Glow.
It didn't illuminate. It sickened. The security monitor's green phosphorescence painted Jae-min's face in a chemical wash, hollowing his cheekbones and draining the color from his skin until he looked like a skull watching a screen.
9:00 PM. Unit 1418. 22°C. The hallway outside was a tunnel of black. The building management had killed the corridor lights at eight to save on the electric bill. Now, only the red, dying pulse of the emergency exit signs cut through the dark, dripping a bloody hue on the wallpaper.
Behind him, Ji-yoo paced. Bare feet on the concrete floor. Black leggings. An oversized black t-shirt with a white Three Stars and the Sun Francis M. emblem on the chest. She had stripped off her shoes an hour ago, a restless, coiled energy.
"She's late," Ji-yoo said, anxious, restless energy.
She had spent the last three hours cleaning the second guest room. Fresh sheets. Extra blankets from the void. A bottle of water on the nightstand. Even a small bowl of those weird dried mangoes Ate Alessia liked.
"I made it nice. I made it really nice. Ate Alessia is going to walk in and think I'm a good person. She's going to think I'm a normal sister who supports her brother's relationship instead of a clingy psychopath who sleeps in his bed every night," Ji-yoo thought, anxious, desperate hope.
Jae-min didn't blink. His eyes were glued to the screen, cold, focused intensity.
Then, static. The monitor flickered. A figure stepped out of the stairwell at the end of the hall.
Alessia.
She didn't take the elevator. Smart. The basement cameras were glitchy, but the lobby had a guard. She had taken the concrete stairs, her hand trailing the rough wall for balance in the dark.
She wore a white blouse, untucked. Black slacks. Her indigo hair was loose, spilling over her shoulders like spilt ink. In her right hand, she dragged a small rolling suitcase. The plastic wheels rattled against the grout lines of the tile.
Click. Click. Click.
The sound echoed down the empty corridor. To Jae-min, it sounded as loud as gunshots.
She passed Unit 1412. Then 1415. She stopped. Right in front of Unit 1419. Her apartment.
Her hand reached out. Her fingers brushed the brass doorknob. She didn't turn it.
Jae-min watched her shoulders rise. A deep, shuddering breath that made her whole ribcage expand. She was looking at her own door the way a patient looks at an MRI result they already know is terminal.
"Because it is. In two days, the cold will burst through that glass, freeze her lungs solid, and leave her as a statue on her own bedroom floor," Jae-min thought, grim, iron certainty.
She pulled her hand back like the metal had burned her. She turned. Looked straight into the security camera. She couldn't see him through the lens, but her blue eyes locked onto the glass like she was staring right through his skull.
She picked up the suitcase. Crossed the ten feet of hallway. Stopped in front of the massive slab of steel that was Unit 1418.
Jae-min unlocked the heavy deadbolts. The steel groaned as he pulled it open.
Alessia looked up at the doorframe. It was a foot thicker than a normal door.
"This is really happening," Alessia said softly, trembling disbelief.
"Yes," Jae-min said, quiet, certain.
Ji-yoo appeared beside Jae-min. Not behind him, beside him. Already moving. Already pulling the door wider with one hand while the other reached for Alessia's suitcase.
"Ate Alessia," Ji-yoo said, warm, eager affection. "Let me get that. I prepared the guest room for you. Second door on the left. Fresh sheets. Extra blankets. There's a water bottle on the nightstand and some dried mangoes if you get hungry."
Alessia blinked. A small, tired smile crossed her face, the kind of smile she gave when Ji-yoo's energy was too much to resist.
"You didn't have to do that, Ji-yoo," Alessia said, steady, surgical calm.
Ji-yoo rolled the suitcase inside.
"I wanted to. You're going to be living here. Might as well make it less depressing. Oppa's decorating skills are basically zero. He removed everything that wasn't bolted down and replaced it with steel," Ji-yoo said, bright, forced cheer.
"See? I'm supportive. I'm the good sister. I prepared a lovely room with mangoes and everything. I'm not threatened at all. I'm totally fine with this," Ji-yoo thought, forced, brittle calm.
Jae-min stepped aside. Alessia walked in.
