Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“i wish i were a cat,” myah said softly, her chin resting on her hands as she stared into the flickering flames of the hearth. the fire crackled and popped, casting dancing shadows across the room. the smell of freshly baked bread still lingered in the air, mixing with the earthy scent of wood smoke. it was a feeling of warmth, of comfort, and myah had always loved these quiet moments. with her grandmother sitting beside her, sewing a blanket, and her grandfather curled up in his favorite chair, reading, she felt safe. the mansion was her world, and everything felt perfect in it.

her grandmother looked up from her work, her eyes soft with affection. "a cat, huh?" she chuckled, the sound like a gentle breeze. "you’d be spoiled rotten, little one. cats don’t do anything but sleep all day, eat when they’re hungry, and let everyone adore them. that sounds like a dream, doesn’t it?"

myah smiled at the thought. “it does! they get to do whatever they want.” she sighed, a little wistfully, imagining the luxury of a life with no responsibilities, no worries. "i’d love to just curl up and nap by the fire whenever i felt like it."

her grandmother laughed, the warm sound filling the room. but her grandfather, who had been quiet for most of the evening, suddenly lowered his book, the movement slow and deliberate. myah didn't notice at first, too absorbed in the fire and the cozy atmosphere of the room. but then, she felt a shift, like the air had changed in some subtle way. her grandfather’s sharp gaze was on her now, his dark eyes studying her with a coldness she wasn’t used to.

“being a cat’s not all it’s cracked up to be,” he said, his voice low and deliberate. “they’re independent. mysterious. but you should know... not everyone would trust you if you were one.”

myah blinked, confused. she had been half-joking, lost in the idea of being a lazy, carefree creature. her mind had been filled with thoughts of soft fur and lazy afternoons. but now, the tone in her grandfather’s voice had a strange edge to it. something that made her spine tingle, just a little.

“trust?” she echoed, frowning. “why would a cat need to trust anyone?”

her grandfather set his book down completely, now fully turned toward her. his movements were deliberate, and there was something unsettling in the way his eyes lingered on her. “because, darling, there’s always someone who wants to control you,” he said slowly, his voice strangely calm. “and not all creatures are as harmless as they seem. some are much more dangerous.”

myah furrowed her brow, not understanding. she was just a child, her thoughts wrapped around the fantasy of what it would be like to be a cat. she didn’t think about danger, or control. she only thought about the freedom, the warmth of the sun, the carefreeness of the life she imagined. she opened her mouth to respond, but her grandmother quickly intervened, her soft voice cutting through the tension in the air.

“oh, now, dear, your grandfather’s just being silly,” she said with a laugh that was just a bit too bright, as if to distract myah from her grandfather’s words. “you’re too sweet and innocent to ever be anything other than a darling little girl.”

myah hesitated, sensing the sudden shift in the room. her grandmother’s smile was a little too forced, and her grandfather's gaze never left her. something in the way he watched her made her feel small, like she was being weighed and measured, as if he were seeing something in her that she couldn't see in herself.

“but you’re right about one thing,” her grandfather continued, his voice taking on a deeper, darker tone. “the world can be dangerous, myah. people can hide their true nature. and not everyone who seems kind is. sometimes, it’s better to stay hidden, to keep to yourself.”

myah felt a shiver run down her spine. the words, while soft, were heavy, each one loaded with a meaning she couldn’t fully grasp. she didn’t want to think about such things, didn’t want to feel the weight of her grandfather’s words pressing down on her. she wanted to believe that everything was safe, that her world was just as it seemed. but his stare, cold and calculating, made her feel like there was more to his words than just simple advice.

“grandfather?” she asked hesitantly, her voice small. “what do you mean? what kind of things are dangerous?”

her grandfather’s lips curled into a small, knowing smile. “you’ll understand when you’re older,” he said cryptically, turning his gaze back to his book. but his eyes flickered to her grandmother for just a moment, and the look that passed between them was not one of love or understanding, but something far colder. something that made myah’s skin prickle.

her grandmother, still smiling, turned back to her sewing, but her eyes were distant, as if she too was hiding something. myah didn’t know what to make of it, so she let the conversation drop, letting the strange tension fade away.

but that night, as she lay in bed, her thoughts kept drifting back to her grandfather’s words, to the strange way he had looked at her, the way her grandmother had avoided the subject altogether. myah tried to push it all away, tried to tell herself it was just her imagination, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

-----

the basement was quieter than usual, the only sound the soft rustle of shifting bodies and the occasional low growl that escaped from namjoon. the air was thick with the stench of damp stone and iron, and the flickering of the single bulb above cast strange shadows across the cages.

“who’s this?” jungkook’s voice cut through the silence. his dark eyes narrowed as he watched the young boy, another hybrid, being shoved into the cage next to his. the boy was a deer hybrid, his legs shaky, eyes wide with fear. his limbs were thin, frail from months of neglect, but his eyes, his eyes were wild.

“don’t bother with him,” taehyung’s deep voice rumbled from across the room, his eyes not leaving the boy but the muscles in his shoulders tensing, like a tiger preparing to pounce. “they’ll break him like the rest of us.”

“he looks different,” hoseok mused, his voice light and teasing, but there was a bite beneath it. “smaller, younger... guess they’re going for something new.”

“won’t last long,” yoongi murmured from the shadows of his cage, his voice cold, but the flicker of something dark in his eyes suggested he was already calculating the new boy’s fate. “they’ll make him hunt, or they’ll make him... entertain.”

the new boy flinched at yoongi’s words, his body shrinking back into the corner of the cage, eyes darting nervously between the older hybrids.

“shut it, yoongi,” seokjin said softly, though his gaze lingered on the newcomer. his pale fur shimmered under the dim light as he shifted in his cage, clearly uncomfortable with the boy’s arrival. “they’ll break him fast enough. no need to make him scared.”

“too late for that,” namjoon growled, his eyes hard and unwavering as he watched the boy. his voice held an edge of bitterness, a reminder of his own capture at such a young age. “this place is made to break us.”

the deer hybrid trembled as he slowly sank to the floor of his cage, clearly overwhelmed. he opened his mouth to speak, but the only sound that came out was a soft whimper.

“it’s okay,” jimin said gently, his voice soft but firm. he leaned forward, his clouded leopard fur rippling slightly as he moved. his eyes were filled with sympathy, though there was a hardened edge to his expression. “you’re not alone, kid. we’ve all been here longer than you think.”

“don’t tell him that,” taehyung muttered, his voice low and tense. “don’t make him think he has a chance.”

“he’s just a kid,” jimin shot back, his eyes flickering with a mixture of pity and something more complicated. “he’s not like us.”

the deer hybrid’s head snapped up at that, his eyes wide with confusion and disbelief. he opened his mouth again, but no words came out.

“you’ll get used to it,” jungkook said, his voice carrying a bitter, hollow quality. “not like you’ll have a choice.”

“don’t listen to him,” seokjin whispered, though there was no real hope in his voice. he lowered his gaze, as if ashamed of his attempt to comfort the boy. “they don’t break everyone. some of us... some of us still have our minds.”

“barely,” hoseok added with a sharp laugh, the sound hollow and mocking. “barely.”

there was a brief silence as the newcomers’ quiet sobs filled the room, but the hybrids didn’t move to comfort him again. they’d all learned long ago that emotions didn’t help. sympathy only made it worse. their captors had a way of punishing any act of kindness, twisting it into something cruel.

the flickering bulb above cast long shadows, its dull light casting strange shapes on the walls. the new boy, small, trembling, barely more than a child, was curled up in the corner of his cage, eyes wide with fear.

he hadn’t said anything since the last exchange. not that anyone expected him to. in fact, none of them were sure he could even speak anymore.

“he won’t last,” taehyung’s voice was low, but it cut through the thick silence of the basement like a whip. his tiger eyes glinted in the darkness, watching the boy with something close to disdain.

seokjin’s gaze was softer, but the weight of his words still held truth. “they always think they can survive. they always think they’re different.”

jungkook leaned forward, his jaguar eyes narrowing. “the thing is… none of us ever were. different.”

hoseok stretched in his cage, cracking his knuckles. “nah. that kid? he’s too soft. they’ll take him by morning.”

yoongi didn’t even blink as he spoke, his voice as cold and detached as ever. “if he makes it that long.”

the boy flinched at their words but said nothing. his eyes darted nervously between them, his chest rising and falling with shallow, uneven breaths.

“don’t waste your sympathy,” jimin murmured, his eyes trained on the boy. “they want him to suffer.”

the air was thick with tension, suffocating in its silence. none of them spoke again. time seemed to crawl as the hours passed, but none of them had any illusions about what was happening.

they knew what happened when the sun set in this place. they’d seen it too many times.

the new boy curled into himself, his tiny body trembling. “please…,” he whispered, but the sound was drowned in the oppressive stillness of the room.

the rest of them, silent, watched, their faces hardened masks. they’d seen this play before, had played their parts, and they had no intention of making the same mistake.

the night dragged on, until it was nothing but endless darkness.

then, just as the first light of dawn began to creep into the basement, they heard it.

a loud slam. the sound of a door being ripped open, the unmistakable sound of someone being dragged across the cold stone floor.

the boy’s pitiful scream echoed in the night, though it didn’t last long. it was quickly muffled, a brief cry lost in the sound of something heavier being dragged.

“it’s time,” yoongi said softly, almost too softly, as if it didn’t matter anymore.

taehyung cracked his neck, eyes flicking toward the door where the sounds of struggling were still faintly heard. “the kid didn’t even make it until morning.”

hoseok snorted. “surprise surprise. they always come here with hope. that’s what makes it so much easier.”

seokjin shifted uncomfortably in his cage, his gaze flickering toward the door, then quickly away. “doesn’t matter. no one gets out. not us. not him.”

the dragging sounds stopped, followed by a heavy, sickening thud.

the room was deathly quiet again.

“he’s gone,” jungkook said, his voice flat, but his gaze dark. his jaguar eyes glinted, almost like a distant echo of something untamable. something that, like the rest of them, had long been buried.

“it doesn’t matter,” hoseok muttered. “they always die before the sun comes up. they either break or they... get taken.”

the others said nothing in response. there was no need.

they’d seen this happen too many times.

jimin let out a breath, his eyes flickering to the corner where the boy had once been. “you think he’ll even remember who he was?”

“does it matter?” taehyung’s voice was sharp. “they don’t care. we don’t care.”

but the silence was heavy. unsettling, like a weight pressing down on them all. even yoongi’s eyes, dark as ever, held something, a flicker of something ancient and knowing.

“it’s always the same,” namjoon said quietly, his voice rough, like he hadn’t spoken in ages. “they come in thinking they’re different. they never are.”

the basement was cold. too cold. they were alone again. but this time, it was different. the absence of the boy, his fate sealed before dawn, sat in the air like an unspoken truth. they knew what came next.

more would come, just like him.

and they would never make it either.

the sound of the heavy door creaking closed echoed through the basement, sealing them once again in their dark cages.

and in the dead of night, only the faintest whisper of the boy’s cry remained.

Chapter Text

the café smelled of roasted barley tea and fresh pastries, the warm scent lingering in the air even as the evening rush had long passed. outside, the rain drizzled softly against the pavement, dampening the neon glow of signs stacked high along the streets of seonggyeong. inside, haneul no ame had settled into a quiet hum of conversation, the kind that came when exhaustion set in but no one was quite ready to go home yet.

myah wiped down the counter with slow, absent minded strokes, eyes flickering toward the last few customers scattered throughout the space.

a businessman sat hunched over his laptop near the corner, an untouched cup of coffee beside him. he hadn’t looked up once since he came in, his fingers moving tirelessly across the keyboard, dark circles carved beneath his eyes.

by the window, an elderly woman cradled a ceramic cup between her hands, her gaze fixed on the street outside. her ears twitched ever so slightly, a sign of her hybrid nature, soft gray fur peeking out from beneath the folds of her knit hat. every so often, her tail, long and wispy like a squirrel’s, curled and uncurled beside her chair.

a young couple occupied the booth closest to the entrance. the man was human, his suit slightly wrinkled, his tie loosened at the collar. his date, however, was not.

the woman sitting across from him had fox-like ears, their tips dyed a deep red, the same shade as the streaks in her hair. her tail, sleek and well-groomed, curled around her side, draping over her lap. they were talking quietly, the human man leaning in, whispering something that made her laugh, sharp teeth flashing.

even now, myah could see the way people watched them.

it was subtle, just a quick glance, a barely-there shift in posture, as if to pretend they weren’t staring at all. but it was enough.

some habits were impossible to shake.

myah had grown up with hybrids. they were a normal part of life, integrated into society, working jobs, going to school, eating at the same restaurants as everyone else. and yet, things still weren’t quite equal.

some species of hybrids had more privileges than others. fox and domestic cat hybrids, for example, were considered “acceptable.” they had a certain charm, an elegance that made them easy to market, easy to tolerate. they could get jobs, live normal lives so long as they didn’t make themselves too noticeable.

others weren’t so lucky.

her gaze flickered to the table near the entrance, where a wolf hybrid sat alone.

he was young, probably around her age, maybe a little older, but he carried himself with a quiet wariness that made him seem far older. his dark hair was damp from the rain, his clothes plain but clean. his ears, tufted and pointed, were pressed flat against his head, as if to make himself smaller.

he had been nursing the same cup of tea for over an hour now, barely taking a sip.

a group of human customers had been sitting at a nearby table earlier. they’d left about fifteen minutes ago, but myah still remembered the way they had whispered amongst themselves, shooting glances at the wolf hybrid when they thought he wasn’t looking.

“can’t believe they just let them in anywhere now,” one of them had muttered.

“it’s disgusting,” another had agreed. “they belong in the wild, not in cafés like this.”

the hybrid had said nothing. hadn’t even looked in their direction. just kept his head down, staring into his tea as if he couldn’t hear a word of it.

but myah knew he could.

everyone had heard them.

myah had wanted to say something, but what good would it have done? the whispers would never stop. not really. they would have just found another place to talk, another way to make sure hybrids knew exactly where they stood.

so she had done the only thing she could.

she had walked over to their table with a practiced smile, cleared their plates a little too fast, and “accidentally” spilled the remains of someone’s iced coffee onto their coats.

“oops,” she had said, not even pretending to be sorry.

the look on their faces had been satisfying, at least.

now, the café was quiet again, save for the sound of rain against the windows and the occasional clatter of dishes from the kitchen.

the wolf hybrid finally moved, setting his cup down gently before pushing himself to his feet.

he hesitated, then walked up to the counter, stopping a careful distance away from myah. his movements were slow, deliberate, as if to ensure he wasn’t perceived as a threat.

“excuse me,” he said, his voice quiet but steady. “may i have the bill?”

myah nodded, keying in the total before handing him the receipt.

“you don’t have to rush,” she said, offering a small smile. “it’s still raining pretty hard out there.”

he glanced toward the window, watching the rain streak against the glass.

“…thank you,” he murmured, taking the receipt.

he slid a few bills across the counter.

too much.

myah frowned, pushing some of the change back toward him. “this is more than—”

“keep it,” he interrupted, his expression unreadable.

she hesitated, but nodded.

as he turned to leave, the door swung open, and a pair of men stepped inside.

they were human, tall and broad-shouldered, their suits slightly damp from the rain. their presence shifted the atmosphere immediately, the warmth of the café turning cold, heavy.

one of them spotted the wolf hybrid instantly.

“well, well,” he drawled, stepping forward. “fancy seeing you here.”

the hybrid went rigid.

the other man smirked, nudging his companion. “didn’t think mutts like you could afford places like this.”

myah’s grip tightened around the rag in her hand.

the hybrid didn’t respond. just lowered his gaze, shoulders tense.

“we were just leaving,” he said flatly.

one of the men stepped closer, blocking his path.

“no need to rush,” he said, voice mocking. “we just wanna talk.”

myah didn’t think.

she moved around the counter before she could stop herself.

“is there a problem here?” she asked, her voice sharp.

the two men turned to her, eyebrows raised.

“no problem at all,” one of them said, flashing a too-smooth smile. “we were just catching up with an old friend.”

myah crossed her arms. “he doesn’t seem too interested in talking.”

there was a beat of silence.

then, the first man chuckled, shaking his head.

“relax,” he said. “we’re just leaving.”

he clapped the hybrid on the shoulder, hard enough to make him flinch, then turned and walked out the door.

his companion lingered for a moment longer, eyes flicking toward myah.

then, with a quiet scoff, he followed.

the bell chimed softly as the door swung shut behind them.

the café felt still again.

myah exhaled slowly, turning back to the hybrid.

“you okay?” she asked.

he didn’t answer right away. then, slowly, he nodded.

“…thank you,” he said, his voice quieter than before.

he left without another word.

myah watched as he disappeared into the rain, his figure swallowed by the mist and city lights.

her hands were still trembling.

