⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

It seemed as though the night had much more in store for Mirae. She was nearly at her quarters, boots dragging with exhaustion and her head foggy from too many pills and not enough sleep, when she saw a lone cart being wheeled through an otherwise isolated hall. The guard pushing it was a jittery-looking man in a red jumpsuit. A circle guard.

When he passed her, he tipped his head in a nervous greeting, trying to move fast enough to pretend he hadn't seen her at all.

Unfortunately, Mirae had seen him.

Her gaze snapped to the cargo on the cart. The black box was painted with an absurd pink bow, like a joke the devil himself might play. A gift box large enough for a body, rolling through the guts of a nightmare. 

Her brows knit together. Something didn't sit right. The box was a coffin, and the coffins were supposed to be burned, but the crematorium was at the other end of the facility. This man had no business being here. 

"You there. Stop."

The guard froze mid-step, spine going stiff before he turned to face her. 

Mirae cocked her head. "What've you got there?"

The man's hands tightened around the handle of the cart, eyes darting like a cornered rat, but he didn't speak.

Mirae didn't wait for a response. She moved closer, stopping just beside the coffin. The pink bow mocked her with its cheer. She reached out and dragged her fingers along the side, stopping cold when she felt the faint ridge of something painted beneath her fingertips. She looked closer, eyes narrowing.

A cross. Faint, crude, and dry with blood. Almost invisible to the untrained eye, but Mirae had been trained by monsters. She knew what it meant, and her lips thinned into a line.

The blood-cross was a marker. 

This one still breathes. This one has value.

"You're not headed to the crematorium, are you?" she demanded. 

The guard swallowed hard. 

"You're not supposed to be on this side of the facility with this. So tell me, where exactly are you taking the not-quite-dead?"

Still, silence.

In a place already steeped in cruelty, some found ways to dig the knife deeper, carving their profit out of the dying. Every year, without fail, a new rot festered under the sanctioned horrors of the Games. A black market of flesh and desperation. 

They weren't always choosy. They couldn't afford to be.

After all, anyone who found themselves in this hellscape wasn't the pinnacle of health or hope; they were the world's discarded, the already desecrated, but necessity sharpened greed into something more creative. In the end, a faltering heartbeat was still a heartbeat, and a cadaver could still be stripped for parts.

Mirae's eyes darkened, and the memories came back like bile. She had almost been one of them.

She'd been no more than a child when she'd wandered too far below, lost in the identical corridors worming through the facility. She'd grown restless in the observation room, bored of the whispers of men and the drone of monitors. She wanted to see if a place like this had something that warranted bringing a child into it. 

What she'd found instead were the vultures. The scavengers who pulled warm bodies from the pit and harvested them. They'd almost taken her too.

Curiosity had always been her most foolish trait, and that day, it had nearly killed her.

She still remembered the way they'd coaxed her, leading her down a hallway that smelled faintly of antiseptic. She was old enough to know not to take candy from strangers, but not old enough to resist the promise of being shown something 'nice'.

Nice had turned out to be a room that reeked of copper and a blow to the back of her head. She'd woken up strapped to a table, water from a rusted pipe leaking directly above her. One of them was already leaning over her, scalpel in hand, its tip pressing gently against her sternum, almost like he regretted it. 

That room still made appearances in her worst nightmares, though it paled in comparison to the other horrors she'd come to know.

Sometimes she wished her father hadn't come bursting through the door.

It had been over before they could make the first cut. He had made a mess of them. Bones shattered like glass, teeth strewn across the floor like seeds. He hadn't given them the mercy of death. He hadn't given her the mercy of oblivion, and she'd had to watch as he strung them up and practically filleted them. 

A lesson in retribution, he'd called it. 

She belonged to him. No one else had the right to carve her open. At the time, she believed it meant he loved her. Now she wasn't so sure. Maybe he had only been enraged because someone had dared lay hands on what was his.

She looked back at the circle guard and sighed. "Open it."

The man shook his head. "Please, I was told..."

"Did I stutter?"

His hands trembled as he reached for the lid. 

Inside, a woman lay motionless. Barely breathing, but breathing all the same. Eyes fluttering weakly behind closed lids. 

Mirae stared at her. She didn't feel horror anymore, only exhaustion. When she pulled out her gun and shot her in the chest, she didn't even blink. It was a mercy. The woman's breath had already been rattling, and her spine bent at an unnatural angle. She wouldn't have made it another hour, if even that. This way, there was no more waiting. 