The moment she cleared the threshold, Jae-min heaved the bulkhead shut. The triple hydraulic deadbolts engaged with a heavy, vibrating CLUNK that echoed in the pit of his stomach. Sealed. The matte-black hydraulic steel bulkhead, nearly eight inches thick, layered with ballistic steel, ceramic plating, and thermal insulation foam. The door that would hold against the freeze when every other door on this floor shattered like glass.
Alessia stopped in the middle of the living room. Jae-min stepped up behind her, his hand sliding around her waist, casual, possessive, thumb tracing slow circles against the small of her back. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. Brief. Automatic. The gesture of a man who needed to feel her warmth against him, a fierce, consuming need.
The space was gutted. No curtains. No paintings. The massive charcoal sectional faced the Samsung TV, but the entertainment system had been rewired into the monitoring network. The screen cycled through security camera feeds. The windows were buried behind thick, distorted triple-layer ballistic polycarbonate shields nearly four inches thick that made the Manila skyline look like a watercolor painting left out in the rain. Behind concealed wall recesses, motorized steel blast shutters hung on tracks above the windows, ready to drop like guillotines. The walls were padded under fresh drywall, bulging out eight inches thicker than normal. Behind the drywall: aerogel insulation, reflective thermal membranes, steel mesh reinforcement, secondary concrete plating.
It didn't feel like an apartment. It felt like the inside of a submarine.
"It's a bunker," Alessia said, guarded, wary.
"I know," Jae-min said, quiet, heavy acknowledgment.
"Oppa built it for the apocalypse. He's been like this for weeks. You get used to it," Ji-yoo said, wry, practiced resignation.
"I don't think I will," Alessia said, weary resignation.
Alessia set down the small handbag she had been carrying. Her eyes swept the space, cataloguing exits, hazards, resources. Clinical instinct. The kitchen behind her concealed hidden steel support frames anchored into the floor slab, magnetic compression latches on every cabinet, a commercial-grade dual-power cold storage unit, false panels hiding vacuum-sealed food, medical kits, and ammunition. The obsidian-wood dining table served as planning station, medical table, radio coordination desk, emergency surgery platform. Above it, a suspended industrial light fixture with internal battery backups.
"I'll put this in the guest room. It's small, but I found extra blankets in the storage," Ji-yoo said, warm, eager affection.
"She'll stay in my room," Jae-min said, quiet, immovable resolve.
His voice was quiet, but it cut through the apartment like a blade. The words landed like a grenade.
Ji-yoo froze. Her fingers locked around the suitcase handle. Her knuckles went white, a sudden, rigid shock.
"What," Ji-yoo said, simmering rage.
"My room. Master bedroom. She's staying there," Jae-min said, casual, deliberate detachment.
"Oppa, what the fuck are you doing. That's MY room too. I sleep there. I've slept there every night since we moved here. I sleep BESIDE you. I hug you. I hold your hand. We hug each other to sleep like a goddamn married couple and I'm not giving that up. That's MY spot on the bed. The left side. Always the left side because you thrash in your sleep, and I need the wall to anchor myself. You can't just," Ji-yoo thought, spiraling panic.
Alessia blinked. Looked at Jae-min. Then at Ji-yoo. Then back at Jae-min.
"Your room?" Alessia said, surgical calm.
"Yes," Jae-min said, measured, resolute.
"But... Ji-yoo just said she prepared the guest room for me," Alessia said, careful, measured calm.
"The guest room you prepared doesn't have a bathroom. My room has the only en-suite toilet and bath in the unit. Independent water reserve. Manual shutoff valves. Trauma supplies in the mirror cabinet. If she needs to use the bathroom at night, she has her own bathroom," Jae-min said, smooth, clinical calm.
"Safety hazard. SAFETY HAZARD. He's using BATHROOM LOGISTICS to take my spot. This motherfucker. This absolute piece of shit. He planned this. He waited until I prepared the room. He let me spend THREE HOURS making the bed and arranging mangoes like a goddamn hotel concierge and then he," Ji-yoo thought, seething fury.
Ji-yoo's smile was still on her face. But it had changed. The warmth had drained out of it. What remained was something sharp. Something predatory. The smile of a woman who was calculating exactly how many bones she could break before someone stopped her.
"Oppa," Ji-yoo said, honeyed, dangerous sweetness." Are you sure? The guest room is really nice. I put out the good blankets. The thermal ones."