-----

the rain hadn’t let up since the sun set, steady droplets tapping against the café’s large front windows, streaking down the glass in uneven rivulets. outside, the streetlights cast a soft, golden glow onto the wet pavement, reflecting neon signs from the surrounding shops. the occasional car passed, tires splashing through puddles, sending mist curling up into the night air.

inside, haneul no ame was winding down, the once-bustling café now quiet, save for the distant hum of the espresso machine and the soft clatter of dishes as myah stacked them behind the counter. the air smelled of coffee and sweet red bean, lingering even as the last of the customers trickled out into the damp night.

she pulled off her apron with a sigh, shaking out her stiff shoulders before reaching for the closed sign. the bell above the door jingled softly as she flipped it, the sign swaying slightly in the dim light.

behind her, kai was already clearing tables, long sleeves pushed up to his elbows as he wiped down the wood with smooth, practiced motions. his tail flicked once behind him before curling around his waist, his fox-like ears twitching slightly at the sound of a car horn outside.

“finally,” myah muttered, running a hand through her hair. “felt like today was never gonna end.”

kai let out a low chuckle, tossing a damp rag over his shoulder. “you say that every shift.”

“yeah, and i mean it every shift.”

he snorted but didn’t argue, instead moving toward a nearby table where an empty cup sat abandoned, a half-melted ice cube floating in the dregs of a forgotten drink. he picked it up, inspecting the lipstick stain on the rim before shaking his head.

“you ever notice how people look at me like i might bite?”

myah glanced up from where she was wiping down the counter, brow raised. “do you bite?”

kai grinned, all sharp teeth and mischief. “only if they deserve it.”

she rolled her eyes. “you’re so dramatic.”

“i’m serious,” he said, tossing the rag onto the table with a little too much force. “it’s like they don’t even try to hide it. the staring. the way they tense up when i walk by.”

myah thought back to earlier in the evening, the way a woman had hesitated before handing kai her order, fingers twitching as if deciding whether or not to let her hand brush his when he reached for the cup.

“i don’t know,” she said carefully. “i don’t think they mean anything by it.”

kai let out a short, humorless laugh. “you would think that.”

her gaze snapped to him. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

he didn’t look at her, just kept stacking chairs, movements deliberate, controlled. “you don’t get it,” he said simply. “you’ve never had someone cross the street just to avoid you.”

myah opened her mouth, then closed it.

she had nothing to say to that.

because he was right.

instead, she grabbed the broom from the back corner and started sweeping near the register, letting the rhythmic swish of the bristles fill the silence.

kai moved behind the counter, reaching for a cloth to wipe down the espresso machine. “that fox hybrid from earlier,” he said, almost casually. “the one with the human guy.”

myah frowned, thinking back to the couple that had sat near the entrance. “what about them?”

kai leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “you think it’ll last?”

she hesitated. “i mean… they looked happy.”

kai scoffed. “for now.”

myah frowned. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

he shrugged. “humans like that always leave.”

his voice was quiet, but there was a weight behind it, something bitter that made myah shift uncomfortably.

“you say that like you’ve seen it happen,” she said after a moment.

kai’s ears twitched. “i have.”

his tone left no room for argument.

silence stretched between them, thick and heavy. outside, the rain continued to fall, soft and endless.

myah turned back to sweeping, but she felt the shift in the air, the way something unspoken had settled between them.

it wasn’t like she could blame kai for being bitter. hybrids weren’t exactly treated with kindness. sure, they could get jobs, go to school, exist in public spaces, but that didn’t mean they were wanted there.

a movement outside caught her eye.

a man walked past the window, coat pulled tight around himself to shield against the cold. as he passed, his gaze flickered toward the café, toward kai, who was still leaning against the counter.

his expression barely changed, just the slightest wrinkle of his nose, the briefest flicker of disdain before he turned away.

kai’s tail flicked sharply.

“prick,” he muttered under his breath.

myah heard him but said nothing.

what was there to say?

instead, she set the broom aside and grabbed a rag, moving to wipe down the espresso machine.

“you taking the train home?” kai asked, leaning against the counter as he dried the last of the mugs. his ears twitched slightly, always alert, even when he tried to play it off like he wasn’t.

myah grabbed her bag from the back, adjusting the strap over her shoulder. “yeah, as long as it’s still running on time. the rain’s been messing with the schedule lately.”

kai scoffed. “figures. humans build a whole train system, but a little water and suddenly it’s useless.”

she rolled her eyes, shoving his arm playfully as she moved past him. “not all of us have built-in weather tracking, you know.”

his tail flicked, a half-smirk playing on his lips, but he didn’t argue. instead, his expression shifted, something more serious settling into the lines of his face.

“i don’t like you walking alone this late,” he said, voice quieter now. “especially not with how things have been lately.”

she frowned, tugging her coat tighter around her body. “kai, i walk home at this time almost every night.”

he clicked his tongue, tossing the rag onto the counter. “doesn’t mean it’s safe. you know hybrids have been disappearing, right?”

she blinked. “what?”

his jaw tightened. “it’s been happening for a while now. some just vanish. no reports, no investigations. no one cares enough to look.”

her stomach twisted, but she tried to keep her voice light. “kai, i’m not a hybrid.”

“doesn’t matter,” he muttered. “you’re still out here alone.”

something about the way he said it made her pause. there was something deeper in his voice. something unsettled.

“you’re really worried about me?” she asked, tilting her head.

he scoffed. “obviously. you’re helpless.”

she laughed, shoving him again, but he caught her wrist this time, his grip firm but not rough.

“seriously, myah,” he murmured. “just be careful.”

there was something in his eyes she couldn’t quite place.

after a beat, he let go, stepping back.

she exhaled, offering him a small smile. “i’ll be fine. i’ll text you when i get home, okay?”

he didn’t look satisfied, but he nodded. “yeah. you better.”

she nudged the door open, the bell chiming softly as the cool night air wrapped around her.

“see you tomorrow, kai.”

he gave her a lazy wave, but his ears were still twitching, still listening.

“yeah, yeah,” he muttered. “don’t get eaten.”

she snorted, stepping out onto the sidewalk.

the rain had slowed to a mist, clinging to her skin in a way that made her shiver. the streets were quieter now, though the distant buzz of traffic hummed in the background.

she passed a row of shuttered shops, their signs dimmed for the night, before nearing the upscale part of town where restaurants and bars were still alive with soft jazz music and murmured conversation.

she was mid-step when she heard it.

thud.

a body hitting pavement.

her head snapped to the side just in time to see a figure stumble forward, nearly falling face-first into the street.

a hybrid.

his hair was dark and unkempt, sticking to his forehead from the damp air. fluffy golden ears flickered against his head, low and tense. his shirt was torn, one of the sleeves barely hanging on, and there was a fresh bruise blooming along his jaw.

the bouncer, built like a damn wall, stood in the doorway, arms crossed, looking down at him like something scraped off the bottom of his shoe.

“no mutts allowed,” the man sneered.

myah froze.

the hybrid pushed himself up slowly, hands trembling slightly as he wiped at his mouth. for a second, it looked like he might say something, might fight back, but then his shoulders sagged. his tail flicked once, tense, before curling behind his legs.

he didn’t argue. didn’t growl.

he just looked tired.

a few people had stopped to watch, some lingering near the restaurant’s entrance, others glancing over from across the street. but no one did anything.

no one said a word.

myah’s heart pounded. she felt her fingers tighten around the strap of her bag.

say something.

but to who?

the bouncer, who clearly didn’t care? the hybrid, who clearly didn’t want to fight? the silent bystanders, who clearly weren’t going to help?

for the briefest moment, his gaze flicked up and met hers.

his eyes were dark. tired, resigned. but beneath it all, just a flicker of something else. something sharp.

anger.

not at her. not really.

at everything.

then, just as quickly, he looked away.

he dusted himself off, shaking out his limbs like he was used to this, like it had happened before and would happen again, and without another word, he turned and walked off down the street.

myah’s breath felt stuck in her throat.

above her, a digital billboard flickered to life, bathing the sidewalk in a pale blue glow.

STOP HYBRID ABUSE. CALL 1-800—

the text glitched, cutting in and out before the screen flickered and went dark.

the irony hit her like a fist to the gut.

she swallowed, her grip tightening on her bag as she forced her feet to move again.

why does no one care?

the night air felt colder now.

her thoughts buzzed as she walked, unsettled and restless, the image of the hybrid’s bruised face burned into the back of her mind.

why do i feel like i should care more than i do?

-----

the night air clung to myah’s skin, a lingering chill settling in her bones as she walked the quiet streets toward home. the city was alive behind her. the hum of distant traffic, neon lights flickering in alleyways, laughter spilling from bars and restaurants, but here, in the quieter residential district, the world felt smaller.

comfortable.

safe.

she climbed the short steps to her apartment building, the warmth of home just beyond the door. her fingers were stiff from the cold as she fumbled with her keys, but the second she cracked the door open, a blur of movement slammed into her.

“myah!”

the impact nearly knocked the breath from her lungs.

warm arms wrapped around her, a familiar scent of lavender and something soft filling her senses before she was all but engulfed.

“you’re late,” came the muffled complaint against her shoulder.

“i texted you,” myah wheezed, laughing despite herself.

“doesn’t count,” jisun grumbled, tightening her hold.

her roommate was always like this—clingy, affectionate, practically glued to myah whenever she was around. it was just who she was, but there was a certain desperation in the way she held on sometimes, like she was scared myah would disappear if she let go.

tonight was one of those nights.

“jesus, jisun, let her breathe,” a drier voice called from the living room.

chae-eun.

unbothered, jisun only nuzzled closer, her rabbit ears twitching slightly against myah’s cheek.

“you smell like the outside,” she muttered, nose scrunching.

myah snorted, finally managing to pry her way free enough to take off her coat. “i was outside.”

“i don’t like it.”

“not my fault.”

“mm.”

instead of letting go completely, jisun just shifted, looping an arm around myah’s waist as if to keep her tethered.

chae-eun finally emerged from the kitchen, cradling a mug of tea in her hands. unlike jisun, she wasn’t the type to launch into hugs the second someone walked through the door. her affection was quieter, offered through knowing glances, careful words, and the occasional cup of tea set in front of you without a word.

her dark hair was pulled into a lazy bun, eyes sharp as she studied myah.

“you’re late,” she echoed jisun’s earlier complaint, though with significantly less drama.

“long shift,” myah explained, leaning into jisun’s hold despite herself. “plus, the trains were delayed again.”

chae-eun hummed like she wasn’t quite convinced.

“hurry up and sit,” jisun insisted, already pulling myah toward the couch. “you need to warm up.”

“i can make my own tea, you know.”

“you can, but you won’t,” jisun shot back, pushing myah down onto the cushions. “so stay here. i’ll do it.”

myah didn’t fight it. she never really did. there was no winning against jisun when she got like this.

chae-eun exhaled, taking the seat across from her, studying her over the rim of her mug.

“…what happened?”

myah blinked. “what do you mean?”

“you look off.”

too observant for her own good, as always.

before myah could come up with a deflection, jisun returned, practically plopping herself down into myah’s lap as she pressed a warm mug into her hands.

“spill,” she demanded, fluffy rabbit tail flicking behind her.

myah sighed. “it’s nothing, really.”

chae-eun raised a brow. jisun poked her cheek.

“…i saw a hybrid get thrown out of a bar,” myah admitted after a beat.

silence.

chae-eun’s expression didn’t change, but myah saw the way her fingers subtly tightened around her mug.

jisun, however, visibly bristled, ears flattening against her head.

“thrown out?” she echoed. “like literally?”

myah nodded. “a bouncer tossed him onto the pavement. called him a mutt.”

jisun’s hands clenched at the hem of myah’s sleeve.

“i hate people,” she muttered.

chae-eun exhaled, rubbing at her temple. “i assume no one did anything?”

myah swallowed. “yeah.”

“and you?”

the question hung between them.

jisun shifted slightly next to her, her golden-brown eyes locking onto myah’s.

expecting something.

waiting.

“…i didn’t do anything either.”

the weight of her own words settled heavily in her chest.

jisun’s grip on her tightened.

“good,” chae-eun said, her voice quiet but firm.

myah blinked. “what?”

“you couldn’t have done anything,” she explained simply. “it wouldn’t have helped.”

jisun huffed, pressing closer to myah, like she could protect her from something that had already happened.

“doesn’t mean it’s okay,” she grumbled.

“it’s not,” chae-eun agreed. “but it’s not something she could have stopped.”

“she could have—”

“what? started an argument? gotten herself thrown out too?”

jisun made a frustrated noise, burying her face in myah’s shoulder.

myah sighed, resting her chin against the top of jisun’s head, rubbing slow, absentminded circles against her back.

the room settled into silence.

uncomfortable. heavy.

the only sounds were the soft ticking of the clock and the distant hum of the city outside.

then—

“…this is depressing,” jisun mumbled.

myah huffed a laugh. “yeah, well.”

jisun suddenly sat up, eyes bright. “let’s eat something.”

chae-eun snorted. “you just ate.”

“and?”

“you’re like a bottomless pit.”

“and you’re a hater.”

“i’m a realist.”

jisun waved her off, already scrolling through her phone. “whatever. i’m ordering something.”

myah shook her head. “what are you even craving?”

“ramen.”

“you always want ramen.”

“because it’s good.”

chae-eun sighed but pulled out her own phone. “i’ll order from that place near the station.”

jisun beamed, all previous frustration seemingly forgotten.

she turned to myah, eyes soft again, expression unreadable as she reached up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind myah’s ear.

“you’re warm now,” she murmured, almost to herself.

myah’s breath caught.

she swallowed. looked away.

“yeah,” she murmured back. “thanks.”

jisun just smiled, squeezing her hand before shifting again, pressing herself snugly against myah’s side.

and just like that, the world outside didn’t feel so big.

not the city.

not the problems.

not the weight in her chest.

just this.

her home.

her people.

and tonight, that was enough.

-----

steam curled from the ramen cups, carrying the rich, savory scent of broth and spices through the apartment. the three of them sat cross-legged on the floor, the coffee table cluttered with their makeshift dinner, plastic bowls, chopsticks, side dishes chae-eun had pulled from the fridge.

jisun had already dug in, slurping up noodles with an unapologetic enthusiasm that made myah laugh.

“slow down,” chae-eun deadpanned, stirring her broth. “no one’s gonna steal it from you.”

“you don’t know that,” jisun shot back, pointing her chopsticks at her like a weapon. “you could betray me at any moment.”

chae-eun rolled her eyes, taking a sip of her tea. “you’re ridiculous.”

“and you’re jealous of my food.”

“i ordered it.”

“exactly.”

myah snorted, picking at her own noodles, content to just listen. moments like this. the easy back and forth, the warmth of companionship, they were her favorite.

“okay,” jisun said through a mouthful of noodles, “what are we watching?”

chae-eun hummed, reaching for the remote. “i vote action.”

jisun groaned. “we always watch action.”

“because action is good.”

“because you have a crush on every female lead with a sword.”

“and?”

jisun turned to myah, pouting. “tell her we should watch a romance.”

“not this again,” myah muttered, hiding a smile.

this was routine. every time they had a movie night, it turned into a battle—jisun always pushing for a romcom, chae-eun gunning for something dark and brooding, and myah left somewhere in the middle, playing mediator.

tonight was no different.

“chae-eun,” myah started patiently, “we watched something with explosions last time.”

“and it was great.”

“jisun,” myah continued, “the last time we let you pick, you made us watch that three hour slow burn that barely had a plot.”

jisun gasped, offended. “it was cinema.”

“it was painful.”

jisun crossed her arms. “fine. compromise.”

“compromise?”

she nodded firmly. “a romcom with action.”

chae-eun gave her a flat look. “you mean, like, a spy movie with romance?”

“exactly.”

chae-eun exhaled, pinching the bridge of her nose. “…fine.”

jisun cheered.

myah just shook her head, amused as she leaned back against the couch, ramen bowl balanced in her lap.

they settled in, scrolling through options until jisun pointed at a title that had both high-speed chases and lingering romantic stares.

“that one.”

“looks tolerable,” chae-eun admitted.

“it looks cute,” myah agreed, reaching for the remote.

but just as she was about to hit play, her phone buzzed.

the sound cut through the easy atmosphere, making her pause.

she almost ignored it.

almost.

but something about it, the way it rang just a little too insistently, the way a small pit formed in her stomach before she even checked the screen, made her hesitate.

when she finally glanced down, her chest tightened.

kai.

he rarely called. texts? sure. but a call, especially this late?

a bad feeling settled in her gut.

“who is it?” jisun asked, peering over her shoulder.

“kai.”

chae-eun and jisun exchanged a look.

“answer it,” chae-eun said simply.

myah did.

the second she put the phone to her ear, she could hear it. kai’s breathing, rough and uneven, the distant sounds of something loud in the background.