The guard behind the cart muttered something low, too garbled to make out, but seething with venom. Before she could register it, he lurched toward her, arm swinging wide.

She flinched out of instinct, her arm rising to shield her face. Pain seared across her upper arm as something sharp bit into her skin. She stumbled back, blood already trickling through her uniform. 

The man came at her again, a small pocket knife clutched in his hand. He was heavy-set, and when he slammed her shoulder into the corridor wall, the force rattled her skull. Her head snapped back, and stars burst behind her eyes.

"You psychotic bitch," he spat. "Always sticking your nose in things that don't concern you. You make it hard enough by not leaving any of 'em in good condition. "

He was on her before she could fully regain her footing, his weight crushing her frame against the wall. His hand clamped around her wounded arm, squeezing brutally, and when he jabbed his fingers into the gash his knife had left behind, Mirae bit down on a cry. Her knees buckled, and she nearly dropped her gun.

"That's right. Let's see how tough you are now. Bet you scream just like the others."

Mirae snarled and drove her knee into his groin with all the force she could summon. He let out a hoarse scream and staggered back, his hands dropping. She didn't waste the moment, and with her uninjured arm, she swung the butt of her pistol upward into his jaw, the impact sending him reeling.

"You could've just ignored me," he panted. "Just looked the other way, like everyone else. But no. You've always gotta play the righteous bitch. You ruin the fun. You ruin the product."

He glanced back at the dead woman in the coffin, then at Mirae. 

"We were gonna enjoy ourselves before harvesting her. Hell, you might have to take her place now. Could earn back what you cost us."

That was when she shot him in the shoulder. Balancing the books, so to speak. A lesson in retribution. 

"You really should've kept your mouth shut," she said coldly. 

His hands scrabbled at the floor, trying to reach for the knife again, but Mirae kicked it far out of reach.

"You—"

Her gun went off again. Still not fatal, but she got his thigh this time, and he dropped like a stone, clutching the wound as blood gushed between his fingers. The day's events had used up whatever reservoirs of patience she had, and now she was at the end of her tether. It made her unnecessarily cruel. It made her vindictive. 

She cocked her head toward the open coffin. "Maybe I should put you in the box and send you into the flames along with her." 

Without waiting for a response, she turned on her heel, leaving him there to drag himself by the elbows, blood pooling like a slug trail behind him.

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

Just as Mirae rounded the corner, her earpiece crackled to life, a burst of static followed by her brother's clipped voice. 

"You shouldn't have done that."

She didn't pause. The blood soaking through the torn fabric of her sleeve had begun to dry, crackling with every twitch of her arm. Her fingers were sticky, coated in the man's blood and her own. A perfect, grotesque handshake.

Her response was acidic. "What's it to you?"

"You're hurt. You should come up so I can patch you up... again."

His irritation scratched like sandpaper, and Mirae grimaced.

"You know when they do it," she accused. "You see it from your little room. You know exactly where they take their victims. Why don't you ever tell me?"

"And why would you need to know?"

"So that I can—"

"Kill them?" He sounded vexed. "They're like the Hydra, Mirae. Kill one, and a dozen take its place. You're never going to stop it. Why dirty your hands over a futile effort? Let them be. As long as they don't cause trouble for you, just let it go."

The resignation in his voice made her stomach twist, though she didn't know if it was anger, guilt, or something darker. She didn't speak. Didn't tell him the truth, she couldn't afford to say aloud.

That these were the only kills she enjoyed. That she liked the look of terror in their eyes, the way they clawed and screamed. When she executed someone who deserved it, something settled in her. Something soothed.

She told herself it was justice, but really, it was probably because she liked hurting them. 

Maybe she was a monster after all. But if she told Minhyuk that and allowed him to see that part of her, he'd be gone. He'd leave, the way he should. The way anyone would. He didn't need to stay in this rotting hell with her. He had options. He had a home. He had people who would love him because he let them. Because he deserved it. 

"You should probably go check in on your friend again," Minhyuk remarked after several long moments. 

Mirae's spine stiffened. "What happened. Is Eun-Kyung alright?"

"Lights out. You know how it is."

She closed her eyes briefly. It was another cruel layer to the twisted experiment. As if the official games weren't brutal enough, they turned off the lights some nights and let chaos reign. Let the animals tear the vulnerable ones apart in their sleep. They encouraged the players to finish each other off to increase their own chances of winning the prize money. 