"The master bedroom has better insulation. Eight inches of reinforced drywall on three sides. Aerogel. Thermal membranes. Steel mesh. It's the safest room in the unit during a structural breach," Jae-min said, even, clinical calm.
"A structural breach," Ji-yoo said, razor-edged.
"Yes," Jae-min said, cold, flat certainty.
"In two days," Ji-yoo said, tight, mounting rage.
"Correct," Jae-min said, cold, clinical calm.
"So you're saying that in two days, during the apocalypse, the safest place in this bunker is your bed," Ji-yoo said, razor-edged.
"The data supports it," Jae-min said, unflinching, cold certainty.
"He's doing this on purpose. He's punishing me. For last night. For the forensic dissection. For making him admit he kissed her. For grinning like a maniac when I figured it out. This is payback. This is cold, calculated, Del Rosario payback and I can't do anything about it because he's RIGHT and he knows he's right and I want to put my fist through his face," Ji-yoo thought, cold, calculated fury.
Ji-yoo turned to Alessia. The sharp smile softened. Forced itself back into something warm. Something human.
"Ate Alessia," Ji-yoo said, gentle, forced warmth." I should warn you. Oppa sleeps like a corpse. He doesn't move. He doesn't snore. He just lies there like a dead body until the alarm goes off. It's actually very unsettling."
"That's... good to know," Alessia said, careful, uncertain.
"And he hogs the left side of the bed," Ji-yoo said, reckless panic.
The room went silent.
"Stupid. Stupid stupid stupid. Why did I say that. Now she knows I've been in his bed. Now she thinks I'm insane. Now she's going to look at me like I'm the crazy sister who sleeps with her brother and," Ji-yoo thought, panicked self-loathing.
Alessia stared at Ji-yoo. Then at Jae-min. Then back at Ji-yoo. Her expression didn't change. But something behind her eyes shifted. A recalculation.
"Ji-yoo," Alessia said, careful, doctor-calm." You've slept in his bed."
It wasn't a question.
Ji-yoo opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again, a desperate, failing composure.
"We're twins," Ji-yoo said, straining, desperate." Twins sleep in the same bed. It's normal. It's a twin thing. In South Korea it's very common. It's cultural. We shared a womb. Sharing a bed is basically the same thing but with more space."
"That's not how twins work," Alessia said, dry, tilted doubt.
"It is in our family," Ji-yoo said, fierce, burning loyalty.
"How often?" Alessia said, direct, surgical intensity.
"How often what?" Ji-yoo said, evasive, cornered defiance.
"How often do you sleep in his bed, Ji-yoo?" Alessia said, weaponized calm.
"She's using her doctor voice on me. She's doing the thing she does with difficult patients where she asks the same question three different ways until they crack. I taught her that. I watched her do it to oppa once through the peephole when he was pretending he wasn't sick. And now she's doing it to ME," Ji-yoo thought, cornered, spiraling panic.
Jae-min watched this exchange. His arms were crossed. His jaw was relaxed. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, a quiet, entertained composure.
"Payback. You dissected my love life for forty-five minutes. You catalogued my lip swelling like a forensic report. You demanded details with the enthusiasm of a serial killer. Now you get to explain your sleeping arrangements to your future sister-in-law. Enjoy," Jae-min thought, quiet, satisfied amusement.
"Is this true?" Alessia said, careful, searching concern.
"She's my twin," Jae-min said, measured, deliberate calm.
"Does she sleep in your bed?" Alessia said, sharp, surgical intensity.
"When she wants to," Jae-min said, steady, unapologetic composure.
"How often does she want to?" Alessia said, precise, diagnostic intensity.
"Most nights," Jae-min said, flat, unapologetic honesty.
"OPPA YOU TRAITOR. YOU'RE JUST THROWING ME UNDER THE BUS. YOU'RE SITTING THERE WITH YOUR ARMS CROSSED LIKE YOU'RE WATCHING A MOVIE WHILE I IMPLODE IN REAL TIME," Ji-yoo thought, volcanic betrayal.