“kai?”

a pause.

then—

“myah.”

his voice was low. tense.

off.

immediately, she sat up, heart pounding. “what’s wrong?”

jisun frowned at her tone, ears twitching.

kai exhaled sharply, like he was deciding how much to say.

then, in a voice quieter than she’d ever heard from him—

“…where are you right now?”

her blood ran cold.

kai’s voice was quiet, but there was an urgency beneath it, something edged in warning.

myah sat up straighter, gripping the phone tighter. “i’m at home, what’s going on?”

jisun and chae-eun immediately noticed the shift in her tone. jisun leaned in, placing a hand on myah’s knee, her grip firm. chae-eun muted the tv, brows furrowing.

kai didn’t respond right away.

instead, there was the sound of him exhaling sharply, the distant murmur of voices in the background, and then

“you didn’t take the train home, right?”

her stomach dropped.

“no,” she said slowly. “i walked.”

a long pause.

“good.”

jisun’s ears twitched. chae-eun stiffened beside her.

something wasn’t right.

“kai,” myah tried again, voice lower. “what happened?”

kai inhaled, then let it out in a controlled breath.

“there was...” he stopped, changed his mind. “...some kind of fight near the station. a bad one. hybrids got involved.”

jisun’s grip on myah’s knee tightened.

chae-eun muttered a quiet curse.

hybrids got involved.

that never ended well.

“is everyone okay?” myah asked.

kai hesitated. “depends who you ask.”

myah’s throat went dry.

“kai—”

“look, i just—” he cut himself off, exhaling roughly. “just be careful, okay? don’t go out tonight. don’t answer the door if you’re not expecting someone. and if anything feels off call me. immediately.”

his voice was sharp, almost commanding, but beneath it was something else. something that sounded a little too close to fear.

jisun’s tail flicked. “what aren’t you telling us?”

kai must’ve heard her, because he sighed, frustrated.

“just promise me, okay?”

myah hesitated.

jisun and chae-eun were watching her, their expressions unreadable, but their tension said enough.

“…okay,” she said finally. “i promise.”

kai was silent for a moment.

then, quietly

“good.”

the line clicked dead.

silence settled over the apartment, thick and heavy.

jisun was the first to move, standing up and pacing. her ears were flat, tail flicking sharply. “i don’t like this.”

“me neither,” chae-eun muttered.

myah swallowed, locking her phone and setting it on the table. “you don’t think,” she stopped, rephrased. “you don’t think it was just a random fight?”

chae-eun exhaled, running a hand through her hair.

“it’s never just random, myah.”

jisun folded her arms, voice quieter. “you should stay in my room tonight.”

myah blinked. “what?”

jisun turned to face her fully, expression serious. “just in case. you sleep too deep. if something happens, you won’t hear it.”

myah almost argued, but then she saw the way jisun’s hands clenched at her sides, the way her shoulders were tense, and she realized this wasn’t just overprotectiveness.

jisun was worried.

they both were.

and if they were worried shouldn’t she be?

she exhaled, trying to ignore the way her chest felt tight.

“okay.”

jisun relaxed, just a fraction.

chae-eun leaned back, rubbing her temples.

“we should watch the news,” she murmured. “see if anything’s being reported.”

jisun groaned. “i hate the news.”

“yeah, well. too bad.”

chae-eun reached for the remote.

myah leaned back into the couch, but suddenly, the room didn’t feel quite as warm as before.

she tried not to think about why.

chae-eun flipped through the channels, the room bathed in the flickering glow of the tv screen. myah curled her knees up to her chest, eyes scanning the headlines flashing across the bottom of the news ticker.

“altercation at sinchon station leaves three injured, two in critical condition.”

the camera cut to a familiar location, train station signs illuminated by harsh, artificial light. police officers milled about, their expressions unreadable. a few reporters stood off to the side, murmuring to the camera, but it was the footage that came next that made myah’s stomach churn.

grainy security footage played on-screen.

at first, it was just a blur of movement, indistinct figures tangled together in a flurry of limbs, but then a hybrid came into view.

wolf ears, visible despite the hood he wore.

his eyes burned with something wild, desperate.

he lunged at someone, a human, judging by the lack of visible features, but before he could land the hit, another person tackled him from behind. the footage was cut off there, replaced by the reporter’s composed, neutral expression.

“the altercation began late this evening when a dispute between patrons at a nearby establishment escalated into violence. witnesses claim that one of the hybrids involved ‘snapped’ without provocation, leading to the attack.”

myah clenched her jaw.

snapped.

they always said that.

it didn’t matter if the hybrid had been defending themselves or retaliating after being provoked, it was always their fault.

jisun made a noise low in her throat, tail flicking sharply against the couch cushions. “they’re gonna eat this up.”

chae-eun sighed. “yeah.”

a familiar sense of frustration, laced with something heavier, settled between them.

it was always the same.

the news told the same story, every time.

and no one ever questioned it.

myah tore her gaze from the screen, swallowing the unease rising in her throat.

“it’s late,” she murmured. “we should sleep.”

chae-eun hesitated, then nodded.

jisun stood first, stretching before reaching a hand out toward myah. “c’mon.”

myah almost rolled her eyes, but there was a comfort in the way jisun tugged her forward, leading her toward the bedroom.

chae-eun lingered in the living room, still watching the tv screen.

before myah disappeared down the hall, she caught one last glimpse of the footage, still replaying in the background.

the hybrid’s eyes, wide, tired, resigned, before he was dragged out of frame.

she didn’t sleep well that night.

-----

rain drizzled against the windows of the café, tiny droplets gathering in uneven lines before sliding down the glass. the sky had been gray all morning, an unrelenting layer of thick clouds hanging low over the city. it wasn’t the type of rain that came down in heavy sheets, no thunder, no dramatic downpour. just cold, steady drizzle, the kind that seeped into your clothes and left you feeling damp no matter how many layers you wore.

the streets outside were quieter than usual, muffled under the rain. people moved hurriedly, umbrellas held low over their heads, boots splashing through shallow puddles.

inside the café, the air was warmer, cozier, the scent of freshly brewed coffee and caramel syrup lingering despite the lack of customers. it had been a slow morning, and even now, past noon, there were only a handful of patrons scattered across the space.

the last few days had been uneasy. it had been three days since incident at the train station and yet there have only been more hybrid attacks.

or at least, that’s how the news framed it.

every station repeated the same headlines, the same grim footage playing on loop, blurry surveillance videos of fights breaking out, blood staining the pavement, sirens wailing in the distance.

but none of them ever showed what led up to it.

what provoked it.

myah didn’t know what to believe.

she kept her head down, focusing on the mundane task of wiping down the counter, her movements slow and methodical. the foam from the milk frother clung to the sink’s surface before swirling down the drain.

kai stood near the register, arms crossed, one ear flicking as he stared out the window. his tail, usually tucked neatly behind him, twitched in small, agitated movements.

doyoung, one of their other coworkers, was by the shelves, restocking bags of coffee beans. he was human, tall, lean, with a sharp, knowing gaze that missed nothing. he wasn’t the type to pry, but myah had noticed that he always seemed aware, like he knew when to step in and when to keep quiet.

kai let out a loud yawn, stretching his arms above his head before flopping against the counter. "slow day."

"lucky for you," doyoung muttered, stacking another bag on the shelf. "means less people side-eyeing you like you're about to lunge across the counter."

kai shot him a flat look. "oh, yeah? maybe i should start biting. make it worth their while."

"please don’t," myah said without looking up. "we’re already short-staffed."

kai smirked, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

it hadn’t, not in days.

he might joke about it, but myah could tell the constant scrutiny was getting to him. every day, the stares, the tension in the air, the way people hesitated before handing him their money, like touching his hand might somehow taint them.

it was subtle, but it was there.

“you’ve got that look again,” kai said, eyes flicking up to myah. “the one that says you’re thinking too much.”

“i always think too much,” myah muttered, stacking plates from a recently cleared table.

doyoung snorted. “at least she thinks. you, on the other hand...”

kai clutched his chest in mock offense. “wow. slander in my own workplace.”

before myah could respond, her phone buzzed in her apron pocket. she wiped her hands on a towel before pulling it out, frowning at the unknown number.

“hello?” she answered.

“is this myah takahashi?” the voice on the other end was clipped, professional.

“uh... yes?”

“this is officer sakurai from the kyoto metropolitan police department. we’re calling regarding your grandparents, hiroshi and ayako takahashi.”

she straightened immediately, the air in her lungs thinning. “what about them?”

there was a pause. too long. too heavy.

“i’m sorry to inform you that they’ve passed away.”

her mind blanked. “what?”

kai and doyoung stopped their playful bickering, both watching her now. she felt like she was underwater, the words sluggish, too thick to process.

“they were found early this morning at their residence. we’re still investigating the circumstances, but initial reports suggest it was a hybrid attack.”

hybrid attack.

the words barely registered. her grip tightened on the phone. “that... that doesn’t make any sense.”

“we understand this is difficult. if you’re available, we’d like you to come to the station to discuss next steps regarding their estate and any arrangements you may need to make.”

her mouth was dry. “yeah,” she said numbly. “okay.”

the call ended. she stood there, phone in hand, staring at nothing.

“myah?” kai’s voice was softer now, careful.

she inhaled sharply, shoving her phone back into her pocket. “my grandparents are dead.”

silence.

doyoung's expression fell. “oh my god myah, i’m so sorry.”

“do you, do you need to sit down?” kai asked, stepping closer.

she shook her head, the movement jerky. “no, i just— i need to go.”

kai didn’t hesitate. “i’ll walk you home.”

“kai, you don’t have to”

“i’m walking you home.”

his tone left no room for argument.

doyoung squeezed myah’s arm gently. “text me if you need anything, okay?”

myah nodded, barely hearing her. she let kai guide her out of the café, his presence steady beside her. the streets blurred around them, the weight in her chest suffocating. hybrid attack. it didn’t make sense. her grandparents, strict, cold, but untouchable in her mind, couldn’t just be gone.

she barely registered kai’s arm around her shoulders, grounding her. “whatever you need,” he murmured, “i got you.”

she didn’t have the energy to reply. she just kept walking, the weight of the world pressing down on her chest.

the days following the news of her grandparents' deaths felt strangely muted, as if the world had been wrapped in cotton. the hybrid attacks on the news blurred together, the same violent images looping on screens in shop windows and subway stations. myah tried to ignore them, but each report left a gnawing unease in her stomach.

at work, the atmosphere was no different. kai hovered around her more than usual, his sharp eyes flicking to her every time she sighed or rubbed at her temples. she appreciated it, even if she didn't acknowledge it outright.

“you’re gonna make that rag disintegrate,” kai said, nodding at the counter she had been wiping for the last five minutes.

myah blinked down at the damp cloth in her hand, then huffed out a quiet laugh. “guess i zoned out.”

kai didn’t return the laugh. instead, he leaned against the counter beside her, arms crossed over his chest. “any more news?”

she shook her head. “nothing beyond what they told me. hybrid attack, no suspects, still investigating.” the words felt hollow now, rehearsed. she had repeated them so many times to her coworkers, to jisun and chae-eun, to herself in the mirror.

“and you believe that?”

“what do you mean?”

kai shrugged, but there was tension in his shoulders. “just seems, how do i put this, convenient.”

“convenient?” she echoed, frowning.

kai hesitated for a moment, then sighed, dropping his voice. “the way hybrids are treated in this country, the way people react to them. it doesn’t add up. if a hybrid was really responsible, don’t you think they’d already have someone to parade around as the culprit? something public? something to make a statement?”

she swallowed. she hadn’t thought about it like that. “maybe they just don’t know who did it yet.”

kai didn’t argue, but his silence was enough of a response.

the bell over the door jingled, breaking the moment. their coworker, yuna, poked her head out from the back, barely glancing up from her phone. “myah, phone for you. said it’s about your grandparents.”

she felt kai’s gaze on her as she set the rag down and hurried into the back, her heart hammering in her chest.

the call was short. official.

“ms. takahashi, as the sole heir, you’ve been named the beneficiary of your grandparents’ estate. the will reading will be held at the district courthouse in three days. we strongly encourage your attendance.”

she barely remembered responding, barely remembered setting the phone down and walking back out front.

kai straightened the moment he saw her face. “what is it?”

“the will.” her voice sounded distant. “they left everything to me.”

-----

the courthouse is cold.

not physically, the air is actually a little too warm, like the heating is working overtime, but everything about it feels sterile. impersonal. the walls are a dull gray, the floors scuffed from years of foot traffic. fluorescent lights buzz faintly overhead, casting a harsh glare on the polished wood of the long conference table where myah now sits.

she grips her hands together in her lap, trying to ignore the tight knot in her stomach. the lawyer, sungho, barely spares her a glance as he flips through the papers in front of him. his suit is crisp, his hair perfectly combed, his expression unreadable.

he finally stops, clears his throat, and begins.

“you are the sole heir to the takahashi estate.”

myah blinks.

she knew that already, but hearing it out loud like this makes it feel real in a way it hadn’t before. she waits for him to elaborate, but he only continues in that same monotone voice, listing off assets as if she were a stranger reviewing a contract instead of a grieving granddaughter.

“the property located at 218 fujimoto drive is now under your name, as well as all remaining financial holdings, stocks, and investments left behind by mr. and mrs. takahashi. ownership of their business, takahashi antiques, has also been transferred to you.”

her head snaps up.

“wait,” she says. “the business?”

nakamura doesn’t even look up. “yes.”

myah’s mouth goes dry. she hadn’t thought about the store in years. tucked away in an old part of the city, her grandparents had run it for as long as she could remember. filled with rare artifacts, books, and oddities from all over, it had always given her the feeling of stepping into another world. she remembers being a child, running her fingers over the spines of leather-bound tomes, tracing the delicate carvings on antique jewelry. she remembers the way her grandmother had spoken in hushed tones to certain customers, ones who always seemed to leave with something unseen.

her stomach churns.

“everything?” she asks slowly. “the house, the business, the land?”

nakamura’s pen scratches against the paper. “correct.”

something about the way he says it makes her skin prickle. detached. uninterested. like there’s something more beneath the surface that he’s choosing not to acknowledge.

she watches him carefully. “why does it feel like there’s something you’re not telling me?”

finally, he looks up. his gaze is flat, unreadable, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes. something assessing. “your grandparents had… unique arrangements.”

myah frowns. “what the hell does that mean?”

nakamura exhales sharply, like he doesn’t have the patience for this conversation. he flips to another page, scanning it briefly before speaking again.

“i assume you’re already aware?”

“aware of what?”

he doesn’t answer right away. instead, he leans back slightly, studying her. it’s subtle, but she can feel it. the weight of something unspoken pressing down on the space between them.

“they never told you.”

it’s not a question.

myah grips the edge of the table. she feels like a child again, sitting on the tatami floor of her grandparents’ home, listening to them speak in hushed voices behind closed doors. she remembers the way they would change the subject when she walked into the room, the way certain guests were never introduced to her.

she swallows hard. “told me what?”

nakamura closes the folder. “that’s beyond my jurisdiction.”

her frustration flares. “you just said i inherited everything. how can i not know what it is i’m inheriting?”

his lips press into a thin line. “you’ll find out soon enough.”

she stares at him, heart pounding. “is this about the business?”

he says nothing.

her pulse thrums in her ears. her grandparents had always been private, but she’d never questioned it. not really. but now, memories resurface, fleeting moments she hadn’t thought twice about as a child. the times her grandfather would leave in the dead of night without explanation. the strange symbols carved into the wooden beams of their home. the way her grandmother had once told her, in a voice lower than a whisper, that some things were better left unknown.

her skin crawls.

she pushes back her chair, standing abruptly. “fine,” she says, voice steadier than she feels. “if you won’t tell me, i’ll figure it out myself.”

nakamura merely nods, as if he expected this. “i suggest you be careful, ms. takahashi.”

she pauses. “careful?”

he meets her eyes. for the first time, there’s something almost like pity in his expression. “your grandparents kept secrets for a reason.”

she doesn’t reply. instead, she turns on her heel and walks out, the weight of his words settling over her like a thick, suffocating fog.

as she steps out of the courthouse and into the cold afternoon air, she realizes something.

this isn’t just an inheritance.

it’s a warning.