"She looks fine from what I can see," Minhyuk reassured hastily. "No blood or anything, but you should check anyway. Thought you'd wanna know."

"Okay."

He hesitated, then added, with a hint of dry humour. "You'd have had my head for not telling you."

"Yeah, I would've. Thanks."

There was another pause before he spoke again. "The guy you left behind... is he dead?"

"No." Mirae shrugged. "Would you like him to be? I could probably go back and—"

She trailed off, her tone casual, like she was offering to pick up groceries on the way home.

Minhyuk almost shuddered. There was no anger in her voice. No satisfaction either. Just resigned detachment. 

He huffed into the mic. "No, there's no need."

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

When Mirae stepped into the sleeping quarters, the stench hit her first—metallic blood, sweat, bile, and fear, all congealing into a single suffocating breath that lodged in her throat. The lights overhead flickered, bathing the room in a sterile, blue-white glow that made every shadow look like it was crawling. It was a massacre in the foulest, most pitiful sense of the word.

Bodies were strewn across the floor like discarded dolls. Some curled in fetal positions with their eyes wide open in eternal terror; others were sprawled, broken and limp, blood leaking from cracked skulls or caved-in chests.

They had used anything—fists, shoes, jagged pieces of metal pulled loose from the bunk beds. Before Mirae could seek out her best friend, her gaze was drawn upwards. Perched like some gnarled spectre atop the highest bunk, head nearly brushing the ceiling, sat her grandfather. He crouched like a watchful gargoyle, elbows on his knees, hands folded loosely as he surveyed the scene below with a scholar's detachment, or perhaps an artist admiring his latest masterpiece.

Her pulse quickened. Every muscle in her body screamed to run to him, to ask him if he'd lost his mind, but she didn't move. Even now, appearances mattered above all else, and she couldn't look like she had a personal connection to the games. 

So instead, she drifted forward slowly, stepping around corpses with cool detachment. She stopped beneath the tall metal frame and looked up, trying to appear a mere curious spectator surveying the bunks.

Her grandfather didn't look down at her, but he tilted his head and gave the faintest, disapproving shake. It told her everything.

He knew it was her. And he was telling her: Not now.

Her earpiece crackled, and Minhyuk murmured through the static like a ghost.

"Don't bother trying to talk him down."

"Are you insane?" Mirae hissed. "At his age, a fall from there could kill him."

"It's all part of his stunt. You know how he is. He doesn't like to be derailed from his plans. Let him be."

"But—"

Minhyuk cut her off. "He said you'd worry. And he also said to tell you not to."

Her hands curled into fists. "Oh, so he's confiding in you now, huh? Must be fun, being in on everything while I'm left in the dark, as always."

There was a pause. The silence between them was taut.

"You're the one who never wants to know," Minhyuk responded defensively. "Don't take it out on me."

Mirae opened her mouth to argue, to deny, to unleash something sharp, but the words died on her tongue, and all that escaped was a tired breath. She looked up once more at her grandfather, who was still crouched like a spider above a feast of flies, then turned and walked away.

"I'm sorry," she grunted. 

"You don't have to apologize. You've had a rough day."

"Been watching, have you?"

"I try not to," Minhyuk drawled. "Don't think I could stomach it the way you do."

She didn't respond. She didn't have the strength to argue that she didn't stomach it. She simply swallowed it all and waited for it to corrode her from the inside out. 

She continued to patrol the room, keeping an eye on Eun-kyung from afar. Her friend stood with a small cluster of players, including 456. They were being herded into a corner by a pair of guards who were doing routine searches for weapons. Around them, the others were scanning the deceased, cataloguing all those who had been eliminated by their fellow captives.  

Mirae drew closer, her eyes scanning every inch of the woman. No blood and no trembling hands. A darkening bruise on her jaw, yes, but no apparent knife wounds. As soon as she had the opportunity, she'd leave Eun-kyung a note to visit one of the bathroom stalls later in the night, where she'd slip some pain relief for her to find. This much she could do. 

Then, just as she was about to leave and finally retire for the night, she saw another familiar figure. He had kept his newly acquired square mask and was currently patting down player 456. She crept closer despite herself, and then she heard him speak. 

"Player 456, is there a man named Hwang In-ho here?"

Mirae made a face behind her mask. So that's who the detective was here to find. Judging by the family name, it had to be a relative. A father, brother, or even son? Who knew, but since she had promised to help him, she had to look into it for him. She hadn't heard the name before, but the sooner the man found the answers he was looking for, the sooner he'd be out of her hair and she'd be free from the responsibility of keeping him alive. 