Uncle Rico appeared in the kitchen doorway behind Alessia, coffee mug in hand. He took one look at the scene, one look at the twins, and pressed his palm against his face with a heavy, resigned sigh. The sound cut through the apartment like a period at the end of a bad sentence, weary, exasperated acceptance.
Alessia set her handbag down on the counter. Slowly. Deliberately. She looked at Ji-yoo. Then at Jae-min. Then at the hallway that led to the master bedroom. Then at the guest room door, the one with the fresh sheets and the mangoes and the water bottles.
"Okay," Alessia said, measured calm." I'm going to need a moment to process the fact that my boyfriend's twin sister has been sleeping in his bed most nights. And then I'm going to go take a shower. And when I come out, we're all going to have a very calm, very rational conversation about sleeping arrangements."
She picked up her handbag. Walked down the hall. The hallway was thicker here, the ceiling slightly lower, the lighting colder. The corridor felt less like a condominium hallway and more like the interior passageway of a naval vessel. She passed the guest room. Passed the common bathroom, its mirrors fogged from the pressure and temperature differentials. Stopped at the master bedroom door. Opened it. Went inside.
She did not lock the door. She didn't even close it all the way. She left it ajar. Three inches of gap between the door and the frame. Enough for light to pass. Enough for sound to pass. Enough for a barefoot South Korean woman in a Francis M. t-shirt to see that the new arrival wasn't building walls inside the fortress.
"I'm not locking her out. I'm not walling myself off. If she needs to walk through this door at three in the morning, she can. This isn't a territory grab. This is survival. All of us. Together," Alessia thought, calm, resolute conviction.
Ji-yoo, who had been pretending to scroll on her phone from the couch, stared at the door. The gap. The amber light spilling through the crack into the dark corridor. Her jaw was tight. Her knuckles were white around the phone.
"She didn't lock it," Ji-yoo said, numb, dead flat.
"I noticed," Jae-min said, quiet, watchful.
Ji-yoo turned to Jae-min. Her face was a masterpiece of barely contained fury. The kind of fury that lived underneath the skin. The kind that didn't scream, it waited.
"I hate you," Ji-yoo said softly, raw hatred.
"I know," Jae-min said softly, raw honesty.
"She's in my spot," Ji-yoo said, cracking, desperate grief.
"She's in my room. I'm sleeping there too," Jae-min said, gentle but firm.
"THE LEFT SIDE IS MY SPOT," Ji-yoo screamed, desperate, territorial fury.
"Was," Jae-min said, cold, final.
One word. The weight of a dead timeline behind it.
"Was. He said was. Not is. Was. Like it's already over. Like I've already been replaced. Like the last twenty-eight years of sleeping beside him mean nothing because Ate Alessia showed up with a suitcase and now she's in MY room but the door isn't locked and I don't know what that means," Ji-yoo thought, raw, bleeding grief.
Ji-yoo's hands were shaking. Not from fear. From something worse. Something that felt like grief.
She grabbed Jae-min's arm. Looped her hand through his elbow. Pressed her body against his side. Fierce. Desperate. Clinging like she'd lose him if she let go.
"Oppa," Ji-yoo said softly, cracked, fragile." I'm still going to sleep there. Right? I'll just... I'll take the other side. She can have the left. I don't care about the left. I just... I need to be in the room. I can't sleep in my room. I can't. I'll hear the walls cracking and I'll think about the cold and I'll,"
She stopped. Swallowed. Her fingers dug into his arm.
"You have your own room, Ji-yoo," Jae-min said, quiet, grounding.
Ji-yoo flinched. Like he had hit her.
"What?" Ji-yoo said, raw, gutted.
"Your room. Bedroom two. The one with the guitar and the posters. The Marshall stacks. The acoustic insulation that doubles as sound suppression. It has its own bathroom, Ji-yoo. You don't even need to use the hallway," Jae-min said, reasoned, gentle concern.
"Oppa," Ji-yoo said, fierce, defiant.
"It's across the hall from mine. You have a bed. You have a bathroom. You have walls," Jae-min said, steady, grounding certainty.
"It's not the same," Ji-yoo said, cracking, desperate grief." It's not,"
"Ji-yoo," Jae-min said, heavy, aching resolve." You can't sleep in my bed anymore. Not when Alessia is there. Not when she's my girlfriend. You know that."
