Hannah leaned against the wall, pretending to read her notes. She kept her posture casual, but her eyes flicked constantly in Jin's direction. He stood a short distance away, caught in a conversation with a classmate who clearly wasn't taking no for an answer. Though he responded politely, there was an unmistakable edge of reluctance in his voice. He didn't want to be rude, but his discomfort was obvious to anyone paying close attention—especially to Hannah.
She longed to hear even a fragment of their exchange, straining to catch a word or two, but the hallway buzzed with too many voices. The noise blurred their dialogue into unintelligible hums. Frustration simmered in her chest as she watched the girl lean in, all too eager, her gaze full of interest. Whether Jin didn't notice or simply pretended not to, Hannah couldn't tell—but it gnawed at her either way.
She lifted her notebook higher, concealing her face behind it while peeking out with one eye. When Jin caught her spying, she fluttered her lashes, feigning innocence. The older girl continued talking, but Jin wasn't listening. His gaze locked on Hannah, as if trying to decipher the emotions she so poorly concealed. There was something in her expression—an unspoken sorrow, a wordless plea—that gripped him.
Seeing his eyes linger on her, Hannah dropped the notebook to her chest, exposing the vulnerability in her gaze. She wasn't trying to be coy anymore. She didn't want him to hate her. Everything had spiraled out of control, and all she wanted now was for him to come closer, not drift further away.
"Jin," she mouthed silently, her lips forming the word with care.
But he turned his head, purposefully, and walked away without saying a word.
Her heart sank. She stared at the floor, her white sneakers blurred through a glaze of unshed tears. She hadn't meant to hurt him. That had never been her intention.
"Hannah?" The voice snapped her from her thoughts.
She looked up, startled, and found herself face to face with her mother. An elegant woman in her forties, she radiated poise and calm. Her expression carried a gentle smile, but it faltered slightly when she noticed the sadness in her daughter's eyes.
"Why are you so sad, honey?" she asked softly.
Hannah blinked, confused by her sudden appearance. "Mom? Why today? I have another class starting soon. You said you'd come on the weekend."
"I know, sweetheart. I'm sorry," her mother replied, gently resting her hands on Hannah's shoulders. "Since I got back from vacation, work's been madness. I barely have a moment to breathe. I just wanted to see you before flying out to Washington. Things have been hectic at the company lately, and…" She paused. "Your father is back in town."
The words hit Hannah like ice water.
"He's in the city? Here, in New York?"
"Yes," her mother confirmed, her tone carefully neutral. "He's with his… partner. I don't care much. We're not married anymore. But I thought you should know. He's still your father."
Hannah gave a bitter, crooked smile.
"Why should I care? He doesn't even call. He has a new family. And besides, he's not even related to me by blood. Let him do what he wants."
"Still," her mother insisted gently, "he raised you."
"He's only my father on paper." Hannah bit the inside of her cheek, catching herself before saying something harsher. "I only have you, Mom. Even if you're a workaholic, you've always been the one who's truly there for me."
Her mother smiled, genuinely touched.
"Are you okay? How are things going with your exam prep?" she asked, shifting the topic in a transparent attempt to keep things light. "I know you went through a rough time this summer, so I'm a little worried. I don't want you pushing yourself too hard."
She reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind Hannah's ear.
"And what did you mean when you called me and asked if I was sure you hadn't lost your memory?"
A cold wave passed over Hannah's skin. Her heart jumped to her throat.
"Oh, that? It was just a joke, Mom." Her voice trembled ever so slightly. "School's intense. Sometimes I need to blow off steam. It was just a silly thing I said."
Her mother eyed her with concern, but didn't press. She remembered how broken Hannah had been after what happened. She had changed that day—grown quieter, more distant. But she'd seemed so happy when she got into her dream school. She had left all her sorrows behind, or so it had seemed. As her mother, she had wanted to help, but Hannah had always insisted everything was fine.
And she had believed her.
She reached out and pulled her daughter into a warm embrace. Hannah closed her eyes, breathing in the familiar scent of her perfume. Three months had passed, and yet she had missed that scent more than she realized.
When she opened her eyes, her heart froze.
Joseph stood just a few feet away, watching them with an amused smirk. His expression twisted with mischief as he raised a hand, flashing a signal that her mother was, in his eyes, a "hottie." Hannah's cheeks flushed with fury. She shot him a look filled with outrage, but he merely laughed, shook his head, and continued down the hallway. On his way, he bumped into a boy standing idly in his path without so much as an apology.
"Your class is about to start," her mother said gently, pulling away. "I'll call you once I'm back in Chicago, okay?"