-----

the house loomed before her, silent and still, wrapped in the eerie hush of abandonment. myah hesitated at the front steps, the key trembling in her fingers. it had been years since she last stood here, and yet, the sight of it felt unchanged, untouched by time. the wooden panels, once pristine, were weathered now, darkened with age. the porch creaked beneath her weight, groaning in protest as if resenting her return.

she inhaled deeply, pushing open the door. a gust of stale air met her, thick with dust and something else. something faintly familiar, like the remnants of a past life lingering in the shadows.

the entryway was dim, the last rays of evening light slanting through the curtains. it illuminated the fine dust particles dancing in the air, disturbed by her arrival. she took a cautious step inside, her boots barely making a sound against the hardwood floors.

nostalgia washed over her in a slow, creeping wave.

her old home.

her prison.

she moved forward, trailing her fingers along the edge of a wooden console table. the family photographs were still there, frozen in time. her as a child, grinning with a missing front tooth; her grandparents, stoic and composed, their gazes like polished glass. she swallowed, suddenly aware of how empty the house felt without them.

her feet carried her down the hallway, past the framed paintings, the delicate porcelain vases her grandmother had so carefully collected. everything was exactly as she remembered it, yet now, it all felt foreign.

the door to her old room creaked as she pushed it open, revealing the untouched relic of her childhood. the bed was still covered in soft pink sheets, the plush rabbit she once slept with propped neatly against the pillows. shelves lined the walls, packed with old books and trinkets, a collection of memories she had long since outgrown but never discarded.

she stepped inside, the air thick with the scent of aged paper and lavender, remnants of an old sachet her grandmother had once placed in the drawers. myah trailed her hands over the desk, her fingertips brushing against the carvings she had made as a child. little stars and swirls etched into the wood, secrets only she had known.

a lump formed in her throat.

it was as if the house had been waiting for her, frozen in time, unwilling to move on without her.

but she wasn’t that little girl anymore.

she turned away, her heart heavy, and made her way toward the kitchen.

the moment she stepped inside, an unexpected scent wrapped around her. cinnamon.

she inhaled sharply, the smell pulling her back in time, back to when her grandmother stood by the stove, humming softly as she baked pastries, hands dusted in flour, her touch light but firm.

the kitchen was eerily unchanged. the wooden dining table sat in the center, the same lace tablecloth draped over it. the copper pots hung from their hooks, gleaming faintly under the dim light filtering through the windows. the oven door was slightly ajar, as if waiting to be used again.

myah reached for the chair she always used to sit in, running her hands along its worn edges.

for a moment, she swore she could hear the distant echoes of laughter, her own, bright and carefree. her grandmother’s gentle voice calling her name. the scrape of a spoon against a mixing bowl.

but when she blinked, the house remained empty.

silent.

a chill ran through her.

she wasn’t sure if it was the memories, the eerie preservation of the house, or something else entirely, but a deep unease settled in her chest.

she wasn’t alone.

not in the way one might think.

the house was watching her. waiting.

for what, she wasn’t sure.

and that unsettled her most of all.

she stood there for a long time, gripping the back of the chair like it might steady her, like it might pull her back to reality. but reality felt warped here, tangled up in memory and dust, in the heavy silence pressing against her ears.

with a slow breath, myah moved to the counter, trailing her fingers along the cold marble. the spice rack still stood in the corner, filled with half-used jars of star anise, cinnamon sticks, and dried lavender. she picked one up absentmindedly, twisting the cap off, breathing in the scent.

it was strange, how something so small could feel so intimate. so personal.

she set it down carefully, eyes drifting to the old wooden cabinets, the fridge that hummed quietly in the background, still plugged in after all these years. her grandmother never threw anything away if she could help it.

the thought made myah’s throat tighten.

turning away, she let her eyes sweep over the kitchen once more, as if expecting some ghost of the past to materialize. but there was nothing. just an old house, preserved in time, waiting for someone to come home.

she exhaled sharply. enough of this.

pushing away from the counter, she made her way back to the hallway, her footsteps muted against the wooden floors. the house stretched before her, dark and still, the air thick with something unspoken.

she glanced toward the staircase.

it loomed in the dim light, each step leading up to the second floor where the bedrooms lay.

her grandparents’ room.

a part of her didn’t want to see it. didn’t want to step inside and confirm the emptiness, to find that even in death, they still lingered in the walls.

but another part of her, some quiet, stubborn part, needed to.

so she moved forward.

the stairs creaked under her weight, the sound sharp and jarring in the stillness. she reached the landing, her hand hovering over the railing, the hallway stretching before her.

their bedroom door was shut.

it always had been, even when they were alive.

she hesitated, heart pounding, before slowly wrapping her fingers around the brass doorknob and twisting it open.

the room smelled of old fabric and cedar, of the faintest trace of perfume that had long since faded.

the bed was neatly made, the way her grandmother always kept it. a thick comforter tucked tightly around the edges, pillows stacked just right. their nightstands remained untouched, her grandfather’s old watch resting beside a pair of reading glasses, a book left open on the page he had last read.

a lump formed in her throat.

it felt wrong, stepping into their space like this. like she was intruding on something sacred.

but they were gone. and this, this was hers now.

she swallowed hard, stepping toward the vanity where her grandmother used to sit every morning, brushing her hair with slow, careful strokes.

a jewelry box rested on top, slightly ajar.

myah reached for it, fingers ghosting over the delicate carvings on the lid before she lifted it fully open.

inside, tucked beneath strands of pearls and old brooches, was a folded piece of paper.

her brows furrowed.

she reached for it, unfolding it carefully, her eyes scanning the delicate script.

“myah, if you’re reading this then you already know.”

her breath hitched.

know what?

her eyes darted to the next lines, but the ink was smudged, blurred beyond recognition.

frustration curled in her chest. she turned the paper over, searching for something, anything, but the back was blank.

what was she supposed to know?

a cold dread crept over her skin.

the lawyer’s words echoed in her head. “your grandparents had… unique arrangements.”

she gritted her teeth, folding the letter carefully before tucking it into her pocket.

whatever this was, whatever secrets they had left behind, she wasn’t leaving until she figured it out.

but first, she needed to breathe.

with one last glance around the room, she turned on her heel and left, shutting the door softly behind her.

downstairs, the house still smelled like cinnamon.

but now, it felt different.

like it wasn’t just waiting.

like it was watching.

-----

myah spent the next few hours drifting from room to room, her fingers brushing over old furniture, the edges of framed photographs, the small trinkets left untouched on shelves. everything felt preserved, like a museum of her childhood, but also strangely off.

it wasn’t just the stillness, or the way dust had settled into the corners, or even the letter tucked inside her pocket, burning against her thigh like a secret waiting to be unraveled.

it was the feeling of something lurking just beneath the surface, something she couldn’t quite place.

standing in the living room, she traced the edge of a porcelain figurine resting on the mantel. her grandmother had collected them. tiny, delicate things, each one hand-painted and arranged meticulously.

she used to get scolded for playing with them.

“they’re not toys, myah. they’re memories.”

the words echoed now, soft as a whisper in the back of her mind.

she swallowed, stepping back.

the old grandfather clock in the corner ticked on steadily, its rhythmic beat filling the silence.

she exhaled slowly, pressing her palms against her temples.

this was too much.

the house. the will. the cryptic words from the lawyer.

and the letter, "if you’re reading this… then you already know."

but she didn’t know. and the longer she stayed here, the more it felt like the walls were closing in around her, whispering secrets just out of reach.

a sudden noise, soft, almost imperceptible, made her freeze.

a creak.

her head snapped toward the hallway.

the house was old. old houses made noise. that was all.

but still, she held her breath, listening.

nothing.

shaking herself, she exhaled sharply and turned toward the kitchen.

she needed water. something to ground herself.

the faucet groaned as she turned it on, the stream cold against her palms as she let it run.

she gripped the edge of the sink, trying to steady herself.

what the hell was she even doing here?

she should leave. pack up whatever was necessary, figure out the rest later. maybe even sell the house. she didn’t need it, didn’t want it.

but even as the thought crossed her mind, something inside her rebelled against it.

because this place wasn’t just a house.

it was hers.

and whether she wanted to or not, she had to figure out why.

the letter in her pocket felt heavier than before.

sighing, she turned off the faucet and wiped her hands on a nearby towel.

she’d start with the office.

her grandfather had always been meticulous. if there were any answers, they’d be in there.

squaring her shoulders, she stepped out of the kitchen, the house humming with silence around her.

but as she made her way toward the study, that lingering sense of unease refused to fade.

if anything, it grew stronger.

the study was exactly how she remembered it, dark wood, overstuffed bookshelves, the faint scent of old paper and something deeper, something almost metallic.

she hesitated in the doorway, fingers tightening around the hem of her sweater.

when she was younger, she wasn’t allowed in here. her grandfather had been strict about that, always keeping the door locked, always keeping his work private.

“there are things a child doesn’t need to know, myah.”

but she wasn’t a child anymore.

stepping inside, she let the door creak shut behind her.

dust coated the desk in a fine layer, and when she reached out to drag her fingers across the surface, she left streaks in the residue.

it was strange, everything else in the house felt preserved, but this room felt abandoned.

like someone had left in a hurry.

or like they never intended to return.

she swallowed, moving toward the bookshelf.

her grandfather had always been a man of routine, of habit. if there was something to be found, it would be here.

she scanned the spines, history, philosophy, law… nothing out of place.

but as she reached out to pull one free, her hand brushed against something rough.

a piece of paper, wedged between the books.

her pulse picked up as she carefully tugged it free.

the paper was yellowed, edges curling. the handwriting was neat, deliberate.

but it wasn’t in japanese or korean.

it wasn’t even in english.

it was in a language she didn’t recognize at all.

frowning, she turned it over, hoping for some kind of explanation.

but there was nothing.

just that strange, foreign script staring back at her.

her stomach twisted.

she didn’t know why, but looking at it made her feel wrong.

like she wasn’t supposed to see it.

like she wasn’t supposed to be here.

her fingers trembled slightly as she folded the paper and slipped it into her pocket.

she’d figure it out later.

for now, she needed to keep searching.

turning back to the desk, she pulled open the first drawer.

empty.

second drawer.

empty.

third—

her breath caught.

there, nestled at the bottom, was a small wooden box.

unassuming, plain.

but locked.

she reached for it, running her fingers along the edges.

there was no key in sight.

but she knew, instinctively, that whatever was inside this box, it was important.

and she had to find a way to open it.

she sat back on her heels, staring at the box like it might open on its own if she willed it hard enough.

but of course, it didn’t.

with a frustrated sigh, she set it on the desk, fingers drumming against the wood.

her grandfather had always been careful. deliberate. if he locked something away, it was for a reason.

but where would he have kept the key?

standing, she let her gaze sweep the study again.

there were only so many places it could be.

the drawers were empty, but the bookshelf?

her fingers skimmed over the spines again, searching for anything that felt out of place.

just then her fingers ran over the spine of a book that didn’t quite fit.

it was thinner than the others, wedged between two thick tomes on legal theory.

heart pounding, she pulled it free.

inside, nestled within its hollowed-out pages, was a key.

her breath hitched.

hands shaking, she snatched it up, rushing back to the desk.

the key slid into the lock with a quiet click.

for a moment, she hesitated.

whatever was inside this box, it would change things.

she felt it.

but she couldn’t stop now.

with a deep breath, she lifted the lid.

inside was a stack of neatly folded documents.

on top, an envelope with her name written in her grandfather’s handwriting.

slowly, she picked it up, fingers ghosting over the ink.

she swallowed hard.

then, carefully, she slid her finger under the flap and pulled out the letter.

the first line made her blood run cold.

“if you are reading this, then we are already gone.”

myah’s breath caught in her throat. she stared at the words, fingers tightening around the letter as an eerie weight settled in her chest.

her grandfather’s handwriting was firm, precise, just as she remembered. but seeing it now, knowing he had written this with the knowledge that she would find it after his death, sent a shiver down her spine.

she forced herself to keep reading.

“there are things we never told you. things we kept hidden for your own good. but if you’ve found this, it means our past has finally caught up with you.”

her hands shook.

she swallowed hard, pressing her lips together.

“our estate is now yours, but with it comes responsibility. you may have thought our wealth came from years of business, from careful investments. but the truth is, our fortune was built on something else entirely.”

she blinked, rereading the line.

what the hell was he talking about?

her pulse hammered in her ears.

“the basement.”

she inhaled sharply, fingers tightening around the pages.

“we never spoke of it. we never let you near it. but you must understand it was necessary. everything we did was necessary.”

necessary for what?

she could feel her heartbeat in her throat, her stomach twisting as she scanned the rest of the letter.

“the key is in your hands now. what you do with it is your choice. but be warned, myah: there are things in this house that do not forgive, that do not forget. tread carefully.”

the letter ended there.

silence stretched in the study, thick and suffocating.

myah stared at the paper, rereading each word, her mind racing.

the basement?

her grandparents had never mentioned a basement.

she clenched the letter in her hands, standing abruptly.

her skin prickled with unease as she glanced around, the air in the house suddenly feeling heavier, colder.

the basement.

she had to find it.

she had to know what they were hiding.

slowly, she stepped out of the study, the floor creaking beneath her feet.

her breath came short and uneven as she moved down the hall, scanning the walls, the floor, any sign of a hidden door.

but there was nothing.

until—

her eyes landed on a spot in the dining room, just past the kitchen.

a section of the floor, slightly off-colored, slightly raised.

her pulse quickened.

she crossed the room, crouching down, fingers tracing along the edges of the wood.

it was subtle, almost invisible.

but when she pressed her palm flat against it, she felt it give.

a hidden panel.

with a sharp inhale, she dug her fingers beneath the seam and pulled.

the wood lifted, revealing a set of narrow stairs descending into darkness.

a rush of cold air hit her face.

her stomach twisted.

this was it.

the secret her grandparents had taken to their graves.

she swallowed hard.

then, gripping the edge of the opening, she forced herself to take the first step down.

the stairs groaned under her weight, the air growing colder with each step myah took. dust swirled in the dim light as she descended, the scent of damp wood and something faintly metallic filling her nose.

her fingers trembled as she reached out to brush the wall, searching for a light switch. her hand found something. an old metal box, cool to the touch. she hesitated before flipping it open.

click.

a single, flickering bulb buzzed to life overhead.

the basement was larger than she expected.

stone walls, lined with shelves covered in old books and boxes. a long, wooden table sat in the middle of the room, its surface scratched and scarred, as if it had seen years of use.

but it was what was beyond the table that sent a chill down her spine.

a door.

steel. bolted shut.

her breath caught in her throat.

what the hell were they keeping down here?

her fingers twitched at her sides as she stepped closer. dust clung to every surface, but the bolts on the door looked newer, untouched by time in a way that didn’t match the rest of the basement.

myah reached out, brushing the cold metal.

but before she could figure out how to unlock the door

bang.

she yelped, stumbling back as something slammed against the other side of the door.

her pulse roared in her ears.

another bang.

a scraping sound.

her breathing turned shallow as she staggered away, her body screaming at her to run, but she couldn’t. she couldn’t move. she could only stare.

because whatever was behind that door…

it wasn’t just alive.

it was waiting.

and now, it knew she was here.

her grandparents’ words echoed in her head.

“there are things in this house that do not forgive, that do not forget.”

her knees felt weak, the weight of the secret pressing down on her chest.

she needed to leave.

now.

with a sharp inhale, she turned on her heel and bolted up the stairs, slamming the wooden panel shut behind her.

the house was silent.

but she could still hear it.

the scratching.

the breathing.

whatever was in that basement,

it wasn’t going to stay down there forever.

-----

the air in the house thickened, suffused with an unfamiliar scent that hung heavy, tainting the usual musky, cold atmosphere. it wasn’t just the sound of footsteps that caught their attention, though. it was the way the tension in the air shifted, thick with the faint taste of fear.

there was something different about her.

jungkook’s gaze flicked toward the door, his body tense as he inhaled deeply. the scent was faint, but unmistakable. her heartbeat, fast and uneven, vibrated in his chest like a deep drum, and he couldn’t help but feel the primal pull in his gut. she was afraid.

he growled low, a soft rumble that vibrated in his throat. there was something exhilarating about her fear, a delicious, undeniable charge that made his muscles flex, a heat pooling in his core. he’d been in the shadows for too long. it had been too long since he’d felt the heat of a prey’s fear, smelled it so close. “who is this?” his voice was hoarse, but he didn’t care.

the tiger hybrid lounging next to him snapped his gaze to the door, body going still. the instinct in him was electric, crackling beneath his skin. he could feel the air shifting, charged with something wild. he’d been caged for too long, too long without feeling this… alive. his lips pulled back into a predatory grin, and he let out a slow, guttural laugh. “her…” his voice rumbled, “she’s scared. but she doesn’t know it yet.”

the lion's golden hair gleamed faintly in the dim light as his sharp eyes locked onto the door. his body was tense, muscles coiled as he breathed in the scent of her, sweet, yet tainted with fear. he could sense the pull, the weight of her presence on the air. but it wasn’t just the scent that tugged at him. it was the hunger he felt rising in his chest, a deep-seated craving he hadn’t fed in far too long. “she’s not supposed to be here,” he muttered, his voice low and steady, but the edge of his tone betrayed a flicker of something else. something dark.

yoongi’s presence shifted in the shadows, his piercing eyes narrowing as he registered the subtle disturbance. there was a faint tug in his chest, a sharp awareness. his body had been still, cold, but now… now he could feel the faint hum of something that wasn’t just human. She wasn’t just human. his jaw tightened, the hunger in him rising to the surface, just beneath the calm exterior. “we’ll see how long she lasts.”

the scent of her fear curled around his senses, an intoxicating pull. jimin, who had been quietly observing, felt the subtle shift too. his silvery hair shimmered faintly in the low light, his expression unreadable but sharp. she’s different, he thought, his gaze still on the door, though there was a softness in his features that didn’t match the intensity of the others. She’s curious, but she doesn’t know the danger she’s walking into.

hoseok’s laugh broke the silence, bright, full of energy, but with a bite beneath it. he could feel it too. the anticipation that sparked in his veins, a restlessness he couldn’t shake. his eyes were bright, wide, a flicker of mischief in the depths. “she smells so good,” he teased, his voice almost playful, but there was something more raw behind his words. the hunger was in him, too, gnawing at the edges of his patience.

the tiger's muscles twitched in response to the shift in the air, his lips curling into a smirk. “she’s scared. that’s what makes it fun.” his voice was low, dark with something primal, something carnal. “let’s see if she tries to run.”

the tension in the room thickened, palpable. every hybrid could feel it. the scent of her, the way her breath quickened, the pulsing rhythm of her heartbeat that called to them like a beacon. they hadn’t been this close to something like her in so long.

and she was afraid. vulnerable.

but that wouldn’t save her.

yoongi’s gaze flicked to the door, his expression blank but the flicker of something darker in his eyes betrayed his thoughts. she won’t get far. she’ll be ours, whether she likes it or not.”

the air grew still, thick with the scent of her fear, the sound of her movements barely perceptible now. she was running, but it didn’t matter. she had been marked. and now… now they all knew.

the door wasn’t much of a barrier. it would only delay what was inevitable.

they could smell her, hear her. the hunt had begun.