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

Minhyuk watched his sister leave the players' sleeping quarters through the security feeds, and he felt a stab of guilt at the way she held her arm stiffly to her side. It urged him to ease the tension by teasing her through their private communication channel over her earpiece. 

"You look like you're about to explode. Relax your shoulders before your spine gives out.

"Oh? Didn't realize you were still spying on me."

"I'm not. It was just an educated guess, given your track record of abysmal posture."

"You have such a way with words," Mirae scowled. "How does your girlfriend put up with you?"

"I wonder that myself sometimes. She called me this morning. Said she had a dream I was cheating on her with my conference roommate. I told her the guy snores like a chainsaw and drools on his pillow. Very romantic."

"Conference, huh? Is that where you said you were?"

"Yup."

"And she bought your story about the roommate."

Minhyuk laughed. "Maybe. But she did say that if I ever cheated on her, she'd lace my shampoo with itching powder and replace my socks with sandpaper.

"She sounds like a keeper."

"She is. Sent me a picture of her coffee at lunch, too."

"...riveting."

Minhyuk snickered. "No, no, it gets better. She captioned it: 'The only hot thing I've seen since you left.'"

Mirae snorted despite herself. Her brother's nonsensical prattle made her forget about the stinging pain in her arm. "Sounds like you're about to be replaced." 

"Probably. She introduced me to her new plant, saying, and I quote—'He's quieter than you and doesn't try to fix all my problems.'"

"You should be taking notes."

"I am. I'm learning to shut up and photosynthesize."

"Well, you've already got the lightbulb above your head, genius. You're halfway there."

Her brother chuckled, and Mirae could hear the relief in it, like her reciprocating his attempts at conversation soothed something in him. So she continued the charade, continued pretending everything was fine. 

"How's your arm?" 

Mirae shrugged, knowing he could probably see her. "Still attached. Hurts like hell though."

"Then come up here and let me fix it. Before it falls off and I have to tell Grandfather that you bled to death because you were too proud to ask your big brother for help."

"It's not that deep. I'm not going to bleed to death. And you should go to bed. Your enthusiasm is this close to getting you kicked."

"If it'll get you up here and patched up, you're most welcome to," Minhyuk huffed. "And my optimism should have grown on you by now. Like mould. But, you know, endearing mould."

Mirae made an exaggerated gagging sound. "You are absolutely the kind of idiot who'd use fungi as a metaphor for affection."

Then she leaned her back against the wall of the isolated hallway she was in and slid down until she was sitting on the floor. She pulled the earpiece from her ear and set it gently on the tile beside her. The weight of performing normalcy slipped from her shoulders just enough for her to notice the ache in her bones. She shouldn't have been this tired. Last year, she had survived far longer without proper sleep. 

She pressed her hand to her wound, eyes fluttering shut. She needed to get back to her room. She needed a break, and her brother deserved one too. He'd been keeping her sane with nonsense jokes and sweet distractions, but she knew the strain it took to smile when you could see your sister unravelling from thirteen angles on thirteen different screens.

Just as she was about to drag herself up, she swore and picked the earpiece up again. There was something she had forgotten to ask.

When she clicked it back in, Minhyuk's voice came immediately. 

"Miss me already?"

"Shut up. I had a question."

"Fire away, bug eyes."

She rolled her eyes at the childhood nickname. He was trying so damn hard to pretend everything was fine.

"Are any of the players named In-ho? Hwang In-ho?" She asked cautiously, repeating the name she had overheard Junho ask Player 456 earlier. 

The silence on the other end stretched, which was very unlike Minhyuk.

"Well?" she demanded. "Are they? Has he been eliminated already?" Nausea twisted her stomach. "God. Was I his executor?" 

Junho likely already thought her a heinous creature, but if she was the one who killed his brother, she was sure he'd throttle her himself. She'd have done the same to anyone endangering her brother, so she wouldn't blame him for it. Still, the thought of him disliking her that much sent a bitter pang through her chest, one she did not understand. Why should she care if he thought her vile? 

Minhyuk finally scoffed. "You really don't pay attention to anything, do you?"

"Don't be snarky with me. Just answer the question... please."

There was a beat of hesitation, and then her brother spoke again. "He isn't dead."

"Oh."

"But uh... he isn't a player either."

"Oh? A guard, then?"

There was a shift in Minhyuk's tone. "Why do you want to know?"

