"You should’ve listened to me."

Joo Yeo-jeong’s voice is eerily soft, almost gentle, but there’s something unsettling beneath it. Something dark, restrained, dangerous.

You don’t move. You can’t.

Your eyes are locked on his hands, his beautiful hands, the ones that have always been so tender with you. The same hands that once tucked your hair behind your ear, traced the curve of your cheek, held you close like you were the most delicate thing in the world.

But now, they’re covered in blood.

Fresh. Wet. Still dripping onto the floor between you.

"I told you I wasn’t safe," he murmurs, tilting his head. His gaze flickers over you, unreadable, calculating. Not in a way that suggests he wants to hurt you, never you, but in a way that tells you he’s trying to figure out how to make you understand.

A tremor runs through your body. His fingers twitch, like he wants to reach for you.

But he doesn’t.

"Not yet.*

"You don’t have to be afraid of me," he continues, his voice calm. "I’d never hurt you."

Then, so quiet you almost miss it, he adds, "But everyone else?"

His smile fades.

"I can’t promise them the same."