It was five o'clock in the afternoon when Hannah sat in the living room, waiting with her older companions who had agreed to accompany her to the psychiatrist. She leaned forward, her elbows pressing against her knees, and cast a discreet glance at Joseph. His expression betrayed unease. He always wore the mask of a cold, sarcastic bastard, forever teasing her, but now his composure seemed fractured. The pretense was crumbling, as though he could not bear to step back and let her face this alone.
Hannah suspected it had less to do with her and more with him—with the shadows of his past and the damage inflicted by a sick mother who had twisted his childhood. Perhaps that was why, despite everything, he was still capable of protecting someone else.
Jin, however, was openly worried. He had chosen to forgive her reckless behavior—the lies, the desperate claim of being her deceased twin—and explained it away as an illness, something beyond her control. It made it impossible for him to abandon her, especially since she was Danielle's sister. He wanted to shield her, perhaps out of loyalty, perhaps out of guilt.
"I'm about to die of nerves here," Hannah muttered suddenly, her voice unsteady. She ran trembling fingers over the rim of her teacup, then set it carefully back onto the saucer.
"Then take a deep breath and think about something else," Joseph said without looking at her, his eyes fixed ahead. His tone was dry, but his lips curved into mischief. "Imagine Jin naked." He gestured lazily with his hand, sketching an outline in the air. Hannah's cheeks flushed crimson at the remark.
"See? It's already working," he added.
Jin narrowed his eyes at him and folded his arms.
"Fine. Then I'll imagine you without underwear. It might take longer, though. I'm not sure I can picture what hides beneath your boxers." Hannah stared at him, bold and unflinching, until Joseph's confidence cracked. His throat bobbed as he croaked:
"That's just unsavory. Luckily, we're not related."
She frowned, not understanding the hidden barb in his words. Jin only shook his head, exasperated.
"And how do you even know I wear boxers? Did your demonic friend reveal that during one of your little tea parties?" Joseph shot back, his voice tinged with mockery.
"This entity spends more time in your room than in mine," Hannah retorted sharply. "And he reports everything to me."
Her eyes locked with his, unwavering. She no longer feared his demonic gaze, even though tonight, as always, it was emphasized by the thick black smudges of eyeliner that made his stare all the more intense.
Before the banter could escalate further, Jin rose abruptly from the couch. He took Hannah by the hand, firm but gentle, and guided her toward the office. Only then did she notice his aunt had just stepped out, waiting calmly by the door. The woman's smile was warm and encouraging, but it did little to ease Hannah's stomach, which churned as though she might spill her entire lunch on the spot.
"Now I will take care of her," the psychiatrist said, turning to his nephew. He placed a steady hand against the girl's trembling back and led her inside, the door closing softly behind them.
*
To Joseph, the minutes seemed to stretch endlessly since his younger colleague had vanished into the psychiatrist's office. Time moved slower here, pressing down on him with an unfamiliar heaviness. Restless, he let his gaze wander across the living room, taking in the tasteful furnishings. Everything about the space—polished wood, carefully chosen decorations, the quiet elegance of the room—spoke of a woman who had built her world through hard-earned effort.
"Does your aunt have a husband?" he asked suddenly, his tone casual but edged with boredom.
Jin arched an eyebrow. "Why, did she catch your eye?"
"I'm just curious if she earned everything herself," Joseph replied, meeting his gaze with a sharp look. "Just because I like older women doesn't mean I like every woman."
"You like older women because you grew up without a mother," Jin said flatly.
"That was rude," Joseph muttered, turning his eyes away. His voice dropped to a low growl. "Another person would have had his neck snapped for less."
"Lately you've stopped respecting me anyway," Jin countered. His tone carried a rare sternness, and his sharp gaze held on Joseph like a silent challenge. "Should I start counting on my fingers how many times you've yelled at me since the holidays began?"
The rebuke only made Joseph laugh under his breath, a hollow sound that didn't reach his eyes. "But I'll turn a blind eye to it," Jin continued, "because I know you're only worried about Hannah."
"I'm not worried about anyone. I'm not the caring type," Joseph murmured, almost too quietly, his words blurred together like he wanted them dismissed before they were heard.
"Then what are you doing here, if not worried about her?"
Joseph smirked, though it looked more like a mask than genuine amusement. "Looking for an excuse to keep nagging her." His voice dripped with forced nonchalance, as if the admission itself was a victory.
Jin only sighed inwardly. There was no point in pressing further; Joseph would never admit the truth, not even to himself. Still, it was written in the tension of his jaw, the way his eyes kept straying to the office door. For all his harsh words and heartless front, his concern for Hannah was painfully obvious.