Hannah simply nodded.
Her mother placed a kiss on her cheek, smiled one last time, and walked away—leaving her daughter standing in the corridor, overwhelmed by thoughts she couldn't share.
*
Joseph strolled over to his roommate, who sat alone in one of the common room chairs, staring blankly ahead. With a roll of his eyes and a theatrical sigh, he slapped a hand onto Jin's shoulder. The gesture was casual, perhaps even brotherly, but Jin didn't flinch or respond in any way.
"I'm an excellent clairvoyant, so I'm going to guess you had a fight with your mistress," Joseph said, his voice laced with mocking amusement.
Jin slowly raised his eyes, glaring at him with a look sharp enough to slice.
"It's obvious you haven't spoken to each other for days," Joseph continued, undeterred. "You're avoiding her. Let me guess... she wants more kisses?" He let out a short snort, clearly enjoying himself.
"I'm not in the mood for your teasing. Go find Jimmy and torment him. I'm sure you can invent a new round of punishments for your favorite victim," Jin shot back, his tone ice-cold. One leg bounced with nervous energy, betraying the tension beneath his still posture.
Joseph puffed his cheeks in mock frustration, visibly tempted to retaliate with a punch, but stopped himself at the last second. He didn't want to ignite a full-blown fight—not now. They were both too proud, too stubborn. Neither of them would be the first to reach out for a truce.
"Your father has quite a taste," he said suddenly, shifting the topic with a sly smirk. "I didn't know Hannah's mom was such a hottie. I'd be tempted myself."
Jin's expression shifted ever so slightly—barely perceptible, but enough to reveal his confusion. Joseph caught the flicker of reaction and leaned in, eyes glittering with mischief.
"What's that look for? She was here just a while ago. Apparently, she missed her stupid daughter."
Jin bolted upright from the chair as the bell rang out, signaling the end of the long break. His eyes immediately scanned the hallway beyond the common area. That's when he saw her—Hannah, slipping quietly into the classroom.
Her mother was already gone.
He had missed her.
Too late.
*
Her heart jumped as a loud, urgent pounding on the door yanked her out of sleep. The sound echoed through the quiet room, jarring her nerves like a slap. She was sick of it—sick of being startled awake, sick of the fear.
She pushed herself out of bed too quickly, stumbling as dizziness clouded her vision. One hand shot out to brace against the wall, steadying herself. She couldn't afford to lose time. Shaking off the vertigo, she rushed to the door and yanked it open.
A shadow darted toward the stairwell—a man.
Without a second thought, Hannah bolted after him, forgetting to lock her door behind her. Barefoot and breathless, she raced down the dimly lit staircase, determined not to let him vanish like a ghost again. She spotted him slipping into the men's bathroom on the first floor.
And then he stopped.
Everything around her felt suspended in time. The corridor was deserted. It was the middle of the night—everyone was asleep. And yet here she was, about to step into a confined space with the man who haunted her dreams with fear.
Her heart thundered in her chest. Her fingers trembled as she reached for the doorknob. For a second, she froze. She shut her eyes and inhaled sharply, forcing herself to gather courage.
Whatever happens, happens, she thought, and pushed the door open.
It creaked softly as she stepped inside.
He was there. Standing still. A man in a mask, facing her silently beneath the cold, sterile glow of the overhead light. The atmosphere thickened with tension. Neither of them moved. The silence stretched, taut and breathless.
Then, without warning, his hands rose to his face.
Hannah's breath caught. He was going to remove the mask.
Panic surged through her. She instinctively lifted her hands and covered her face, as if shielding herself from a blow. Her body trembled. Was he going to kill her now that she had seen him?
Seconds passed. Stillness.
With hesitant fingers, she peeled one hand away and peeked through her fingers.
Her blood turned cold.
She stared at the face before her.
"Why?" she whispered, her voice fragile, cracking under the weight of fear. Her lips trembled. — "Why do you hate me so much that you've made my life a nightmare from the very beginning?"
Joseph grinned cynically. The mask dangled from one hand. He ran his fingers through his dark hair, and for the first time, Hannah noticed—his eyes were bare. No black crayon. No disguise.
"It wasn't me, idiot," he said, with casual cruelty. "I just wanted to lure you out of your room."
She stared at him in disbelief, her brow furrowing. The mask he held was identical to the one her tormentor wore.
He lifted it, holding it up for her to examine.
"Are you sure this is the one?"
She nodded, slowly.
"Then it must've been stolen. Someone used it."
As she looked at him—really looked at him—she realized he was telling the truth. The figure that usually haunted her seemed taller in memory. Narrower. The man in the mask was lean, lithe. Joseph, in contrast, was built. Strong. He didn't match the silhouette.
