"Sure," she murmured after a while. "I guess I can tell you."
***
(Two years ago.)
The memory didn't return all at once.
It came in fragments— broken flashes that slowly stitched themselves together in the darkness.
Cold asphalt pressed against her cheek. The smell of pavement filled her nose, sharp and dry. Somewhere in the distance, tires screeched violently before the world exploded into blinding white headlights.
Then—
Impact.
Her body slammed against the ground with brutal force, the air knocked violently from her lungs. Pain surged through her chest and legs, spreading like fire through every nerve as the night sky spun above her.
For a moment, everything went quiet.
Ha-eun lay there on the empty road, barely able to breathe. Her vision blurred at the edges, but she could still feel the rough texture of the asphalt beneath her fingers. Somewhere nearby, an engine idled unevenly.
She was still alive.
Her chest rose weakly as she dragged in a shaky breath. Her body refused to move properly, but her mind was painfully awake.
Footsteps hurried toward her.
The driver.
A middle-aged man rushed into view, his shoes scraping against the road as he approached. He stopped a few steps away, staring down at the girl lying on the pavement.
For a brief moment, their eyes met.
Relief flickered across Ha-eun's fading consciousness— someone had come to help.
But the man's expression didn't look relieved.
It looked annoyed.
"Shit."
The word slipped out under his breath.
He rubbed his face roughly, glancing around the empty road as if checking whether anyone else had seen the accident. When his gaze returned to Ha-eun and he noticed her chest still rising faintly, his expression twisted with irritation.
"You should've died."
The words felt distant, like they were echoing through water.
Ha-eun tried to move her lips, but no sound came out. Her throat burned, and the world around her felt heavier with every passing second.
The man quickly pulled out his phone, his hands shaking— with guilt and panic.
"I accidentally ran a girl over!" he whispered urgently when the call connected. His voice dropped even lower, tense and rushed. "Hurry… I need help. We have to hide her!"
He turned away slightly as he spoke, pacing a few steps across the road while running a hand through his hair.
"She's still breathing," he muttered. "Damn it… this is bad."
Ha-eun's vision flickered.
The headlights blurred into long streaks of light, and the man's voice grew distant as if the world itself were slowly pulling away from her.
The cold pavement beneath her cheek was the last thing she clearly felt.
Then everything faded.
And the darkness swallowed her whole.
***
(Still Ha-eun.)
When Ha-eun opened her eyes again, the world felt wrong.
Cold air rushed into her lungs as she tried to breathe, the smell of rust, dust, and old machine oil stinging her nose.
Her vision slowly adjusted to the dim light, revealing a vast, hollow space around her.
The ceiling stretched high above, steel beams crossing like a dark skeleton, while broken windows along the walls allowed thin strands of moonlight to spill into the abandoned building.
It took a moment for her to realize she couldn't move.
Her wrists were pulled tightly behind her back, rough rope digging painfully into her skin as her body was forced against a rusted metal pillar. Every small movement made the rope bite deeper, sending sharp stings through her arms.
An abandoned factory.
Old machines sat scattered across the floor like forgotten corpses, and the entire place echoed with a hollow silence.
Not far from her, two men dressed in black stood near a table, speaking quietly to each other.
Their voices were low and careless, like they were discussing something ordinary rather than the girl tied to a pillar a few meters away.
One of them eventually noticed her shifting.
"Oh."
He straightened slightly, glancing over at her before scratching the back of his neck with an awkward sigh.
"Sorry, kid."
Ha-eun's throat felt dry when she tried to speak. The words came out weak and shaky.
"Where am I?"
The man didn't look surprised by the question. Instead, he let out a tired sigh, rubbing his temple as if the situation itself was just an inconvenience.
"Our boss might go to jail if people find out she ran someone over."
For a second, Ha-eun just stared at him, trying to process the words through the haze clouding her mind.
"She?" she murmured.
Her voice trembled slightly as confusion settled in.
"But… the person who hit me was a man."
The two men exchanged a quiet look.
One of them let out a small breath, clearly annoyed at the conversation turning complicated.
"It's better if you don't know."
Before Ha-eun could ask anything else, the other man stepped forward. His movements were quick and deliberate, leaving her barely any time to react.
A cloth was suddenly pressed tightly against her mouth and nose.
A sharp, chemical smell flooded her lungs.
Her body jerked weakly as the world around her began spinning violently, the dim factory lights stretching and twisting into blurred streaks.
The men's voices became distant.
The pillar behind her seemed to tilt.
And within seconds, the darkness returned— swallowing her whole once again.
***
(Somewhere)
When Ha-eun opened her eyes again, there was nothing.
No light greeted her. No distant sound of wind or machines. The world around her was suffocatingly silent, as if existence itself had been sealed away.
At first she couldn't understand what was wrong. Her body refused to move properly, every limb pressed tightly against something that clung to her skin.
When she tried to breathe, the air felt thick and stale, brushing back against her face instead of filling her lungs.
Then she felt it.
Plastic.
Something thin and tight wrapped around her entire body, sticking to her mouth and nose each time she inhaled. The material crinkled faintly as she struggled, the sound loud and terrifying in the empty darkness surrounding her.
A bag.