Both boys straightened instinctively when the office door finally opened. Hannah stepped out, her expression clouded with sadness. Yet, with effort, she arranged her lips into a small, fragile smile. Behind her, the psychiatrist followed, her presence calm and reassuring.
"Thank you, ma'am," Hannah said quietly, her voice steady though her eyes glistened with weariness. "I needed this visit."
"So we have an agreement, yes?" the woman replied kindly. "You must tell everything to your mother and come back soon. This was only a preliminary meeting. Your mother needs to understand what is happening—she must consent to your treatment, and of course, there are costs. If necessary, medication will be required. There is no other option."
"I understand," Hannah answered softly. She accepted the business card with careful fingers, her shoulders rising and falling in a faint sigh. "I'll talk to my mother. After today, I realized I shouldn't hide this from her anymore. It isn't right."
The woman laid a gentle hand on the girl's shoulder, her smile warm but firm.
"Don't worry. Everything will be fine. I'm glad you chose this step yourself. The sooner we begin, the better the chances of success."
*
A week later, Hannah sat at the dining table, absently spooning her food. The chatter of students around her blurred into background noise, overshadowed by the steady, almost tangible weight of Jin's caring gaze. She lifted her face at last, her eyes glistening with sadness as they met his.
"It was inevitable," Jin said softly, his voice steady though threaded with concern. "The most important thing for you now is treatment. You can't stay here any longer—this place affects you too badly. Think about it: in three months, Joseph, Tom, myself… all of us will graduate. There's no reason for you to remain."
Hannah pressed her lips together before answering. "It was with that thought that I agreed right away to return home and continue school in Chicago. But…" Her voice faltered, and she looked down at her plate. "I'm sad that it's all coming to an end, and that I'll have to part with you. I don't want that."
Jin's expression softened. He offered her a calm, serene smile, then reached across the table to place his hand gently over hers, ignoring the curious glances of the other students. Hannah's eyes fell on the silver bracelet glinting against his wrist, and her throat tightened. Tears threatened to rise. She did not want to start over again, to face the uncertainty of treatment. The thought of her future weighed on her like a storm cloud.
"You're not moving to the other side of the world," Jin reminded her gently. "We'll all stay in touch. Phones, computers—we'll find ways to be close."
"I know," she whispered, shaking her head faintly. "But… it won't be the same anymore." She let out a shaky sigh, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Still, I can't do anything about it. Your class is graduating in a few months, so there's no reason for me to stay. My mom made me realize that I should return to Chicago—that sending me here, to New York, wasn't the best idea. She worries about me."
"She's your mother—it's natural that she worries," Jin said gently. "But why did you wait so long to tell her the truth?"
Hannah's shoulders slumped, her spoon idle in the bowl. "Because I was afraid she would be disappointed. I don't ever want to disappoint her."
Jin's hand squeezed hers just slightly, his voice steady, almost solemn. "Any mother who truly loves her child won't ever be disappointed. She'll do everything to help you, as long as it means you'll be happy."
Hannah nodded, a trembling smile breaking through her tears.
Before the moment could stretch further, a familiar, mocking voice cut through the air. "What kind of melodramatic show is this?"
Joseph appeared, his expression amused, Tom trailing behind him. Tom slid into the seat beside Hannah and immediately fixed her with a mournful, wide-eyed stare, his expression already breaking.
"Is it true?" Tom asked, his voice heavy. "That you're dropping out of school and going back to Chicago?"
Hannah glanced at his face—so open, so pained—and gave a small nod. Confirmation was enough to make his mouth twist into something resembling a disappointed emoticon.
"It's my mother's decision," she explained quietly. "She wants me to move to one of the better schools in my city. She wants me close to her. It's already been decided."
Tom sagged forward, clasping his hands over his food as if it were the only thing tethering him to the table. His voice cracked as he muttered, half to himself, "My wife is going to the other end of the country. It's over."
Jin leaned forward, eager to soften the blow. "I already talked to Hannah. I promised her that we'll come visit her," he said quickly, sending her a reassuring smile.
"You will," Joseph interjected with a scoff. "I'm not wasting money on fuel."
He crossed his arms over his chest, smirking with amusement as the others turned their offended gazes on him.
"First ask Hannah if she even wants your company," Tom retorted bitterly, his voice sharp despite the wet shimmer in his eyes. He blinked rapidly, batting his eyelids as if trying to clear tears, though everyone could see he was already unraveling. His heartbreak hung thick in the air. "Because once vacation starts, Jin and I will be at her place every weekend."
*
The teenager threw her bag onto the bed and sank down onto the mattress, her sad eyes wandering slowly across the familiar interior. Although this place had brought her so much fear—and even pain—over the past months, she had grown accustomed to it. Leaving now felt like tearing away a part of herself. Too much had happened here. Too many memories clung to the walls like invisible stains. She had met people who had changed her, people she had grown attached to in ways she had never expected.