Mirae shrugged. "You watch everything. Shouldn't you already know?"

"I told you. I have no interest in following you around during your daily duties. Just tell me."

She hesitated, scanning the corridor—muscle memory after years of being watched.

"Wait, I'll just come tell you in person."

She could almost sense her brother perking up. 

"Oh, great—"

She cut him off abruptly. "Don't get excited. And don't pull out the first aid kit. I'll handle it on my own, and it's almost curfew.

"Like that affects you. You're free to go anywhere you please."

"Yeah, but I've got stuff to do."

"What could be more important than your well-being?" Minhuk grumbled. "And why do you even insist on staying in those shoebox guard quarters? You could just move back into the family suite upstairs like a normal person."

Mirae rolled her eyes as she shoved her tired body off the floor. Every muscle in her shoulder protested, but she ignored it and started limping down the corridor.

"Yeah, and give our dear father more reason to summon me every time he's bored or needs a new target? No thanks. The further I am from him, the better."

"Fair enough. I can't get far enough from him either, but I can't sleep on those awful cardboard box beds. Anyway, if you need to, you could always crash in my quarters. I've got a couch. And proper blankets. And snacks.

"You snore."

"I do not!"

"You do. Like a dying foghorn."

"Wow. Rude. And here I was, offering charity to the wounded. Want me to prep the first aid kit just in case?"

"Minhyuk, I swear to God, if you even look at that thing when I walk in, I'm turning around and going right back."

"Truly, the things I suffer."

"Oh, please. You get to sit in a cushy room, eating chips and watching murder TV in real-time. I'm the one bleeding."

"And whose fault is that?" Minhyuk deadpanned. "But I suppose you do have a knack for it. Makes my side of the job feel essential. I've practically got my medical license now."

"Patch one more bullet wound and we'll start calling you Doctor Oh," Mirae said dryly. "Every parent's dream child. A doctor and an engineer."

"I could be made of gold and it wouldn't make me Father's dream child, which is really saying something, because you know how much of a materialistic bastard he is."

Minhyuk's voice dropped self-deprecatingly, and Mirae forced herself to move faster toward her destination. 

"Well, I wouldn't like you too much if you were made of gold," she muttered in an attempt to cheer him up. "You know I prefer silver."

That drew a half-hearted laugh out of him. "Do hurry up. The observation room awaits your glorious arrival, oh noble one."

"And you're back to being annoying. Never a moment of silence with you is there?"

"Nope. Not unless I'm unconscious. Which you almost achieved two weeks ago. Thank you again for the concussion."

"That was an accident. You startled me."

"By saying 'hi'?"

"Yes. You appeared in my room out of nowhere in the middle of the night. I thought you were someone trying to kill me."

"You're way too trigger-happy," Minhyuk complained. "Who the fuck keeps a gun under their pillow. And we weren't even on this stupid island. We were home."

"The only reason I didn't shoot you is because then I'd have to explain the body."

"Betrayal! Tragic end to a promising young healer's career. Local man dies from a sister-induced bullet wound while trying to offer her a cookie."

"And I'm the weird one?" Mirae demanded incredulously. "Who the fuck bakes at 3 am?"

"I couldn't sleep!"

"So take pills for it like a normal person."

"Normal people do not take pills for everything, Mirae."

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

The door to her brother's observation room swung open, and Mirae stepped in with all the grace of a storm cloud. Minhyuk was already halfway across the room, a ridiculous grin stretched across his face.

"And she arrives!" he announced brightly. "But what is it with you and getting injured lately? I'd say it was your face that inspires violence, but they can't even see it here."

Mirae shrugged. "I'm magnetic. Knives just like me. And bullets, apparently. Now shut up and answer my question."

Minhyuk's expression sobered as he circled her like a mother hen, scrutinizing her arm with practiced concern. 

"So what do you know about Hwang In-ho?" she inquired. 

Her brother narrowed his eyes. "I was going to ask you that."

He went to peek his head out the door like a cartoon character checking for danger, then promptly shut it and locked it. Without a word, he dragged her to his desk and plopped her into the chair in front of a blank screen, the only one not cycling security footage.

"Alright, you first, Mirae. What do you know?"

Mirae reluctantly told him everything—about the stupid, stubborn detective who had snuck aboard the boat, the one who kept appearing in all the wrong places, asking all the wrong questions. He was searching for someone. A family member, probably.

Minyuk looked impressed. "He snuck on? How the hell did he get through security?"