Still catching her breath, she asked softly:
"Why did you drag me here in the middle of the night?"
"Because I felt like it," he replied flatly. "I don't want anything else from you."
Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked out.
The door slammed shut behind him.
Hannah jolted forward and pushed it open, bursting into the corridor—but he was gone. No trace of him. As if he had melted into the shadows.
*
Joseph was furious.
With a sudden, sharp motion, he hurled the mask at the feet of the person standing in front of him. It landed with a dull thud, echoing ominously in the tense silence. His eyes were wide with disbelief, his breath heavy, shoulders rigid with restrained rage.
"I beg you," he said hoarsely, "tell me it's not you."
The other person blinked, startled.
"What are you talking about?"
Joseph's voice trembled as he spoke through clenched teeth.
"Some time ago, I found this mask in your room. I kept quiet about it." He paused, pain flickering behind his anger. "Do you know why? Because I couldn't let myself believe you might be the one behind all this."
The person in front of him lowered their gaze, staring at the mask as if seeing it for the first time. Confusion clouded their features.
"You found this in my room?" they asked, voice barely audible. "This is the first time I've ever laid eyes on it..."
Joseph narrowed his eyes, suspicion flaring up again.
"Then what the hell was it doing there? Did the dwarves sneak in and move it for fun?"
"Stop being so arrogant!" the other snapped.
Joseph stiffened. He hated being shouted at. They both knew that. And yet, the other person couldn't—or wouldn't—control themselves.
"I swear," the voice cracked with emotion, "this is the first time I've seen it. Where exactly did you find it?"
Joseph's jaw tightened.
"In your closet."
Silence fell like a curtain between them. The air grew heavy. They stared at each other, the tension pulsing like a heartbeat.
"It's impossible..." the other whispered.
Joseph took a breath, his expression hardening.
"So what? You're saying someone's trying to frame you?"
He froze mid-thought.
A name surged into his mind—someone who could actually be capable of doing this. Someone who had access. Someone who wore masks, both literally and metaphorically.
His blood ran cold.
*
Hannah stepped into the cafeteria, her eyes sweeping cautiously across the room. The soft murmur of conversation filled the air, along with the clinking of utensils against trays. Her gaze landed on Jin, seated at a table beside Tom. The other boys weren't with them, which gave her a faint glimmer of hope.
For a moment, she stood frozen in the doorway, torn. She hesitated, unsure whether approaching them would only worsen things. Jin had been avoiding her for days, offering nothing but cold silence and fleeting glances. She knew he was furious with her, though he had never voiced it aloud. The silence was louder than shouting.
Tentatively, she moved forward—but stopped halfway across the room. Her shoes squeaked softly on the linoleum floor. The gazes of other students lingered on her, as always, but something felt different now. No one whispered behind her back. The mocking giggles and sidelong smirks had ceased. Even if she didn't feel entirely welcome, she was no longer being targeted.
Tom noticed her first. He grinned warmly and waved at her, his hand gesturing playfully for her to come over. Jin didn't react. He didn't nod, or frown, or look at her at all. The indifference was harder to bear than open hostility. She would have preferred he yelled at her, slammed his fist on the table—anything but this cold dismissal.
"You look like a frightened mouse. Should I take it easy on you?" Tom teased as she slid into the seat beside him.
Hannah offered a faint smile, then glanced quickly at Jin, who sat across from her, silently eating his food as if she didn't exist.
"I'm afraid even jokes won't help me today," she replied softly. "Thanks for your concern, but... it's been another sleepless night."
That caught Jin's attention.
He looked up at her for the first time, his eyes meeting hers. She could see the worry flickering in them—just for a second—before he looked away again. He still said nothing.
Trying to act natural, Hannah began eating, but each bite felt like a stone in her throat. Her stomach was clenched too tightly for food. Still, she went through the motions, sensing Jin's glances from across the table. He was watching her—covertly, cautiously—pretending he wasn't.
Then his phone rang.
He glanced down at the screen and picked it up.
"Hello?" he answered, his voice neutral.
Hannah turned her head slightly, but it was Tom who caught her attention. He was picking vegetables off his tray one by one, flicking them away with a bored expression.
Suddenly, Jin's posture shifted.
He moved the phone away from his ear and placed it face-down on the table with a sharp motion. His eyes met Hannah's—this time, not with worry, but something darker. Anger? Sadness? She couldn't tell.
His voice came out low, and cold:
"Will you stop playing this sick game of yours when I confess to you... that Danielle is dead?"