What she feared losing most was Jin's quiet care, Joseph's ridiculous eccentricity, and Tom's irrepressible humor. No one could lift her mood the way that crazy boy could. He was special. Then again… each of them possessed a unique light, something she knew she would never find again elsewhere.
A sudden knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts. Her head snapped toward the sound. Her heart told her it could not be Joseph—he never knocked, always barging in as if the room were his own.
She rose hesitantly and grasped the door handle, pulling it open to peer into the dim corridor. But there was no one there.
"What is it now?" she muttered, frowning, her eyebrows knitting together.
The air felt strange, heavy. She could sense something—or someone—still inside with her. A shiver crept up her spine. Turning slowly, she froze, her eyes widening. One of the floorboards shifted, jolting as if stirred by an unseen hand. Fear clutched her chest. She instinctively pressed her back against the door, which slammed shut under her weight.
Something incomprehensible was unfolding.
Before you leave… see what's hiding in there.
The voice sent her heart racing. She turned and saw her dead sister's form standing before her. The apparition's eyes were filled with sorrow, her expression wounded, fragile.
"What is there?" Hannah whispered, her voice trembling, her throat constricted. A wave of cold enveloped her, biting through her clothes. The temperature in the room dropped suddenly, as though the heating had died.
The secret this room hides. And you.
Her skin prickled. Hugging her arms to her body, Hannah forced herself forward, step by step, until she reached the loose floorboard. Kneeling, she hesitated, then crouched lower. Her hand stretched toward the gap, her breath uneven. She glanced back for courage—only to discover the phantom was gone.
She had vanished without a trace.
With trembling fingers, Hannah pried open the small box hidden beneath the floor. Inside, her hands closed around a folded sheet of paper. She lifted it carefully, her pulse quickening. On the page were written the names of her older classmates. A black dot in the center spread arrows outward toward them. Beside Joseph's name were the words enemy/trustworthy. Next to Jin's arrow was scrawled a heart, a question mark, and the chilling note: liar?
Her lips tightened. She tore the paper into jagged pieces with shaking hands, as if destroying it could erase the meaning. Tears streamed from her eyes as she bent over the floor, her face contorted in anguish.
"What is this?" she whispered, her voice breaking.
Her fingers reached again into the box and drew out another sheet. This one was worse—a letter. Her heart stopped when she saw the handwriting. It was hers.
She read with growing horror:
I think I am complicit in my sister's death. I don't know, because I can't remember the day she died. I have erased it completely from my memory. I don't deserve forgiveness. The burden of this guilt has twisted me into someone else entirely. When I die, will I leave behind the same curse that infected the people who lived in this room after the previous tenant's suicide?
Her hand shook violently. Her terrified gaze drifted upward, toward the chandelier above her. For the briefest instant, an image flashed before her eyes—the body of a girl swinging lifelessly from the chain. A chill ran through her veins.
I am weak, too. My mind hides something dark. It has buried the truth of that day. The secret includes him. My sister's ex-boyfriend. Jin. She played with him, with his feelings. Wasn't she a bitch?
Hannah's breathing quickened. For a heartbeat, memory pierced the fog. She saw Jin standing beside his car, staring helplessly at Danielle's shattered body, the car she had been in mangled by a truck.
Her head snapped up, and her eyes met Jin's. He was smiling at her—darkly, devilishly. The image flickered like static, her memory collapsing in on itself. She could not hold onto it. She could not recall anything more.
Had Jin known her from the beginning? Was he pretending all along, playing a cruel game?
Her mind spun. She remembered the way he had looked at her, the strange questions he had asked. He had always seemed to see Hannah, never Danielle. As if he had known the truth all along.
Or was this another illusion?
I should die. Jin should die. We both deserve to go to hell—to join Danielle. Don't we?
As if scalded, Hannah jerked upright. Her terrified gaze snapped toward the doorway just as it opened. Her mother stepped inside.
"Honey, what are you doing on the floor? Shouldn't you be packed by now?"
Hannah's heart hammered wildly, so loud it drowned her mother's voice. She wiped the tears from her cheeks, desperate to hide the paper trembling in her hand.
"I—I'm doing it already, Mom," she stammered, forcing steadiness into her tone. "I'm just… it's hard to say goodbye to this place."
She stuffed the letter into her pocket, pasting a fragile smile on her face. Her mother, reassured, turned her attention elsewhere. Hannah sat motionless, devastated. Nothing made sense. She did not even remember writing the letter—did not remember at all.
How was it possible?