"I know but," Ji-yoo said, desperate, pleading.
"No," Jae-min said, absolute, immovable.
The word hung in the air between them. Absolute. Inescapable.
Ji-yoo stared at him. Her dark eyes were wet. Not crying. Not yet. Just wet. The precursor to something worse.
"He's cutting me off. He's actually cutting me off. After everything. After the regression. After the bunker. After all of it, I'm the one who holds him together. I'm the one who stops the shaking. I'm the one who," Ji-yoo thought, devastated, desperate denial.
"But she's his girlfriend. And I'm his sister. And there's a line. And he's drawing it. Right now. In this hallway. With a door that isn't locked between me and the only place that's ever felt safe," Ji-yoo thought, bleeding acceptance.
Jae-min looked at his sister. Really looked. The wet eyes. The white knuckles. The way she was pressing against his side like she was trying to merge with him.
Something cracked in his chest. Small. Hairline. The kind of crack you could pretend wasn't there.
He reached up. Untangled her arm from his elbow. Gently. Deliberately.
Ji-yoo's breath hitched.
Then he pulled her into a hug. Not a side hug. Not a casual arm-around-the-shoulder. A real hug. Both arms. Tight. The kind of hug he hadn't given her since they were children. The kind of hug that said I'm here and I'm not leaving without speaking. He pulled her against him so tight her bare feet lifted half an inch off the floor.
Ji-yoo went rigid. Her arms stayed at her sides. Her jaw clenched. Her fingers twitched once, fighting the pull of his arms, then went still.
Jae-min's lips pressed against her forehead. A kiss. Firm. Deliberate. The kind of kiss that was not romantic and not casual. It was a seal. A promise. A benediction. The kind of kiss a brother gives a sister when words are insufficient and the only language left is the body saying what the mouth cannot.
"I'm sorry, Ji-yoo. I'm sorry for the payback. I know what this costs you. I know what I'm asking you to give up. And I'm sorry," Jae-min said, raw, aching remorse.
Ji-yoo's hands came up. Slowly. Her fingers curled into the back of his shirt. Not pushing away. Holding on. Her forehead pressed against his chest. Her shoulders trembled once, just once, before she locked them down.
"He knows. He actually knows. He's not clueless. He's not pretending it doesn't matter. He's sorry. And that makes it worse and better at the same time," Ji-yoo thought, fierce, bleeding relief.
"Your room is twenty feet away. I'm not disappearing," Jae-min said softly, warm, intimate." You've survived worse than a hallway."
"It's not about the hallway," Ji-yoo said softly, muffled, aching.
"I know," Jae-min said, quiet, fierce tenderness.
They stood there. In the dark hallway. In the bunker that would soon be the only thing standing between them and minus seventy degrees. His chin on top of her head. Her fists clenched in the back of his shirt.
Ji-yoo pulled back. Wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand. Sucked in a shaky breath.
"I want compensation," Ji-yoo said, raw but steadying.
"Compensation," Jae-min said, wary curiosity.
"For emotional damages. You let me prepare that room for three hours. I arranged the mangoes in a circle. A CIRCLE, oppa. That takes effort. You owe me," Ji-yoo said, fierce, blazing stubbornness.
"What do you want?" Jae-min said, guarded wariness.
"Your benelli," Ji-yoo said, sharp, predatory.
"No," Jae-min said, flat, absolute denial.
"Then the crossbow," Ji-yoo said, sharp, calculating.
"No," Jae-min said, firm denial.
"Two more Glock magazines," Ji-yoo said, tactical, hungry.
"Done," Jae-min said, conceding acceptance.
"Four," Ji-yoo said, feral, hungry.
"Three. Final offer," Jae-min said, firm, faint warmth.
"Deal," Ji-yoo said, feral satisfaction.
Ji-yoo extended her hand. They shook. Firm. Three pumps. The way Mom taught them.
"Your hands are sweaty," Ji-yoo said, playful disgust.
"So are yours," Jae-min said, dry, amused.
"That's because I've been handling mangoes for three hours. What's your excuse?" Ji-yoo said, pointed defiance.
"Emotional depth," Jae-min said, flat, deadpan.
Ji-yoo snorted. Let go of his hand. Wiped hers on her leggings.
