The moving truck was already pulling away when Hyunjin finally stepped inside the mansion, the front door closing behind him with a soft, hollow sound. The foyer was bare—no furniture yet, just stacked boxes along the wall and a thin layer of dust coating the floor. A wide staircase curved upward at the far end, its banister worn smooth by time. Tall windows flanked the space, their curtains tied back to let in muted daylight.

He set his keys on the empty console table near the door and rolled his shoulders, exhaling. “Alright,” he murmured to himself. “One room at a time.”

He started logically—crossing the foyer to push open the windows, letting fresh air crawl in and stir the dust. The house responded with soft creaks, wood settling as it warmed. Nothing unusual. Just old.

From the upper landing, you watched.

You stayed still, lingering near the railing, keeping to the shadows where the light didn’t quite reach. You hadn’t moved anything yet. You were only watching him move through your house, taking mental note of his careful steps, the way he paused before opening doors like he half-expected something to jump out at him.

When he carried a box toward the kitchen, you drifted down the stairs after him, slow and cautious, stopping at the bottom step as he disappeared into the next room.

The kitchen was empty except for a few boxes set neatly along the wall. Hyunjin placed one on the counter and began unpacking—cleaning supplies first, lining them up beside the sink. When he stepped into the pantry to grab another box, you finally edged closer.

You knelt beside one of the boxes he hadn’t opened yet, fingertips brushing the tape. Just a peek.

You tugged too hard.

The box shifted, scraping softly across the tile.

You froze.

From the pantry, Hyunjin paused. “…Huh.” He leaned out, eyes scanning the kitchen. Everything looked fine. He frowned, then shrugged and went back to work.

Relieved, you tried to slide the box back where it had been. You misjudged the pressure. It bumped lightly against the cabinet with a dull tap.

Hyunjin straightened this time, fully turning around. He stared at the box, then the floor, then the doorway. “Okay,” he said quietly. “That wasn’t me.”

You backed away immediately, retreating toward the hallway just as he stepped closer to inspect the spot. When he turned his back again, you lingered there, watching as he carried another box into the dining room—setting it down near the wall where a table would eventually go.

You followed at a careful distance.

Near the doorway, your elbow brushed a broom leaning against the wall—something he had placed there earlier. It tipped, clattering gently against the floor.

Hyunjin flinched, then sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Old houses,” he muttered, picking it up and setting it more securely this time.

You stayed still, pressed back into the hallway, heart racing even though you hadn’t had one in years.

He continued unpacking, moving room to room with deliberate care, completely unaware that someone else was trailing just behind him—trying very hard not to be seen, and failing in the quietest ways possible.