Chapter Text

when myah returned home that night something felt off.

jisun was waiting for her in the living room, curled up on the couch, one leg tucked beneath her, the other bouncing slightly. her rabbit ears twitching the second myah stepped through the door, nose scrunching up as if she caught a scent she doesn’t like. her golden eyes sharpened, flickering over myah from head to toe.

not just looking. assessing.

"where were you?" jisun’s voice is soft, but there’s a tension to it, like a wire stretched too tight.

"the house," myah answers, kicking off her shoes. her limbs feel heavy, weighed down by exhaustion and the thick layer of unease clinging to her skin. she can still feel the press of cold metal beneath her fingertips, the scent of damp stone lingering in her nose.

jisun watches her closely. doesn’t blink. doesn’t look away. myah knows that look.

then, slowly, jisun sits up, stretching her arms overhead, her movements languid, too casual. calculated. her ears flick again.

"and?"

myah hesitates. "and…what?"

jisun tilts her head slightly, eyes never leaving hers. "and why do you smell like that?"

a chill runs down myah’s spine, cold and sharp. her fingers twitch at her sides, but she doesn’t move. doesn’t flinch.

she won’t flinch.

"what are you talking about?" she asks, forcing her voice to stay even, bored, like jisun is just being dramatic again.

jisun doesn’t respond right away. instead, she rises to her feet, slow and deliberate, stepping closer. too close.

myah can see it now, the way her pupils have dilated just slightly, the way her nostrils flare, like she’s inhaling, pulling in something unfamiliar.

"other hybrids," jisun murmurs. "it’s faint, but…it’s there. under all that dust and whatever else is clinging to you."

myah’s mouth goes dry. there’s no way, she thought.

from the kitchen, chae-eun’s voice drifts in, calm but curious. "should we be concerned?"

jisun doesn’t look away. doesn’t even blink.

myah forces a breath past her lips, tries to shake the tension out of her shoulders. act normal. don’t let them see it.

"i don’t know what you’re talking about," she lies. "it was just me."

another pause. jisun’s eyes narrow, her ears flicking again, sharp and quick.

"okay," she says, but the word is light, dismissive. a trap.

myah can see it in the way she lingers, the way her fingers twitch at her sides, like she wants to reach out, grab her wrist, pull the truth out of her. but she doesn’t push. not yet. instead, she just smiles. too sweet. too knowing.

"you should sleep in my room again tonight," she says, voice smooth. "just in case."

myah exhales slowly. "i’m fine, jisun."

"humor me."

her voice is light, but there’s something unshakable in her tone, something dangerous lurking beneath the concern. something that says i know you’re lying.

she knows.

maybe not everything. maybe not what, exactly, myah had found in that basement, but she knows something happened.

and myah can’t risk pushing her further.

"fine," she murmurs.

jisun hums, pleased, and reaches out, running her fingers through myah’s hair, absently smoothing it down. like she’s claiming her. like she’s reminding her where she belongs.

"good," she whispers. "i’ll take care of you."

-----

as the night drags on, the air is thick and heavy. myah shifts beneath the covers, sleep evading her.

jisun is curled against her side, her breathing slow, steady. but even in sleep, she doesn’t let go. one of her hands rests lightly on myah’s wrist, fingers curled just enough to keep her there.

it’s not just comfort. it’s possession. a quiet warning.

stay where i can see you.

myah stares at the ceiling, trying to steady her breathing. she feels like she’s still in the basement, like the weight of the house is pressing down on her, wrapping around her throat like invisible hands.

the scratching.

the breathing.

it had been on the other side of that door. waiting.

she had run. bolted up the stairs like a coward, slamming the panel shut behind her.

but she hadn’t imagined it.

she knows what she heard.

a shiver runs through her.

the sun hadn’t even risen by the time she finally untangles herself from jisun’s grip. she moves carefully, slowly, prying herself free without waking her.

jisun stirs slightly, fingers twitching against the sheets, but doesn’t wake.

quietly, myah slipped out of the room.

rounding the corner, myah sees chae-eun in the kitchen, stirring a cup of coffee, her expression unreadable. the early morning light filters through the window, casting soft shadows across the counter.

myah freezes for half a second.

then, chae-eun glances up, meeting her gaze.

she doesn’t say anything. doesn’t scold her for being up so early or for looking like she hasn’t slept at all.

instead, she turns, pulls another mug from the cabinet, and fills it.

then she slides it across the counter.

“sit.”

it’s not a request.

myah hesitates, but she’s too exhausted to argue. she pulls out a chair and sinks into it, wrapping her hands around the warm ceramic.

silence settles between them.

chae-eun watches her. patient. waiting.

“what happened?”

myah’s fingers tighten around the mug. “what do you mean?”

chae-eun exhales, tilting her head slightly. “you came back wrong.”

the words shouldn’t make myah’s stomach drop, but they do.

“jisun smelled it,” chae-eun continues, voice even, unreadable. “i saw it. you walked in here like you weren’t sure if you were even supposed to be back.”

myah swallows, forcing herself to meet her gaze.

she isn’t like jisun. she doesn’t sniff people out, doesn’t pin them in place with a knowing look, doesn’t dig her claws into the truth until it spills out, raw and exposed.

but she doesn’t have to.

because chae-eun knows.

she’s already put the pieces together, already seen the way myah walked through the door last night like she was stepping out of a nightmare, the way her hands shook when she thought no one was looking, the way she hesitated when asked what happened.

and she’s waiting for myah to say it.

for some reason, that makes it harder.

her throat feels tight.

her mind flashes back to the house. to the dim light flickering overhead, to the cold air creeping up from beneath the floorboards and the dust thick in the air.

to the door in the basement.

she hadn’t seen anything.

but she had heard it.

the scratching. the breathing. the slow, deliberate drag of nails against metal. like whatever was behind that door wasn’t just waiting.

and then, that moment,

that awful moment,

when the sound had stopped.

when the silence had stretched long and thin, curling around her like a warning.

when the air had felt too still, as if something was pressing against the other side of the door, ear to the metal, mirroring her.

like it was listening back.

myah shudders.

her fingers tighten around her mug, her pulse thudding against her ribs.

chae-eun doesn’t look away. doesn’t blink.

the weight of her gaze makes it impossible to lie.

so myah exhales, steadying herself, and whispers, “there’s something in the basement.”

chae-eun stills.

myah forces herself to keep going. “i don’t know what, but,” she shakes her head. “it’s locked. bolted shut. but there was something on the other side.”

the words feel ridiculous now that they’re out in the open. like she’s a child confessing to a nightmare.

but chae-eun doesn’t laugh.

doesn’t blink.

instead, she sets her mug down carefully, fingers pressing against the counter’s edge.

“what did you hear?”

myah’s stomach twists, nausea curling low in her gut.

the apartment feels too warm all of a sudden, the scent of coffee and chae-un’s floral perfume turning thick and suffocating in the air.

her grip on the mug tightens, the ceramic pressing into her palms, grounding her.

but it doesn’t stop the memory from creeping in.

“scratching,” she says, the word dragging out of her throat like something unwilling.

chae-eun doesn’t move.

doesn’t even blink.

her expression remains eerily neutral, but there’s something simmering beneath it, something watching.calculating.

waiting for myah to keep going.

she swallows, throat dry.

“and breathing.”

the words are barely a whisper, but they feel deafening in the quiet of their kitchen.

chae-eun exhales, slow and measured, before leaning forward, resting her elbows on the counter.

her eyes don’t leavemyah’s face.

and then she asks,

“how did it breathe?”

a chill rips down myah’s spine.

the question shouldn’t make her stomach drop, shouldn’t make her pulse pound against her ribs.

but it does.

because chae-eun isn’t asking to humor her.

she’s asking because she sees her.

and that means this isn’t just paranoia.

this is real.

she blinks, forcing herself to focus. “what?”

chae-eun tilts her head slightly, like she’s studying her.

“was it shallow?” she asks, her voice too calm, too controlled. “uneven?” she pauses. “or was it slow?”

the world tilts for a second.

slow.

the lump in myah’s throat feels impossibly thick.

her mind yanks her back to the basement.

to the thick, suffocating air pressing against her skin.

to the steel door, bolted shut, looming in front of her like something alive.

and to the moment it breathed.

not shallow.

not erratic.

not panicked.

not desperate for escape.

controlled.

deep.

a slow inhale, dragging through the silence, like something was taking its time.

like it was thinking.

like it knew she was there.

like it was waiting for her to lean just a little closer.

her pulse roars in her ears as she forces her hands to stay steady around the mug, forces her voice to stay even.

but when she finally speaks, the words barely scrape past her throat.

“...it was slow.”

chae-eun inhales through her nose, leaning back slightly.

she doesn’t look surprised.

she looks like she just had something confirmed.

and for some reason,

that terrifies myah more than anything.

like whatever was behind that door had been listening to her just as closely as she had been listening to it.

she doesn’t answer.

she doesn’t have to.

chae-eun sits back, exhaling through her nose.

“and?”

myah blinks. “and?”

“what are you going to do about it?”

the question lands like a slap.

she doesn’t have an answer. not one she can put into words, not one that makes sense. her pulse is still erratic, the memory of that deep, measured breathing pressed into the back of her skull like a stain she can’t wash out.

her fingers twitch around her mug.

“i don’t know,” she admits finally. it’s quiet, but it feels deafening in the small space of their kitchen.

chae-eun watches her for a long moment. then, just as calmly, she says, “do you want me to come with you?”

myah’s breath catches.

she blinks, unsure if she heard her right. “what?”

chae-eun shrugs, taking another slow sip of her coffee, as if she’s offering to run an errand with her, not go back to a house with something locked in its basement.

“you’re planning on going back, aren’t you?”

myah doesn’t answer.

she doesn’t need to.

chae-eun hums, setting her cup down again. “you shouldn’t go alone.”

“i—” myah shakes her head, still trying to catch up. “i wasn’t—i mean, i don’t—”

“you are going back,” chae-eun says, cutting through her hesitation with the same sharp, even tone she always uses when she’s already figured something out. “it’s just a matter of when.”

myah exhales through her nose, pressing her palms against the table. she wants to argue. wants to say she’s not planning anything.

but that would be a lie.

because of course she’s going back.

she doesn’t have a choice.

chae-eun tilts her head, considering her. “so?”

myah hesitates.

then, ever so quietly se replies “you don’t have to.”

“i know.” chae-eun leans back, tapping her fingers against her mug. “but i don’t like the idea of you going by yourself.”

she doesn’t say i believe you. she doesn’t say you’re not crazy.

but she also doesn’t say you imagined it. doesn’t tell her to leave it alone.

and somehow, that makes myah’s chest ache.

she swallows. “okay.”

chae-eun nods once, satisfied.

“we’ll go tomorrow,” she says simply. then she stands, stretching, rolling her shoulders back like she’s already moving on to the next thing. “you should try to get some actual sleep.”

myah huffs out something that’s almost a laugh. “doubt that’ll happen.”

“figured.” chae-eun gives her a look. “just don’t let jisun catch on.”

right.

jisun.

myah’s stomach twists.

“i won’t,” she says, but she’s not sure.

because jisun’s already suspicious.

and if she realizes myah’s planning to go back

she won’t let her leave.

not without a fight.

-----

the house is still.

above them, the weight of silence stretches, thick and heavy. but down here, beneath the earth, buried beneath years of rusted metal and stone, none of them are sleeping.

jungkook finally stops pacing, his body taut with frustration, muscles wound too tight. his jaguar tail flicks, a sharp, irritated motion, the faint rosette markings on his arms standing out under the dim light.

“i hate waiting,” he growls, voice low.

yoongi exhales, stretching out against the bars like he has all the time in the world, his panther tail curling lazily around his wrist. “we’ve waited this long. a little longer won’t kill you.”

“speak for yourself,” hoseok mutters, shifting his weight where he sits, his spotted tail tapping impatiently against the cold stone. his golden eyes flick toward the ceiling. “feels different now.”

“it is different,” seokjin murmurs, his silver-white hair catching in the dim light as he leans against the bars, his fluffy tail curling around his leg. his tone is unreadable, but his piercing, icy blue eyes are sharp, focused.

“she was here,” jungkook snaps, tail flicking again, more agitated this time.

“briefly,” namjoon corrects, his golden mane slightly disheveled from where he’s been leaning against the wall. he looks calm, but his amber eyes hold an intensity beneath them, calculating, considering. “and then she ran.”

silence lingers for a moment.

“if she returns,” taehyung says, his deep voice laced with lazy amusement, though his sharp tiger eyes glint with something darker, “we’ll see what kind of person she really is.”

jungkook’s ears twitch back. “she will.”

“will she?” taehyung tilts his head, black curls falling over his eyes. “we both smelled the fear on her.”

his gaze sweeps the room, landing on namjoon. “it’s clear she knows something dangerous is down here.”

“good.” yoongi’s voice is smooth, almost lazy. “means she’s smart.”

jimin, who’s been sitting with his long, clouded leopard tail draped over his lap, finally shifts. his hazel eyes gleam in the dim light, something unreadable in them.

“then we just have to convince her that nothing dangerous is down here.”

jungkook scoffs, rolling his shoulders. “easier said than done.”

“not really.” jimin hums, tracing idle patterns on the stone floor with one fingertip. “fear makes people irrational. she ran before she saw anything, which means she’s only scared of what she thinks is here.”

“so we let her fill in the blanks,” seokjin muses, a slow smirk curling his lips.

hoseok snickers, resting his chin on his palm. “oh, this is going to be fun.”

but namjoon remains quiet, watching, considering.

he knows something the others don’t want to acknowledge.

he finally speaks, his voice steady, measured.

“even if she does come down here,” he murmurs, “even if she opens the door,”

his golden eyes flick to the cages.

“do you really think she’ll open these?”

the room falls silent.

jungkook’s tail flicks once, twice, sharp and agitated.

“so what?” he mutters, crossing his arms. “we just sit here and hope she’s stupid enough to come back?”

seokjin hums, a slow, amused sound. “you sound eager.”

jungkook’s golden eyes snap toward him, sharp and irritated. “we’ve been rotting in here for years. you’re not eager?”

seokjin shrugs, his silvery-white hair shifting as he leans against the bars. “eager? maybe. impatient? never.”

“you should be,” jungkook growls. “because namjoon’s right, she could walk through that door and still leave us locked in these fucking cages.”

his tail flicks again, a sharp, annoyed motion.

“we have no control over what she does.”

“so we make her do what we want,” taehyung murmurs, his deep voice laced with something dark.

jimin tilts his head, his long, spotted tail curling loosely around his fingers. “we can’t exactly hold a knife to her throat, taehyung.”

taehyung exhales through his nose, unimpressed. “who said anything about knives?”

yoongi shifts, rolling his neck, his golden eyes catching the dim light. “you want to scare her into it?”

taehyung shrugs. “if she’s too afraid to open the cages, we make her afraid not to.”

hoseok, who’s been quiet up until now, snorts. “you’re an idiot.”

taehyung’s gaze snaps toward him, but hoseok doesn’t look impressed. his golden, cheetah like eyes are sharp, calculated, but there’s an edge of amusement curling at his lips.