"He's still mine. He'll always be mine. She can have the bed. She can have the left side and the right side and the middle. But he's mine. He came out of the same womb as me. No one gets to take that. Not even Ate Alessia. Not even if I like her. Not even if she didn't lock the door," Ji-yoo thought, fierce, possessive certainty.
— • • • —
11:30 PM. Unit 1418. 22°C.
The shower hissed from behind the master bedroom door. Then stopped. A few minutes later, Alessia emerged. Her hair was damp, darkening the collar of her white shirt. Her bare feet made soft slapping sounds on the concrete. She walked into the kitchen. The commercial-grade dual-power cold storage unit hummed loudly in the silent apartment. Inside, there was nothing but a single bottle of distilled water. She cracked the cap. The plastic seal snapped.
She sat across from Jae-min at the obsidian-wood table. Took a sip. The water was room temperature. It tasted like dust and plastic.
Jae-min was still cleaning the Surgeon Scalpel rifle. His fingers were stained black with carbon and gun oil. The smell was sharp. Acrid. It filled the room.
"When's the last time you ate?" Alessia said, clinical, probing concern.
"I don't know," Jae-min said, hollow, detached.
"Yesterday? The day before?" Alessia said, persistent, medical concern.
"It doesn't matter," Jae-min said, dismissive, evasive.
Alessia set the bottle down. The condensation pooled on the bare wood.
"It does. Your hands are shaking," Alessia said, firm, professional concern.
"They're steady," Jae-min said, tight, stubborn denial.
"They're trembling. I'm a doctor. I can see it," Alessia said, firm, professional concern.
Jae-min stopped. He looked at his hands. They were perfectly still. But he let the comment slide.
"The man in gray," Alessia said softly, careful, probing." The one who sent the message. What's he going to do?"
"Watch. Wait. Decide if I'm a threat," Jae-min said, cold, analytical.
"And if he decides you are?" Alessia said, steady, unflinching.
Jae-min picked up the bolt. Slid it into the receiver. Click.
"Then he dies," Jae-min said, flat, clinical detachment.
Alessia stared at him.
"You've done this before," Alessia said softly, quiet horror." Killed someone."
"In my first life? No. I was too weak because of hunger and depression," Jae-min said, hollow, resigned. "In this life? I won't hesitate."
Alessia didn't flinch. She just took another sip of water.
"Okay," Alessia said, measured acceptance." Okay, I believe you."
She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
"I'm going to bed. Wake me if the world ends," Alessia said, weary resignation.
She stood up. Walked down the hall. Stopped at the master bedroom door. Opened it. Went inside. Closed it behind her. The door clicked shut, but it did not lock. The gap remained. Three inches of amber light spilling into the dark naval-vessel corridor.
Ji-yoo, who had been pretending to scroll on her phone from the couch, stared at the door. Her jaw was tight. Her knuckles were white around the phone.
"She still didn't lock it," Ji-yoo said, numb, flat.
"I noticed," Jae-min said, quiet, watchful.
"You're going to sleep in there too," Ji-yoo said, dead flat.
"Yes," Jae-min said, level, steady.
"With her," Ji-yoo said, flat, accusatory.
"Yes," Jae-min said, unflinching, honest.
"In the bed I've been sleeping in," Ji-yoo said, raw, accusatory.
"It's my bed, Ji-yoo," Jae-min said, gentle but firm.
— • • • —
10:00 PM. Unit 1418. 22°C.
Ji-yoo stood up. Walked past the guest room. The one she had prepared. The one with the fresh sheets and the extra blankets and the water bottle and the mangoes arranged in a perfect circle.
She opened the door. Looked inside. The bed was small. The walls were thick, reinforced. Not like the master suite's eight inches of aerogel and steel mesh, but thick enough. Hidden weapon locker beneath the bed. Emergency thermal suits and oxygen masks in the closet. Ballistic polycarbonate window with steel shutters. It wasn't a guest room. It was a survival dormitory.
She stared at the mangoes for a long time. Then she closed the door. Walked past the common bathroom, the decontamination zone with its drainage systems and bleach and disinfectants. Stopped at her own door. Bedroom two. The one with the faded sticker of a Rivermaya logo she had slapped on there two years ago.
She opened it.
