Underground parking lot.
Inside the SUV, Steve let out a soft chuckle at the radio host's overly dramatic love story.
He stirred his paper cup of lukewarm coffee, just as a low, steady vibration interrupted the quiet.
Frowning, he glanced back toward the floor behind the seats.
A faint light was bleeding through the edge of the luggage mat.
"…A phone?"
Tilting his head, Steve leaned down and lifted the mat.
There, humming with urgency, was Celeste's phone.
It hadn't stopped vibrating.
The screen was lit with numbers—flashing in red.
Daniel – 16 missed calls
Jinwoo – 37 unread messages
Steve narrowed his eyes.
Then turned, and headed inside with the phone in hand.
By the time Celeste took the device, it was already 11 p.m.
The night had fully settled beyond the curtains, and she stepped out of Noah's room with slow, exhausted steps.
Steve held out the phone.
She blinked—dazed, slow to register—then took it from his hand.
"It was under the mat."
"…Thank you."
He offered a quiet nod, then turned and stepped away.
The moment the screen lit up in her hand, the flood of red digits struck her like a wave.
Daniel's missed calls.
And Jinwoo—message after message, stacked in silence.
"Are you busy?"
"Is everything okay? Still stuck at work?"
"…I'm worried. Just text me, anything."
"Celeste… nothing's wrong, is it?"
"Please. Just one word."
"Please."
"Where did you go without telling even Daniel? I'm at the airport. Just give me four hours."
Her fingertip skimmed across the glass.
His words, brief but trembling with emotion, spilled across the screen like someone trying too hard to sound casual—and failing.
Celeste took a slow breath in.
Then, with quiet precision, she typed out two identical replies.
—Daniel. I'm sorry. Something urgent came up. I can't call right now, but I'll explain everything in person. I'll reach out when I can.
—Jinwoo. I'm sorry. Something urgent came up. I can't call right now, but I'll explain everything in person. I'll reach out when I can.
After sending them both, she stared at the screen for a moment, then gave a humorless little laugh under her breath.
"…God... What a mess I've become."
Only then did she notice the state she was in.
The torn hem of her shirt.
Dried blood on her hands.
Faint, rust-colored stains blooming along her pants.
She rose slowly from the chair.
The scent of antiseptic still hung in the air.
A whisper of iron.
And from behind the door,
Noah's steady breathing filled the quiet.