“you think she’ll listen to threats? we just established she ran because she already knows something’s wrong here,” hoseok points out. “if she really thought there were monsters in this basement, do you think she’d willingly let them out?”

taehyung narrows his eyes, but he doesn’t argue.

because hoseok’s right.

seokjin sighs, dragging a hand through his silver-streaked hair. “so, what? we play nice?”

jimin’s lips curl, slow and sweet. “we make her want to help us.”

jungkook scoffs. “we’re a bunch of caged hybrids. what exactly do we have to offer?”

jimin’s hazel eyes gleam, knowing. “you’d be surprised.”

yoongi finally shifts, exhaling like he’s already exhausted. “namjoon?”

the lion hybrid hasn’t spoken for a while, his golden-blond mane slightly tousled as he leans back against the cold bars of his cage, watching them all in silence. his amber eyes are thoughtful, considering.

“we wait,” he says simply.

jungkook makes a frustrated sound. “are you kidding me?”

namjoon doesn’t react. his expression remains steady, unwavering.

“she’ll come back.”

his voice is calm, but there’s something final beneath it. something certain.

his tail flicks once, slow. deliberate.

“and when she does…” his golden eyes glint in the dim light.

“we’ll make sure she doesn’t leave empty-handed.”

the basement is still.

the cold, damp air sits heavy, clinging to their skin like a second layer. in the quiet, only the slow flicking of tails and the steady rise and fall of breath can be heard. but beneath that, something simmers. something restless.

yoongi is the only one who looks at ease, lounging with his back pressed against the metal, long legs stretched out, panther tail draped over his lap.

the air is heavier tonight.

not from tension, at least, not the kind they’re used to.

but something else. something uncertain.

"you’re thinking too loud," yoongi mutters, barely opening his eyes.

namjoon huffs out a quiet breath, shaking his head. "someone has to think."

“that sounds exhausting,” jimin hums, stretching his arms above his head before letting them fall limply back to his sides. “ever considered letting it go? just for one night?”

seokjin smirks, tipping his head back against the bars. “namjoon? relax? you might as well ask the old man to start treating us like his pets.”

silence.

the weight of his absence is still fresh, still strange.

"why do you think they kept us?" taehyung asks suddenly, voice quiet.

it isn’t the first time the question has been asked.

but tonight, it feels different.

yoongi's golden-amber eyes flick open, sharp against the dim light. “who cares?”

"i do," taehyung mutters. “they could’ve killed us. we’ve all seen them do it before. they take hybrids and toss them out, hunt them for sport, treat them worse than animals.”

his tail flicks against the bars, a slow, restless motion. “so why us?”

hoseok exhales, tilting his head back. "maybe we were a game."

jungkook's jaw tightens. "we are a game."

the silence that follows is heavy.

because they all know that’s the truth.

they were hunted, taken, thrown in cages, kept.

but why?

seokjin, who had been quiet up until now, speaks.

“it wasn’t just for sport,” he murmurs, voice smoother than it should be given the weight of the conversation.

they all turn to him.

he runs a hand through his silver hair, blue-gray eyes unreadable. "if it was just for sport, we wouldn’t still be here."

"then why?" jungkook asks, eyes dark, intense.

seokjin sighs. "because they were waiting for something."

the words settle over them.

because it makes sense.

if they had only been prey, they would have been discarded long ago.

but instead, they were kept.

the old man, sir, as they had been forced to call him, had always been different with them. not kind, never kind, but never outright cruel either.

"maybe they liked the idea of us belonging to them," jimin says softly, tracing patterns into the dust.

his tail sways lazily, but his expression is distant, unreadable.

"not them," yoongi corrects. “him.”

they don’t have to say his name.

the old man is gone now.

but his presence still lingers, buried in the walls, in the floor, in the cages that still haven’t been opened.

"if he was waiting for something, it sure as hell wasn’t us," jungkook mutters, stretching out his arms, muscles rippling under golden-toned skin.

“no,” namjoon agrees, voice low. “but maybe it was her.”

silence.

the air shifts.

jimin hums, a slow, thoughtful sound. "if it was, then the real question is what was she supposed to do?"

none of them have an answer.

but the truth is obvious.

she was here once before,

and she’ll come back.

jungkook scoffs, rolling his shoulders. "even if she does, do you really think she’ll open the cages?"

seokjin tilts his head, smirking. "we’ll just have to give her a reason to."

yoongi’s lips curl, slow and sharp. “and if she doesn’t?”

jimin, who has been silent, finally speaks.

"then we make her want to."

his hazel eyes gleam in the dark, something knowing, something dangerous flickering behind them.

they all glance toward the door.

waiting.

listening.

because when she returns,

and she will return,

she won’t be walking away so easily this time.

-----

the next morning, myah wakes up feeling like she never actually slept.

the weight of the night before clings to her skin, thick and suffocating. every time she closes her eyes, she hears the slow, deliberate scratch against metal, the measured breathing on the other side of the door. steady and patient, as if it knew she was there.

as if it had been waiting for her.

she swallows hard, staring up at the ceiling.

the morning light filters weakly through the blinds, casting pale streaks across the walls. jisun is still curled beside her, warm and unmoving except for the occasional twitch of her ears. her breathing is soft, even, but there’s a possessiveness to the way her fingers remain loosely curled around the edge of myah’s sleeve, like even in sleep, she refuses to let go.

and chae-eun—

the memory of her sharp, pointed gaze flashes through myah’s mind, the don’t be stupid written all over her face when she left last night.

she doesn’t need to say it out loud.

myah already knows.

because the basement door still exists.

and that thing behind it still exists.

and she still has no idea what the hell she’s supposed to do about it.

but for now, she has to go to work.

she exhales slowly, forcing herself to move.

carefully, she peels jisun’s fingers from her sleeve, holding her breath as she shifts out of bed. jisun stirs slightly, mumbling something unintelligible, her ears flicking once before she settles again.

myah lingers for half a second, watching her.

she can’t know.

not yet.

not until myah figures out what she’s dealing with.

and right now she’s not even close.

-----

by the time she steps into the café, the scent of coffee and fresh bread is already thick in the air, warm and familiar. the soft hum of conversation blends with the whir of the espresso machine, the clinking of ceramic cups against saucers, the low chatter of customers tucked into booths and perched on stools.

kai is behind the counter, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the muscles in his forearms flexing as he works the espresso machine with practiced ease. his tail flicks once, irritated, as he pulls a shot, eyes narrowed at the portafilter like it personally offended him.

when he sees myah walk in, his sharp gaze flickers over her, quick and assessing.

“you look like shit.”

myah sighs, rubbing a hand over her face as she ties her apron around her waist. “good morning to you too.”

kai doesn’t let it go. “you sleep?”

“enough.”

he raises a brow. clearly, he doesn’t believe her, but for once, he doesn’t press.

“you sure?” yuna’s voice cuts in before myah can brace herself.

she’s leaning over the counter, chin propped up in her palm, eyes glinting with amusement. strands of dyed blonde hair fall loose from her messy ponytail, the ends curling slightly from the humidity in the café. she’s already chewing gum, bright pink, probably sickly sweet, snapping it between her teeth as she watches myah like she’s her morning entertainment.

“’cause you look like you’ve either seen a ghost or committed a murder,” she continues, smirking.

myah exhales. “maybe both.”

kai’s ears twitch slightly, his grip tightening on the tamper for a fraction of a second before he slides a drink across the counter toward her without a word.

she takes it without question, the warmth of the cup grounding her more than she wants to admit.

yuna pops another piece of gum into her mouth, eyes still trained on myah. “big plans after work?”

myah hesitates.

“nah.”

kai snorts. “liar.”

she stiffens, grip tightening around her cup.

“what?”

kai doesn’t even look up from the milk frother. “you just seem off today. you keep touching your pocket like you’ve got something in there, and you keep looking at the door like you’re waiting for someone to walk through it.”

myah stiffens, her hand immediately retreating from where it had been resting against her jacket pocket.

damn.

she hadn’t even realized she was doing that.

she forces herself to stop, shoving both hands into the apron tied around her waist instead. but now that kai has pointed it out, it’s all she can think about. the nervous tick, the way she keeps checking the entrance like something is coming for her.

because, deep down, she feels like it is.

yuna, ever the opportunist when it comes to gossip, perks up from where she’s stacking cups near the espresso machine.

“ooh,” she coos, leaning in with a devilish grin. “is it a boy?”

myah snorts, but it comes out weaker than she intends. “oh, totally. i met a guy in a dark, creepy basement and immediately fell in love.”

yuna gasps dramatically. “no way.”

kai makes a face, ears twitching in mild irritation. “you do realize that’s a concerning sentence, right?”

yuna ignores him, smirking. “was he hot?”

myah groans, rubbing her temples. “yuna, there was no guy.”

yuna clicks her tongue, clearly unbothered by the denial. “tragic. girl, i wish that was the case. at least then you’d be getting some action.”

kai, who had been in the middle of sipping his coffee, promptly chokes.

he sets his cup down hard on the counter, coughing into his fist while shooting yuna a look of pure betrayal.

“what the fuck?” he wheezes.

yuna cackles, patting him on the back way too hard. “relax, fox boy, it’s just an observation.”

kai glares at her between coughs. “keep your observations to yourself.”

myah, tired of all of them, groans louder and throws a towel in yuna’s direction. “can we not?”

yuna just winks and flounces away to help a customer, flipping her hair over her shoulder like she didn’t just set a match to dry kindling and walk away. the slight bounce in her step, the smug tilt of her lips, it’s so yuna. she lives for moments like this, for stirring the pot just enough to make people squirm.

kai mutters something under his breath, tail flicking in irritation as he picks his coffee back up. whatever he says is too quiet for myah to hear, but judging by the way his ears twitch, it’s probably not polite.

myah exhales, dragging a hand through her hair, trying to shake off the conversation. but the words linger, pressing against her ribs like something sticky, something that won’t leave her alone.

she grabs a rag and busies herself wiping down the counter, but her movements are stiff, absentminded. her fingers twitch at her side, itching to reach into her pocket. to check. to make sure the basement key is still there.

but she doesn’t.

instead, she keeps glancing at the door.

and kai notices.

she doesn’t realize he’s watching her until she feels his gaze, sharp and focused, cutting through the space between them.

“what?” she mutters, not looking at him.

he leans in slightly, voice lower, quieter. “if it’s not a guy, then what is it?”

her grip tightens around the rag in her hands.

the weight in her pocket is heavy.

too heavy.

she’s not ready to answer that.

not yet.

so she forces herself to relax, tilts her head just slightly, and gives him a slow, easy smile.

“wouldn’t you like to know?”

kai doesn’t react right away. his ears twitch again, tail flicking once behind him, but his expression doesn’t change.

he just watches her.

assessing.

calculating.

then, finally, he exhales and pulls back, picking up his coffee like he didn’t just pry a little too close to the truth.

“yeah,” he mutters, taking a sip. “i really would.”

and that, that unsettles her more than anything.

myah just takes a slow sip of her coffee and stares him down, letting the silence stretch between them. she knows kai. knows that he’s waiting, expecting her to crack, to give him something real.

but she won’t.

not yet.

instead, she swallows, and shrugs. “well, that’s too bad.”

kai exhales through his nose, his ears flicking back slightly. a subtle, irritated movement. his tail gives a single, slow flick before going still again.

but he doesn’t push.

not yet.

instead, he grabs a rag, swiping at an already clean spot on the counter, his voice low.

“just don’t do anything stupid.”

too late for that.

but myah doesn’t say it. doesn’t acknowledge the way her pulse stutters at the thought of the key still sitting in her pocket, burning against her skin like a loaded gun she hasn’t decided to fire yet.

she just hums, noncommittal, and turns away, forcing herself to focus on something, anything, else.

but it’s hard.

her mind keeps slipping, caught between the steady noise of the café and the silence of last night.

the silence before the scratch.

the silence before the breath.

she busies herself wiping down tables, clearing empty cups, resetting napkin dispensers, but it does nothing to ground her. her fingers twitch against the rag in her hands, her movements too stiff, too precise.

every time the café door swings open, she stiffens.

her body braces like she’s expecting something.

someone.

it’s ridiculous.

no one is coming for her.

and yet,

the feeling doesn’t fade.

it settles into her bones, curling against her spine, a whisper of unease that refuses to leave.

she feels watched.

even long after the morning rush dies down, even when the café is half-empty, even when the only people left are the usual customers who have never spared her a second glance.

the sensation lingers.

slipping into the cracks of her thoughts, pressing against the edges of her ribs.

a quiet, unshakable feeling.

like something unseen is waiting.

like something knows.

the thought sits heavy in her chest, crawling up her throat like a warning she can’t quite decipher. the café hums around her, warm and full of life, but she feels outside of it, like she’s not really here, like part of her is still trapped somewhere else.

somewhere below.

the scratching, the slow measured breathing, it all plays in the back of her mind, looping like a song she can’t shake.

it knew she was there.

it was waiting.

her fingers twitch against the rag in her hand, and for a second, she swears the air shifts around her. like something is standing just behind her shoulder, just out of reach, watching.

she nearly jumps when yuna slaps a hand onto her shoulder.

“earth to myah,” she drawls, chewing loudly on her gum. “you gonna take that table, or are you just gonna stand there looking like you’ve been possessed?”

myah blinks, her body snapping back into the present like a rubber band pulled too tight.

a couple sits by the window, waiting for her, eyes flicking between their menus and her blank stare.

right.

her chest feels tight as she forces herself to move, shaking off the lingering unease. she grabs her notepad and crosses the room, past the soft hum of customers, past the steady clinking of cups and plates.

the café is normal.

safe.

but her thoughts are elsewhere.

namely,

the house.

the basement.

the locked door.

she takes the order on autopilot, her voice steady, her hands moving without thinking. she writes down words she doesn’t fully process, nods in response to things she doesn’t fully hear.

because in her mind, she’s still standing at the top of the basement stairs.

she had promised chae-eun they would go back tonight.

but now, in the light of day, with the warmth of the café wrapping around her like a blanket, the weight of that decision presses down on her harder than before.

what the hell am i doing?

she shouldn’t be doing this.

she should leave it alone.

she should take the money from her grandparents’ will, sell the damn house, and forget any of this ever happened.

but she can’t.

because something inside her is screaming.

this isn’t just a locked door.

this isn’t just a family secret.

this is bigger.

this is wrong.

and she needs to know why.

she grips her pen a little too tight.

tonight.

she’s going back tonight.

the café slows down after the morning rush, the lull settling in like a warm haze. myah leans against the counter, staring blankly at the espresso machine, her thoughts far from where they should be.

kai, ever observant, picks up on it instantly.

“so,” he starts, wiping down the counter with slow, deliberate movements. “are you gonna tell me what’s going on, or do i have to beat it out of you?”

myah snorts, finally dragging her gaze to him. “you? beat me up? i’d like to see you try.”

kai raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “don’t test me. you may be scrappy, but i have claws.”

“oh, terrifying.”

kai just flicks his tail, watching her carefully. “seriously, though. you’ve been weird all day. and before you say it, no, it’s not just the whole ‘dead grandparents’ thing.”

myah rolls her eyes. “wow. so sensitive.”

he shrugs. “i’m just saying. grief doesn’t make you jump every time the door opens.”

she stills for a fraction of a second. too quick for most people to catch.

but kai isn’t most people.

his ears twitch, golden eyes narrowing. “yeah. that’s what i thought.”

she exhales through her nose, turning to grab a rag just to have something to do with her hands. “it’s nothing.”

“bullshit.”

“just drop it, kai.”

he leans forward, voice dropping just slightly. “nah, see, here’s the thing, i would drop it, if i thought it was actually nothing. but it’s not.”

she clenches her jaw, scrubbing harder at an already-clean spot on the counter.

kai watches her, unimpressed.

“you don’t get like this, myah.” his voice is softer now, but still firm. “you don’t get jumpy. and you sure as hell don’t lie this badly unless something is really wrong.”

she doesn’t respond.

kai sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “look, i get it. i don’t know exactly what’s going on, but i know you. and i know that whatever this is? you’re not handling it well.”

myah exhales, gripping the rag tightly. “thanks for the vote of confidence.”

kai huffs a quiet laugh. “it’s a compliment, dumbass. you usually handle shit way better than this. but right now?” he tilts his head. “you look like you’re being hunted.”

her breath catches.

kai notices.

his eyes darken, ears pressing back slightly.

kai watches her carefully, his gaze sharp, assessing, as if he’s peeling her apart piece by piece, searching for the cracks.

“myah,” he says carefully, voice steady but edged with something hard. “is someone messing with you?”

“no,” she says immediately.

too immediately.

kai’s ears twitch, his tail flicking once behind him. He leans in just a fraction, voice dropping lower.

“is it… them?”

her breath hitches.

her fingers tighten around the rag in her hands, gripping the fabric like it can ground her.

she forces her face into something blank. neutral. “who’s them?”

kai’s jaw ticks, his expression darkening.

“you know who.”

her stomach drops.

because she does know.

hybrids.

but not just any hybrids, the wrong kind.

the ones who don’t care about peace, who don’t care about living alongside humans. the ones who see people like her as nothing more than prey, as something weaker.

and before she can stop it the memory floods back.

the alley behind the café.

cold air.

damp pavement.

the dull hum of streetlights buzzing above.a shadow moving too fast, cutting her off before she could react.

the scent of cigarette smoke and something wilder, thicker, muskier, something animal.

a hand, claws just barely extended, catching her wrist with an almost lazy grip.

