"When truth becomes a weapon, even love bleeds."
The air inside the abandoned laboratory felt thick—heavy with dust, regret, and something darker. The faint hum of broken fluorescent lights flickered across the cracked tiles as Jiwoo clutched Joonhyuk's arm, both of them frozen in disbelief.
A masked figure stepped forward from the shadows, boots echoing softly against the cold floor. The metallic glint of the gun at his waist caught the light before his hand reached up, pulling away the mask.
Jiwoo's breath hitched. "Director Han?" Her voice trembled.
The older man's eyes—sharp, unyielding—met hers with measured calm. "I could ask you the same, Jiwoo," he replied coolly, taking a step closer. "You're meddling in affairs far beyond your understanding."
Joonhyuk moved slightly ahead of her, his jaw tightening. "She has every right to know the truth."
Jiwoo glanced up at him—his words gave her an odd sense of warmth, admiration flickering through her confusion. But Director Han merely scoffed, his lips curling into a bitter smile.
"The truth?" he said, his tone sharp enough to cut through the air. "The truth is a luxury we can't afford. Project Crimson must remain buried."
Before either of them could respond, the sound of heavy boots filled the corridor. A team of armed agents stormed into the lab, their laser sights slicing through the dark like red serpents. Director Han didn't flinch.
"Take them into custody," he ordered, voice cold as steel.
Jiwoo tried to resist, but rough hands gripped her arms, forcing her forward. "Let go of me!" she shouted.
Joonhyuk struggled against two officers, one of them grabbing him by the collar. "Don't touch her!" he barked, his glare searing through them. Despite the chaos, his hand found hers, gripping tight—wordless reassurance in a moment of betrayal.
As they were led out under the ghostly moonlight, Jiwoo turned her head one last time toward the broken lab—the place where the past had begun to claw its way out of the grave.
The night gave way to dawn inside the sterile halls of the NIS interrogation wing. The scent of metal and disinfectant filled the small room where Jiwoo sat, hands cuffed to the table, her wrists aching. A single bulb hung above, swinging slightly with every passing draft.
When the door creaked open, her heart stilled. Jungwoo entered.
Her brother's face was drawn, conflicted. He stood there for a long moment, saying nothing.
Jiwoo's voice broke the silence first. "How could you?" she whispered. "How could you do this to your own sister?"
Jungwoo's gaze faltered, guilt flashing behind his composed mask.
"You let them treat me like a fucking criminal," she continued, anger spilling from her trembling lips. "You—my own brother—you're the reason I'm sitting here!"
"Language, Jiwoo," he snapped, tone sharp to cover the pain in his eyes.
She let out a bitter laugh. "Language? You care about my language when I'm chained like an animal?" Tears welled up in her eyes, her voice shaking. "You say you're protecting me—but by imprisoning me? By lying to me my entire life?"
"It's more complicated than you think," Jungwoo said quietly.
"No," she shot back, eyes glistening. "You just didn't trust me. If you had told me everything, maybe I wouldn't have ended up here."
The silence between them thickened. Jungwoo turned away, his hand tightening into a fist as if holding back words that would only make things worse.
Jiwoo stared at him, her voice barely audible. "What are you doing here, Oppa? Are you here as my brother… or my interrogator?"
He said nothing. His eyes softened, but the weight of his silence was louder than any confession.
Somewhere deeper within the NIS, Joonhyuk sat alone in a dimly lit holding cell. The afternoon sun filtered through narrow bars, cutting lines of gold across his face. Hours passed—then, a faint sound.
Something slid beneath his cell door.
He bent down, picking up a folded piece of paper. A single line was scrawled across it in hurried strokes:
"Trust no one. Escape at midnight."
His pulse quickened. He tore the note into pieces and slipped them into his boot.
Midnight came like a whisper.
Joonhyuk leaned against the wall, eyes tracing the rhythm of footsteps outside his cell. When one of the guards passed, he moved—quick, silent. In one motion, he looped the chain of his cuffs around the guard's neck and pulled back. The man crumpled soundlessly.
He took the keys, freed himself, and crept through the hallways, every shadow stretching long like a threat. The red alarm lights pulsed faintly—heartbeat-like, warning of how little time he had.
He avoided cameras, slipped past corners, took out two more guards. His breathing was steady, his steps precise. Years of training whispered through his body like instinct.
When he finally reached Jiwoo's cell, he found her sitting on the floor, head resting on her knees. The metallic click of the door startled her.
"Joonhyuk?" she breathed.
"Quiet," he whispered, kneeling beside her. The cuff opened with a soft snap.
"Wait—how did you—"
"No time for questions," he cut her off, his tone urgent. "We need to move. Now."
She hesitated. "What about my brother?"
He froze for a moment, eyes shadowed. "We can't trust anyone. Not even him."
That silence lingered, heavy and painful, but she nodded. Together, they slipped out into the night, hearts pounding, the sound of distant sirens chasing them like ghosts.
By dawn, Jiwoo's apartment was bathed in soft gray light. The city outside still slept as she and Joonhyuk sat across from each other at the dining table. The air was still, but her thoughts roared.
She held her head in her hands. "Everything I knew was a lie," she whispered. "My family, my life… all of it."
Her voice broke, and a tear traced down her cheek.
Joonhyuk reached out, cupping her face gently, his thumbs brushing away her tears. "Then we uncover the truth together," he said softly.
She looked up at him, eyes searching. "You'll help me?"
He gave a faint, reassuring smile. "Always."
Fifteen years earlier…
A little girl peeked through a cracked doorway, her small hands trembling. Her father's voice carried through the dimly lit study.
"We can't proceed with Project Crimson," he said firmly. "It's too dangerous."
Across from him, Director Han's tone was cold and commanding. "We've come too far to turn back now."
"This isn't about science anymore—it's about survival!" her father shouted.
Director Han leaned closer. "Then consider this your final warning. Finish it—or your family won't be safe."
Jiwoo clutched the doorframe, her heart pounding. That night, the world she knew began to fracture—though she didn't yet understand how deeply.
Back in the present, Director Han slammed his fist on his desk. "They escaped?"
His assistant nodded nervously. "Yes, sir. Surveillance shows them heading toward the east district."
Han's jaw tightened. "Find them before they find her."
He turned to the phone, dialing. "Jungwoo," he said, voice dangerously calm, "we need to talk."
At Jiwoo's apartment later that afternoon, sunlight streamed weakly through the blinds. Jiwoo and Joonhyuk sat surrounded by papers, faded documents from the lab spread across the table.
"This indicates that Project Crimson involved human experimentation," Jiwoo said quietly, scanning a page.
Joonhyuk nodded grimly. "Your father tried to shut it down. That's why they eliminated him."
Jiwoo's fingers tightened around the paper. "Then we find everything he risked his life to protect. And I'll prove to my brother that I can fight, too."
As she read, her hair fell slightly across her face, strands catching the light. Joonhyuk found himself watching her—not out of pity, but admiration. There was something unyielding in her, something that made him believe in hope again.
"Joonhyuk?" she called.
He didn't respond.
"Joonhyuk!" she said again, louder this time.
He blinked, quickly averting his gaze. "Sorry, I was… thinking."
She smirked faintly, snapping her fingers in front of him. "Next time you stare, at least try not to look suspicious."
He exhaled, half amused, half flustered. "You're impossible."
Her laugh—brief but real—broke through the tension.
Then, her phone buzzed.
A single message.
'Meet me at the old pier. Come alone.'
Her smile faded. The chill returned.
And in that moment, she knew—the past wasn't done with her yet.