The room was exactly as she had left it. The music studio had survived the bunker conversion surprisingly intact. The Marshall stacks remained. The guitars remained mounted against the walls. The acoustic insulation doubled as sound suppression against gunfire and generator vibrations. The equipment racks concealed backup batteries and communication hardware. Her private bathroom contained hidden emergency trauma kits beneath the vanity. This room still felt human. Still artistic. Still alive. In contrast to the increasingly militarized atmosphere of the rest of Unit 1418.
The posters covered every inch of wall space. The classic Rivermaya lineup. Perf De Castro on the left, mid-solo, his fingers bent around the fretboard like he was choking a scream out of the strings. Rico Blanco on the right, mouth open, eyes closed, caught in the middle of a verse. Bamboo in the center, arms wide, holding the audience in the palm of his hand. Nathan and Mark in the corners, the rhythm section that held everything together.
The electric guitar sat in its stand. A black Fender Stratocaster replica. Next to it, the small practice amp she had bought with her first paycheck. The pedal board underneath, three pedals, a distortion, a chorus, a delay, arranged in the exact order Perf used on the album. She hadn't touched it in weeks.
Ji-yoo stood in the doorway for a long time. Looking at Perf De Castro's face on the poster. The frozen moment of a man doing the only thing he was born to do.
"Perf would know what to say. Perf would say something cool. Something about music and loss and how the best solos come from pain. But I'm not Perf. I'm just a girl who's been kicked out of her brother's bed and I'm standing in my own room like a stranger," Ji-yoo thought, hollow, aching displacement.
She sat on the edge of her bed. The mattress was soft. Too soft. Not like the firm mattress in the master bedroom that she had shared with oppa since they were six. Her own bathroom sat through the side door, clean and untouched. She hadn't used it in weeks.
She reached under her pillow. Pulled out the dried mango she kept there, a habit from before the apocalypse, before the bunker, before any of it. She bit into it. Chewed slowly. Stared at Perf's poster.
"I hate this," Ji-yoo said softly, bitter, aching defeat.
Perf De Castro didn't answer.
— • • • —
1:00 AM. Unit 1418. 22°C.
Jae-min sat in the dark. The rifle was assembled. Ready. He rested his finger on the trigger guard. Not inside. Just resting. The green glow of the monitor hummed.
Scrape. Scrape. Scrape.
— • • • —
3:00 AM. Unit 1418. 22°C.
The apartment was holding its breath. The hum of the fridge. The whisper of the air filtration. The faint, rhythmic ticking of Jae-min's watch against the table.
Then, the monitor flickered.
Jae-min's eyes snapped to the screen, cold, electric alertness.
A shadow peeled away from the wall at the end of the hallway. It wasn't the man in gray. The proportions were wrong. Smaller. Leaner. It moved like smoke. There was no sound of shoes on tile. No rustle of fabric. Just a fluid, liquid glide that made the hairs on the back of Jae-min's neck stand up.
The figure paused in front of Unit 1420. The door with the cracked frame. The figure tilted its head. Like a dog hearing a frequency humans couldn't.
Then, it drifted toward Unit 1418. Five feet from the bulkhead. It stopped.
Slowly, a face turned up to the camera. A woman. Young. Black hair that blended into the darkness. Skin so pale it looked like it had never seen the sun. And her eyes. Dark, empty pits that reflected the red glow of the emergency lights like an animal's.
She looked directly into the lens.
Slowly, deliberately, she raised a pale finger to her lips.
Shhh.
Then, she melted backward. Sinking into the shadows at the edge of the camera's feed. Gone. Without a single sound.
The hallway was empty.
The only sound in the bunker was the sudden, heavy thud of Jae-min's heart against his ribs.
His phone vibrated against the table. The buzz sounded like a gunshot in the silence.
[Unknown]: She is not yours to protect, Mr. Del Rosario. Neither is the doctor. Choose your battles carefully. - N
Jae-min stared at the screen. The green glow reflected in his dark eyes. The words burned into his retinas like acid.
"They're not just watching. They're watching me watch them. And they wanted me to see her. The pale woman. The shush. The message. All of it. They want me to know I'm not the one in control," Jae-min thought, icy, annihilating dread.
He wasn't the hunter.
He was the prey.