“you should be careful walking alone, sweetheart,” the hybrid had murmured, voice deep and edged with amusement. “someone might take advantage of that.”

her stomach had twisted.
she’d tried to pull back, but his grip tightened, claws pressing just enough to threaten.

there had been more of them.

leaning against the alley walls, watching. waiting.

she had felt their eyes rake over her, assessing.

like they were bored, like they were waiting to see what she’d do, how much fight she had in her before they decided whether she was worth the effort.

she remembers her pulse roaring in her ears.

remembers the way she opened her mouth, about to say something, anything, but she hadn’t needed to.

“let her go.”

kai’s voice.

low. steady. deadly.

she remembers the shift in the air.

remembers the way the hybrid’s fingers twitched against her skin before his lips curled, like he’d just been handed something fun.

“what’s it to you, fox?”

kai had taken a single step forward.

not fast. not aggressive.

just final.

“i won’t ask again.”

his ears had been pinned back, tail low, muscles tight beneath his work uniform. but his eyes,

his eyes had burned.

the hybrid holding her had exhaled through his nose, amusement curling at the edge of his mouth, but something else had flickered in his expression.

something wary.

something that said he knew better.

“tch,” he had muttered, clicking his tongue as he let her go. “no fun.”

the others had pushed off the walls, hands in their pockets, expressions unreadable as they walked away.

as if it had all been a game.

as if it hadn’t meant anything to them.

but myah, myah had felt sick.

her hands had shaken.

kai hadn’t said anything at first. just stood there, watching the end of the alley until the hybrids were completely gone.

“you good?”

and she’d hated that her voice had cracked when she answered.

“yeah.”

he hadn’t believed her.

but he hadn’t called her out on it, either.

he had just stepped forward, slipping his hoodie off and draping it over her shoulders before nodding toward the café’s back door.

“come inside.”

not go home.

not be more careful.

just come inside.

like he knew she wouldn’t be okay alone.

she had followed him without a word.

for weeks, kai followed her home after every shift. he never said anything about it, never made a big deal out of it, just walked a few steps behind her, hands stuffed in his pockets, tail flicking lazily like it was all coincidence.

he only stopped after myah, and an annoyed jisun who had wrinkled her nose and muttered something about “smelling too much fox” for her liking, finally forced him to.

but even then, he never really stopped.

he still called or texted her the moment she should’ve been home, a simple “you in?” or “alive?” showing up on her phone like clockwork.

and if she didn’t answer fast enough?

he was already dialing.

she forces the memory down, locking it back in the place she keeps all the things she doesn’t want to think about.

kai is still staring at her, his golden eyes dark and unreadable.

he thinks someone hurt her.

and if she lets him believe that, there’s no telling what he’ll do.

kai doesn’t talk about it often, but she knows he’s been in situations before.

situations where humans decided what his worth was before he could prove otherwise.

situations where he had to fight just to exist.

he’s never said it outright, but myah knows he fough to be here.

and now, with the tension laced through his body, the sharp edge to his voice,

he’s ready to fight again.

but he won’t be fighting them.

he’ll be fighting something else.

something she doesn’t even understand yet.

so she forces a breath, shaking her head. “no, kai. no one’s messing with me.”

his eyes search her face.

for a second, she thinks he’s going to call her out.

but then, finally, he exhales, leaning back slightly.

“fine.”

relief washes over her.

“but only for now.”

her stomach twists.

kai levels her with a look, his voice calm but unshakable.

“if something is going on, you tell me. got it?”

his tone leaves no room for argument.

myah hesitates before nodding.

“good,” he mutters, grabbing his cup and taking a long sip. “because if i find out you’re keeping something from me, i will find out on my own. and you won’t like how i do it.”

she snorts. “oh, please. what are you gonna do? sniff me out like a bloodhound?”

kai just grins, slow and sharp.

“don’t tempt me.”

the rest of the shift drags.

myah keeps herself busy, refilling coffee cups, wiping down tables, pretending she doesn’t feel kai’s gaze flicking toward her every few minutes. he doesn’t push her again, but she can tell he wants to.

yuna eventually ropes him into an argument about proper latte art technique, giving myah just enough breathing room to keep her thoughts from spiraling. but no matter how many drinks she makes or how many orders she takes, the weight in her chest doesn’t ease.

because she knows what’s coming.

what she’s choosing to do.

by the time her shift ends, the sky is dark, streetlights buzzing to life as she steps outside. the air is cold, crisp, carrying the scent of autumn and distant rain.

she exhales slowly, watching her breath curl in the night air.

chae-eun is waiting for her when she gets home, sitting cross-legged on the couch with her arms folded. she doesn’t ask if myah is ready. doesn’t ask if she’s changed her mind.

she just stands. grabs her jacket.

“let’s go.”

myah swallows hard.

and together, they walk out into the night.

back to the house.

back to whatever’s waiting in the basement.

-----

the air feels different the second they step onto the property.

it’s subtle at first, nothing more than a feeling. an unnatural stillness pressing against their skin, crawling up myah’s spine like unseen fingers tracing along her back.

the house looms before them, massive and unwelcoming, its dark silhouette standing against the night sky like a sleeping beast. the windows are empty, blacked out, void of warmth. the porch, once a place of childhood memories, now feels hollow, stripped of anything that once made it home.

the only light comes from the dim glow of a lone streetlamp at the end of the driveway, its flickering bulb casting elongated shadows across the uneven path leading to the front door.

the trees sway with the wind, their skeletal branches reaching toward the house, stretching over the cracked stone walkway like grasping hands. the overgrown grass shifts in the breeze, but there is no sound. no rustling. no chirping of crickets.

just silence.

thick. suffocating. unnatural.

no cars pass in the distance. no hum of life exists beyond the front gate.

just the steady pounding of myah’s heart, the quiet press of chae-eun’s presence beside her.

neither of them speak.

there’s nothing to say.

they both know why they’re here.

myah’s fingers tighten around the key in her hand, the cool metal biting into her skin. her knuckles turn white, but she doesn’t loosen her grip.

she slides the key into the lock.

click.

the sound echoes too loudly in the quiet.

the door swings open with a low, aching creak, the kind that scrapes through her bones and sends a shudder crawling down her spine.

the air inside is thick, heavier than it should be.

dust lingers in the air, untouched, swirling lazily in the dim glow of the porch light spilling in from behind them. but beneath it, something else clings to the space. something old, something watching.

the scent of aged wood, forgotten memories, and the faintest trace of something metallic lingers at the edges of her senses, tugging at something deep, something unfamiliar.

she steps inside first.

the wooden floorboards groan beneath her weight, as if protesting her presence.

she flicks the light switch and the dim overhead bulb stutters to life, flickering weakly before settling into a dull, yellow glow, causing long shadows to stretch along the walls, warping the edges of the furniture, turning familiar shapes into twisted, unrecognizable figures.

chae-eun exhales, glancing around with sharp, calculating eyes. her nose wrinkles slightly. “it smells old.”

myah huffs out a quiet, humorless laugh. “it is old.”

chae-eun shoots her a look, unimpressed, but doesn’t argue. instead, she takes a few careful steps deeper into the house, scanning the dimly lit space with the kind of awareness that comes from knowing when something isn’t right.

her fingers trail lightly over the edge of a dusty side table, her movements slow, deliberate.

“nothing feels off yet,” she mutters.

but myah knows better.

the whole house feels off.

it always has.

even as a child, when she’d spent years running up and down these halls, curling up on the worn out couch, peeking into rooms she was never supposed to enter, there had always been something off, something there, lurking beneath the surface, something she could never quite name.

and now, standing here as an adult, the weight of it is even heavier.

she doesn’t realize she’s gripping the fabric of her jacket until chae-eun’s voice pulls her back.

“where’s the basement?”

the question slides down her spine like ice.

myah swallows.

her body moves before her mind catches up, turning toward the back of the house.

the hallway stretches before her, long and narrow, the floorboards creaking under her steps as she moves.

she doesn’t want to say it.

the words come anyway, low and quiet.

“this way.”

they move through the house, past the parts of the house that had once been familiar, towards the kitchen. a place myah had never questioned growing up.

but she questions it now.

the air is heavier, thicker, settling into the walls, into the floorboards, into the bones of the house itself.

every step she takes feels wrong.

as if she’s moving toward something that doesn’t want to, no shouldn’t, be found.

she stops in front of the hidden panel.

it looks like nothing. the wood is slightly discolored, barely noticeable unless you were looking for it.

her fingers twitch.

she crouches down, pressing her fingertips against the edges, feeling the grooves worn into the wood.

the panel gives under her touch, lifting with barely any effort.

the moment it opens cold air rushes up from the dark.

it hits her skin like something alive, crawling up her spine, sinking into her clothes, wrapping around her throat like a second pair of hands.

chae-eun inhales sharply, stepping back just slightly.

“well,” she mutters, staring down at the darkened stairwell. “that’s not ominous at all.”

myah forces a breath past her lips, but it doesn’t steady her.

she flicks on the flashlight on her phone and aims it downward.

the beam of light barely cuts through the blackness.

the stairs stretch below them, old and uneven, leading into narrow stone walls that seem to tighten the deeper they go.

she doesn’t want to do this.

her entire body is screaming at her not to do this.

but she has to.

so she swallows, forcing herself to glance at chae-eun.

“ready?”

chae-eun gives her a dry look, arms crossed, brow raised.

“not even remotely.”

but she steps forward anyway.

because they both know,

it doesn’t matter if they’re ready.

they’re going down there regardless.

-----

a sharp noise, something between a tap and a thump, drags jimin from the edges of sleep.

he groans, shifting onto his side, his tail curling lazily around his waist. "why," he mutters, voice thick with drowsiness. "let me die in peace."

from the next cage over, hoseok clicks his tongue, the sound carrying through the quiet. "because she’s back."

jimin doesn’t move at first, letting the words settle in the air between them, the weight of them pressing against his skin like a slow-building heat.

then, finally, he inhales.

his pupils dilate, nose twitching as he catches it,

her.

it’s faint but unmistakable, threading through the damp, rusted scent of their prison.

his lips curl, slow and knowing.

"well," he sighs, stretching his arms above his head before settling back against the cold bars. "that is interesting."

the others are already awake.

jungkook, closest to the door, is sitting up, muscles tense, tail flicking in short, sharp motions.

taehyung’s golden eyes gleam in the dark, fingers curled loosely around the bars of his cage.

yoongi doesn’t speak, but his attention is fixed on the door, focusing on the noise coming from the stairwell above them, his stillness more dangerous than any movement.

namjoon is the first to break the silence.

“she’s come back.”

the words settle over them, quiet but heavy.

jimin hums, stretching his arms over his head, slow and deliberate.

“i told you she would.”

seokjin’s tail flicks in mild amusement. “for once, you were right.”

jungkook exhales sharply, but there’s something unreadable in his expression.

“what do we do?” hoseok asks, tilting his head toward namjoon.

the lion hybrid doesn’t answer right away.

instead, he leans back against the bars, eyes still locked on the unseen presence above them, the scent of her curling through the air like a silent invitation.

“we wait,” he finally says.

jungkook’s jaw tightens.

“for what?”

namjoon’s golden eyes gleam.

“for her to come to us.”

jungkook scoffs, shifting where he sits, his golden eyes flickering toward the ceiling. "and if she doesn't?"

"she will," yoongi murmurs, voice smooth, confident. he’s still lounging against the bars, but his gaze is sharp, locked on the stairwell.

"you sound sure." hoseok tilts his head, watching him carefully.

yoongi's lips curl, slow and knowing. "because she hesitated last time."

silence.

jungkook's tail flicks in irritation, but he doesn’t argue.

because yoongi is right.

she had come close enough to hear them. close enough to feel them.

but she hadn’t run. not completely.

and now, she was back.

"so, what?" taehyung drawls, dragging his fingers along the rusted bars of his cage. "we sit here like obedient little pets and wait for her to decide what to do with us?"

"we make it easy for her," seokjin corrects, adjusting his position, his silver hair catching the dim light. "she’s already curious. we just have to nudge her in the right direction."

jimin hums in agreement, stretching his arms above his head before settling back against the bars. "if she’s come back, that means she wants answers."

"then we give them to her," namjoon says simply.

jungkook scoffs. "we lie to her, you mean."

namjoon shrugs, expression unreadable. "we tell her what she needs to hear."

hoseok exhales, running a hand through his golden-brown hair. “and if she panics?”

"then we convince her that panicking is the wrong choice," jimin murmurs, a small smile playing at his lips.

jungkook's tail flicks again, restless. "and if she never opens the damn cages?"

silence.

no one moves.

no one speaks.

because that,

that is the real question.

"then we wait," namjoon finally says.

yoongi smirks, tilting his head. “and if waiting isn’t enough?”

namjoon’s golden eyes glint in the dark.

"then we make her open them."

-----

chae-eun doesn’t hesitate. she follows myah down without a word.

the wood panel creaks shut behind them, causing the air to shift.

it feels colder.

heavier.

the stairwell is narrow, the old wooden steps groaning beneath their weight as they descend. dust clings to the air, swirling lazily in the beam of myah’s phone flashlight, but beneath it,

something else.

something damp. metallic.

it sits thick in her throat, sharp and coppery, like blood left too long in the air.

she swallows against it, tightening her grip on her phone.

behind her, chae-eun moves carefully, her footsteps steady, but myah can hear the slight hitch in her breath.

she feels it too.

the wrongness.

the weight pressing in on them the deeper they go, wrapping around their limbs like unseen hands.

the walls seem closer than they should be, the stone damp with time, with something else.

the further down they go, the worse it gets.

when they finally reach the bottom, myah hesitates.

the light from her phone flickers over the basement,

old shelves, their contents buried beneath years of dust. stacks of papers, curled at the edges, ink faded. rusted tools, their original purpose lost to time, but sharp in all the wrong places.

her stomach twists.

but it’s not the table in the center of the room, scarred with deep scratches, its surface warped with age, that makes her breath catch,

it’s the door.

thick metal, bolted shut.

waiting.

watching.

the second she lays eyes on it, her pulse roars in her ears.

her grip tightens around her phone.

her breath feels too loud in the silence.

chae-eun exhales sharply, her breath cutting through the thick silence. she takes a step closer, eyes sweeping over the room, over the dust-covered shelves, the rusted tools, the scattered papers that look like they haven’t been touched in years.

then, finally, her gaze lands on the door.

her brows pull together. “what is this place?”

myah forces herself to swallow, her throat dry. she doesn’t take her eyes off the heavy metal slab in front of them.

"that’s the door," she says quietly.

chae-eun’s lips press into a thin line. "yeah, i see that, but what the hell is it doing down here?"

myah exhales, forcing herself to look away. her heart is still hammering against her ribs, but the door remains silent.

no scraping.

no breathing.

just stillness.

like it’s waiting.

for what, she doesn’t know.

"i don’t know," myah admits, turning toward one of the shelves, running a hand over the thick layer of dust. "but whatever this place was, my grandparents didn’t want anyone finding it."

chae-eun moves toward the wooden table in the center of the room, dragging her fingers along the deep grooves scratched into the surface.

"these marks…" she trails off, inspecting them closer. "they’re everywhere."

myah forces herself to step closer. she hadn’t wanted to look too hard before—hadn’t wanted to think about what could have made them.

but now, standing over the table, she can see it clearly.

deep, uneven claw marks, carving into the wood like someone, something, had been desperate.

the same kind of scratches she had seen on the door upstairs.

a chill runs down her spine.

"you think they kept animals down here?" chae-eun asks, voice quieter now, more careful.

myah doesn’t answer right away.

because no.

no, she doesn’t think this was for animals.

not normal ones, anyway.

"i don’t know," she says again, shaking her head.

chae-eun exhales, stepping away from the table. she moves toward the far side of the room, where a rusted filing cabinet stands against the wall, barely holding itself together.

"there has to be something down here," she mutters, pulling one of the drawers open. "some kind of record, something that explains what this place is."

the drawer groans as it slides out, and a few old folders slump to the side, their papers yellowed with age.

myah watches as chae-eun carefully picks one up, flipping it open.

silence hangs between them as she scans the page.

then, slowly, she frowns.

"what?" myah asks.

chae-eun’s fingers tighten around the folder. "these aren’t just random records." she turns the page, eyes narrowing. "they're logs. someone was keeping track of something."

myah steps closer, peering over her shoulder.

the handwriting was neat and structured, every entry dated.

but the details,

the details are what make her stomach churn.

"‘specimen five: increased aggression. requires further restraint.’" chae-eun reads aloud, her voice flat. she flips another page. "‘specimen two: attempts at communication remain unsuccessful.’"

myah feels cold.

she swallows.

"they weren’t keeping animals down here," she murmurs.

chae-eun looks up at her.

her grip on the folder tightens.