"I don't know."

"And you didn't kill him?"

"I should've...I think. I had the chance, more than once. But I didn't."

"Why?"

"I guess I felt bad for him." She frowned. "Father would certainly have already done it."

"Well, lucky for us, you're not Father." Minhyuk flashed her his signature grin. "So, where'd you get the name from?"

"The officer told me he was looking for his brother. I overheard him asking one of the players if In-ho was here. So he thinks he's a player or something. But you're telling me he's not dead. So what is he?

Her brother ran a hand down his face and let out a sigh like he'd been holding it in for weeks. "He's a former player. He won the games back in 2015. Do you really not remember?"

"You know I don't," she responded quietly, and then she scowled. "So he's alive. Why the hell is his brother looking for him here? If he won, shouldn't he be out there enjoying his money?"

"Because he never left. He's still here."

"Why?"

Minhyuk threw his hands up, like the answer was obvious. "He's the Frontman, you moron. Do you ever pay attention to staff changes?"

Mirae shrugged. "Not really. Irrelevant."

He gave her a look. A look that said you sound just like Father when you say shit like that. He didn't say it aloud, but it lingered in the air between them. Then he turned back to the desk, fingers flying over the keys. A file blinked open. A photo loaded.

There he was, in monochrome black, standing before the wall of monitors Mirae had never thought twice about. Mask off. Eyes blank. Jaw sharp.

"That's him." Minhyuk tapped the screen. "Hwang In-ho. He's the one running the other observation chamber downstairs. Basically...branch manager."

Mirae stared at the screen, her mouth parted slightly. "Oh."

"Told you. You need to start being more aware of things. This is the guy your nosy detective's been after this whole time."

"He looks like a ghost."

"He's got the personality of one, too. Stone-faced, monotone, never cracks a joke. You'd think he was carved from granite."

"Junho's been crawling through hell to find this man."

"And you've been helping him. How unlike you."

"I haven't," she protested. "I just didn't kill him."

Minhyuk scoffed. "Progress."

There was a long pause before Mirae leaned in, quieter now. "So In-ho never left?"

"Nope. He got himself promoted to Frontman. Nobody knows why, but he appears loyal. Scarily so. Father is quite fond of him."

"Father is fond of all his loyal hounds. That doesn't make him special. And now the idiot detective is going to get himself killed looking for a man who doesn't want to be found."

"Yup." Minhyuk sighed. "And if he does corner him, the Frontman will be the one to pull the trigger. Family means shit here."

She stared at the monitor. "He deserves to know the truth."

"You're planning on telling him? He'll never leave if you do. Let the detective go on his wild goose chase. He'll hit a wall eventually. No use worrying about it."

"He doesn't know what he's walking into."

"Then that's on him. Come on, Mirae. You've known the guy, what, a few days? Why are you so protective of him all of a sudden?"

"Because he's...he seems to be trying, even if his efforts are futile."

"Oh, wow," Minhyuk said with exaggerated surprise. "My sister, the sword of our father's empire, protector of the innocent. A man with a conscience walks into her life, so she grows one of her own, too."

"Shut up."

He grinned wider, sensing weakness. "A man, no less. Is my little sister's icy heart finally thawing? Maybe Grandfather will get his wish for a wedding, after all."

Mirae made a sour face. "It's not like that. I just don't want another innocent person to die here."

As opposed to the countless others she snuffed out every day. What a hypocrite. She looked away quickly, betraying herself.

Minhyuk's teasing faded a little, replaced with curiosity. "You know if you tell your cop, he won't stop, right? That's his brother. The fact that he's endangered himself to come this far means there's nothing he won't do for him."

"I know."

"And you'll be on the hook for what happens next."

"I know."

He sighed and stood up, ruffling her hair before she could stop him. "You always pick the hardest roads."

"Not always by choice."

"Just... be careful, alright? Don't go betting your heart on someone who might never make it out of here." He let out a skeptical chuckle. "And a detective of all people. Unbelievable."

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

A/N: Whoops, no Junho in this chapter, but I promise the next chapter is all him and Mirae lol. It was just getting way too long to put in here lol. Also, I have managed to pre-write a lot of this fic now, so you can expect a consistent weekly update. I am determined to finish Act 2 by the end of June, so we're up to date for the release of season 3 :)

As usual, don't be a ghost reader. I live for y'all's comments/questions/concerns/reactions, even a keyboard smash is highly appreciated and encouraged!