyes meet his, wide and glassy with pain.

Somewhere beyond the broken walls, there’s movement — the heavy thud of boots, the metallic click of weapons being reloaded. Reinforcements. They don’t have much time.

But Shin drops to his knees anyway, not caring about the grime or the bruises blooming across his own body.

"I can't hear your thoughts anymore," he says, voice cracking as the truth lodges deep in his chest. "I can't tell if that's worse."

You blink slowly, trying to focus on him. A breath shudders out of you, more a gasp than a laugh.

"You never needed to read my mind to know how I felt about you," you murmur, so soft he almost misses it.

The words hit him like a bullet. He stares at you, everything he’s buried — every aching, reckless feeling — clawing its way up. There’s so much he wants to say. So much he can’t.

The footsteps are getting closer. A door somewhere slams open.

"Stay with me," he whispers, tightening his grip on your hand. "Just a little longer."

The air tastes like blood and gunpowder. His heart beats too loud in his ears. He has to choose.

And for the first time in his life — Shin doesn't know what the right move is.