Han-kyum never knew how long nights lasted in that place. There was no window, no shifting light, and nothing to tell him whether the world outside still moved. Yet somehow, he always sensed when the building changed, as if the air itself breathed differently. That night was one of those moments.
He lay awake on the thin mattress, eyes open, listening to the low hum of machines through the walls. The room wasn't cold, but his fingers wouldn't stop trembling. Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe it was fear.
Maybe it was everything he still didn't understand. He thought of the lab he used to work in. The familiar clatter of glassware. Jae's loud complaints. Kim Gael's sharp voice when he messed up a measurement. Mrs. Jana's warm laughter and the way her hand tapped his shoulder every time he solved a formula faster than expected. Were they looking for him now? Did they even know he was gone?
He turned onto his side and stared at the lab coat hanging neatly on the chair. It looked too white, too clean—wrong in a place like this. Elijah had left it there before walking away without a word, as if expecting Han-kyum to use it. As if ordering him to. Han-kyum breathed out slowly. Elijah was strange and dangerous.
Yet sometimes, in the edges of his voice, Han-kyum heard something that didn't match the threat. Something tired. Something forced. He hated noticing that. He shut his eyes and pressed his hand over his chest, feeling the tight pull of everything he carried. He didn't want to pity Elijah. He didn't want to understand him.
He didn't want to feel anything. He just wanted to go home. After a long moment, he whispered into the quiet, "Tomorrow, I'll figure something out." The hum of the building answered him, steady and unchanging. Han-kyum exhaled and pulled the blanket up to his chin. Sleep came slowly, awkward and heavy, but it came. Outside the room, unseen and unheard, a shadow paused by the door for a moment before walking away.Copy