"no," she says, voice barely above a whisper.

"they weren’t."

chae-eun flips through more of the pages, her fingers moving quickly, her breathing steady but sharp-edged. myah watches the flicker of her eyes as she scans line after line, absorbing information, but her face gives nothing away.

instead, it’s the way her jaw tightens, the way her fingers press just a little too hard into the paper, like she doesn’t want to believe what she’s reading, but she can’t ignore it.

myah swallows. her own hands feel clammy.

"what else does it say?" her voice is quiet, but the words feel too loud in the thick silence of the basement.

chae-eun flips another page. her lips part slightly as her eyes dart over the text, scanning, searching, then she freezes.

her breath hitches.

myah’s stomach drops.

"what?" she demands. "what is it?"

chae-eun says nothing.

she just turns the folder so myah can see.

myah’s eyes skim the page, past the dated entry, past the detailed notes, until she lands on a single line, a name she never expected to see here.

takahashi.

her entire body goes cold.

"no," she whispers.

but it’s there.

clear. undeniable.

a log. a record.

underneath the name, written in precise, clinical handwriting,

status: containment successful.

myah's pulse pounds in her ears.

"they—" she chokes on the word. her thoughts are racing, crashing into each other, a tangled mess of confusion and something worse.

her grandparents, her family, had kept records like this?

"myah," chae-eun's voice is firm, grounding. "you need to breathe."

but she can’t.

because this changes everything.

she thought this was just a locked door.

just another secret buried in the foundation of the house.

but this?

this is proof.

proof that her grandparents weren’t just hiding something.

they were documenting it.

tracking it.

and whatever was behind that door,

it had a status update.

which means,

it’s still here.

the realization slams into her like a punch to the gut.

she stumbles back, her shoulder hitting the edge of the wooden table, her fingers gripping the surface as she tries to steady herself.

chae-eun closes the folder with a snap.

"we need to leave," she says, her voice sharp, urgent. "now."

but before myah can respond,

click.

a sound, low and metallic.

the unmistakable noise of a lock shifting.

something behind the door, the heavy metal one sealed shut,

just moved.

the air thickens.

neither of them breathe.

a long, stretching silence,

then, scratch.

slow. deliberate.

something dragging across the metal.

myah’s blood turns to ice.

"we’re leaving," chae-eun says again, grabbing myah’s wrist this time, pulling her toward the stairs.

but myah can’t move.

because this time,

this time, it isn’t just the scratching.

this time there’s a voice.

low. smooth. barely a whisper, but unmistakably human.

"is someone there?"

Chapter Text

"is someone there?"

the voice comes again, soft, careful.

"who’s there?"

myah freezes.

her grip tightens around her phone, her breath locked in her throat.

it’s a man’s voice. low, smooth, too human.

too normal.

she expected something else. something that fit the unease coiling in her gut. a growl. a snarl. something scratching at the door, desperate to claw its way free.

but this?

this is something worse.

because there’s no panic. no aggression. just quiet, measured patience.

like whoever is on the other side already knows she’s standing there.

"please..."

a second voice now, softer, hesitant.

"please don’t hurt us."

chae-eun tenses beside her, fingers twitching like she wants to grab myah and drag her away.

"we don’t want trouble."

the way they speak, it’s too careful. too controlled.

too intentional.

the words aren't rushed or desperate, not the kind of thing said in a frantic bid for freedom. they're spoken like a warning. or maybe a test.

“myah,” chae-eun hisses, voice tight with warning.

but myah isn’t listening.

because something is wrong.

if they were dangerous, if they were monsters, why would they be pleading?

why would they sound like this, like they expected her hesitation?

she swallows hard, her mind racing.

"we need to go," chae-eun presses, barely above a whisper. her eyes flick toward the door like she expects it to burst open at any second. “now.”

myah shakes her head, her heart pounding. "no, chae-eun, think about it. they’re locked in.”

“for a reason.” chae-eun glares at her. "you don’t know what’s in there."

“exactly.” myah’s voice is sharp, more sure now. “i don’t know. and neither do you.”

“i know enough,” chae-eun snaps. “we found logs, myah. they were keeping something down here, documenting it like science experiments. you saw what they wrote.”

"which is why we can’t just walk away!" myah argues, her pulse hammering against her ribs. "they need help."

“exactly,” chae-eun bites out, frustration tightening her features. "which is why we need to call the Hybrid Protection Unit, not send in two twenty-year-old girls with no plan and no backup!”

"please..."

the voice is softer this time, more fragile, curling into the silence between them like a plea.

it doesn’t sound like something dangerous.

it doesn’t sound like a monster.

because what if they aren’t monsters?

what if they’re victims?

her grandparents had done terrible things. things she didn’t even know about until now.

what if this is just another part of their twisted legacy?

what if they locked them up, experimented on them, kept them in the dark for years.

myah swallows, realization crashing down on her.

it’s been days since her grandparents’ bodies were found. how long have they been trapped down here? without food, without answers, without knowing if anyone would ever come for them? they must be starving, confused, what if,

what if they’re hurt?

what if…

"we don’t want trouble."

her breath shudders.

chaos crashes through her thoughts, battling every instinct screaming at her to run.

but she can’t.

not until she knows the truth.

"we have to get in," she says.

chae-eun stares at her, eyes wide with disbelief. "are you insane?"

myah doesn’t answer. she steps closer instead, fingers grazing the edges of the door, feeling the cold metal beneath her touch.

she knows she shouldn’t.

but she has to.

"there has to be a way to open it," she mutters, eyes scanning the rusted locks, the worn edges of the frame.

"myah." chae-eun grabs her arm, forcing her to turn. her grip is tight, urgent. "this is stupid. even if they’re trapped, even if they sound harmless, we don’t know what they are."

"and if we leave, we never will," myah fires back. her pulse is a frantic rhythm against her ribs, her mind racing. "chae-eun, we don’t know how long they’ve been in there. it’s been days since my grandparents were found. what if no one’s fed them? what if they have no food, no water? they could die down here."

something flickers across chae-eun’s face. hesitation, doubt, the same war waging inside myah’s own head. she swallows hard, jaw clenching.

"this is a bad idea," chae-eun mutters.

"maybe," myah says, voice steady. "but leaving them could be worse."

chaos flickers through chae-eun’s expression. fear, frustration, something desperate, before she curses under her breath.

but she doesn’t stop her.

instead, she exhales sharply, eyes flicking toward the rusted tools scattered across the room.

“if we’re doing this, we’re doing it carefully.”

myah nods.

chae-eun exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over her face. “this is the dumbest thing we’ve ever done.”

myah doesn’t argue. because yeah, maybe it is. maybe this is the point where she finally loses it, where she stops making rational choices and starts making reckless ones.

but something deep in her gut tells her this isn’t just about curiosity anymore.

it’s about guilt.

about the blood on her grandparents’ hands.

about the weight of whatever was done in this house, in this basement.

about the quiet, too careful voices behind the door.

"thank you."

the whisper is barely audible. just a breath of sound curling into the air between them.

chae-eun flinches.

"we haven’t done anything yet," myah mutters, but her fingers are already tracing the edges of the door, searching.

there’s no obvious handle, no visible keyhole. just thick, bolted steel and the weight of something waiting on the other side.

"there has to be a mechanism," chae-eun murmurs, glancing around the room. "some kind of release. if your grandparents were keeping them down here, they had to have a way to access it."

she moves toward the far wall, scanning the rusted filing cabinets, the shelves stacked with dust coated objects.

myah keeps her focus on the door.

"how long have you been here?" she asks, her voice low.

"awhile."

the answer is careful. measured.

not desperate.

not frantic.

just… patient.

like they knew someone would come eventually.

like they’ve been waiting.

myah swallows. “how many of you are there?”

a pause.

"seven."

her pulse stutters.

seven.

seven.

the weight of it sinks deep into her bones.

"myah," chae-eun calls, voice tight. "i think i found something."

she turns.

chae-eun is standing beside an old, rusted panel on the wall, half-hidden behind a shelf. the metal is corroded, the edges barely visible beneath years of dust and grime.

but it’s there.

a switch.

a release.

"i don’t know if it still works," chae-eun mutters, fingers hovering over it, uncertain.

myah takes a slow breath.

her heartbeat thunders against her ribs.

"only one way to find out," she says.

chae-eun looks at her.

"are you sure?"

no.

she’s not sure.

but she nods anyway.

because there’s no turning back now.

chae-eun exhales sharply as she reaches out, pressing her fingers against the rusted switch.

and pulls.

the basement shudders.

the air shifts.

and behind them they hear heavy locks beginning to turn.

the sound of metal groaning echoes through the basement, vibrating through the stone walls, rattling through myah’s chest.

she should run.

she should turn, grab chae-eun, and leave.

but she doesn’t.

because the door,

it’s opening.

the heavy locks shift, one after another, the deep clunk of metal sliding free making her pulse roar in her ears. dust rains down from the ceiling as the old mechanism grinds into motion, the steel groaning as it begins to inch open.

the air changes immediately.

the cold that seeps through the widening gap is different, thicker, weighted, carrying something alive.
something watching.

chae-eun steps back, tense, her breath quick and sharp. "myah," she hisses, panic edging her voice. "i don’t know—"

but it’s too late.

the moment the door fully swings open, myah’s breath locks in her throat.

the room is massive, stretching far beyond what she expected. the dim light from her phone flickers against thick iron bars, cages lining both sides of the basement, the scent of rusted metal and something wild thick in the air.

cha-eun grabs her wrist, grip like iron. "you sure about this?" her voice is low, urgent, barely above a whisper.

myah doesn’t answer. can’t.

because now that the door is open, she can feel it. the weight of unseen eyes pressing into her skin, the silence heavy enough to suffocate.

a shape shifts in the darkness. slow. deliberate.

myah swallows hard. "we need to know."

chae-eun exhales sharply, her hesitation a tangible thing between them. but after a beat, she steps forward, shoulders tense, muscles coiled like she’s ready to bolt at any second.

together, they cross the threshold.

golden eyes gleam in the darkness, reflecting the light like fire catching on glass. shadows shift, slow and watchful, movement rippling through the space like something caged but not yet tamed.

she barely has time to process before a voice calls out again,

"please..."

her flashlight sweeps across the first cage, and her breath catches.

a massive lion hybrid sits against the bars, his golden mane wild, tangled, his amber eyes locked directly onto her. his ears flick at the sound of her footsteps, but he doesn’t move, just watches. waiting. his thick tail curls around his paws, the tuft at the end flicking once, betraying the tension in his frame.

in the next cage, sprawled in the darkness, what looks to be a black panther lifts his head just enough for her to catch the sharp glint of his slit pupiled eyes. his inky fur blends into the surrounding shadows, only the faintest twitch of his whiskers giving him away. he doesn't make a sound. doesn’t blink. just tracks her with a slow, deliberate intensity.

"who are you?"

the voice is softer, coming from further down.

her flashlight flickers over a second pair of golden eyes, no, two.

one belongs to a cheetah hybrid, its lean frame curled against the bars, shoulders hunched like its trying to make itself smaller. They’re fully shifted, spotted fur sleek beneath the dim light, its tail flicking anxiously against the floor. honey-gold eyes dart between her and chae-eun, wide and uncertain, like the cheetah is unsure whether to be relieved or terrified.

the other, is human, well mostly.

a tiger hybrid, perched in the corner of his cage, bare feet planted firmly against the cold concrete floor. his thick tail curls lazily around him, but his shoulders are too tense, his expression too carefully blank. golden brown eyes hold hers, unwavering, unreadable.

she grips the flashlight tighter.

they look scared. but not fully.

but something in her gut twists.

because it doesn’t make sense.

her grandparents had locked them in here. that much was obvious.

but why?

and if they were truly just scared, just victims, then why did the air feel so thick with something she couldn't name?

why did their golden eyes gleam too much in the dark?

"please," the soft voice comes again, breaking through her thoughts. "we don’t want trouble."

it comes from the farthest cage, the hybrid curled against the bars, his hazel eyes wide, flickering with something fragile, something aching. his wispy silver-brown hair falls in soft waves around his face, his delicate ears twitching, tail swaying in slow, rhythmic motions behind him.

"are you here to help us?"

myah hesitates.

her pulse thunders in her ears.

"i—" she starts, then stops. because is she?

"we’ve been here for so long," the clouded leopard hybrid murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. "we don’t even know how long it’s been."

her chest tightens.

the plea in his voice feels real.

but chae-eun isn't buying it.

"myah," she murmurs, voice low, sharp. "this isn't right."

myah swallows. "they’re locked up, chae-eun."

"and why do you think that is?" chae-eun hisses, taking a step closer, keeping her voice low. "you know your grandparents myah, do you really they just threw them in here for no reason?"

the words sting.

because no, myah doesn’t trust her grandparents. not anymore.

but something doesn’t add up.

her flashlight shifts again,

and that’s when she notices the scars.

not deep, not fresh, but there.

along the lion hybrid’s arms, faint and barely visible against his warm, tawny skin. a slash across the leopard’s hybrid’s collarbone. claw marks raked along the black panther’s ribs.

her stomach turns.

"who did this to you?" myah asks, voice tight, her grip on the flashlight unsteady.

a pause.

the silver haired hybrid’s gaze flickers, something unreadable passing through his hazel eyes before he finally speaks.

"the man who put us here."

the words settle like ice in her spine.

"the man who—" she swallows hard, her pulse roaring in her ears, dots being connected.

no one says responds immediately, but the lion hybrid, broad, golden, imposing even in confinement, lifts his head just enough to meet her gaze.

his amber eyes flicker.

he doesn’t nod. doesn’t confirm.

but he doesn’t deny it either.

myah’s stomach twists.

the silence is enough.

"myah," chae-eun mutters, sharp and urgent. "we need to go." but myah can’t move. because this, this is real. this isn’t just a locked door. this isn’t just another one of her family’s secrets. her grandfather did this.

"how long have you been down here?" she whispers.

"too long."

her chest tightens.

she turns to chae-eun, her breath shallow. "we have to get them out."

"myah," chae-eun hisses, "we don’t even know what they are."

"they’re hybrids," myah snaps back. "they’re prisoners."

"and they were kept here for a reason," chae-eun argues, eyes sharp, voice low. "your grandfather wouldn’t have kept them down here without one."

myah wants to fight her on that.

but she can’t.

because she doesn’t know if chae-eun is wrong.

but she does know one thing.

"we’re not leaving yet," she says firmly. "not until I understand what happened here."

chae-eun exhales sharply, muttering a curse under her breath, but she doesn’t argue further.

instead, she moves toward the shelves, scanning the walls for something, anything that could explain why this place exists. behind the bars however the hybrids stay still.

watching.

waiting.

and myah swears,

just for a moment,

she sees the panther smirk.

as she turns back toward the cages, swallowing against the tightness in her throat. her fingers twitch at her sides, the weight of their gazes pressing into her like something tangible.

she doesn’t know what the hell she’s doing.

but she can’t walk away.

"why did he keep you here?" she asks, voice steadier than she feels. "why not just… get rid of you?"

the lion hybrid’s ears twitch, his thick tail flicking once behind him. he’s watching her closely, those deep amber eyes calculating, slow and deliberate.

but it’s the tiger hybrid who finally speaks.

"maybe he liked having pets," he murmurs, voice smooth as silk, golden-amber eyes gleaming in the dark. "or maybe he just liked knowing we couldn’t leave."

the way he says it sends a shiver down her spine.

"how long has it been?" another hybrid hums, tilting his head. "do you know what year it is?”

"of course i do," myah mutters. "it’s—"

she stops. because the way he’s looking at her,

the way the tiger hybrid shifts slightly beside him, the cheetah’s ears flicking, and the jaguars rolling his shoulders like they’re all waiting for something,

her stomach twists.

"you don’t know," she breathes.

none of them confirm it.

but none of them deny it, either.

chaos crashes through her thoughts, her grip on her phone tightening.

"we need to get them food," she says suddenly, turning to chae-eun. "they’re hybrids, not machines. if they’ve been trapped down here—"

"absolutely not," chae-eun snaps. "no way in hell am I leaving you down here alone with them."

"i’ll be fine," myah insists. "just check the fridge—"

"no." chae-eun’s voice is sharp, her jaw tight. "myah, listen to me. we don’t know what they’re capable of. we don’t know anything about them. i’m not leaving you down here like some kind of—"

"bait?"

the voice is too smooth, slipping through the air like a knife.

both of them freeze.

the raven haired hybrid is watching them with lazy amusement, his sleek tail curling around his wrist, golden-amber eyes half-lidded.

"if it makes you feel better," he purrs, "we can promise not to eat her while you’re gone."

chaos erupts.

"nope," chae-eun snaps, grabbing myah’s wrist. "we’re leaving. now."

but myah digs her heels in. "they’re starving, chae-eun."

"and we are not their goddamn saviors," chae-eun hisses. "whatever your grandfather did, it’s not our problem to fix—"

"so you’d just leave them here?" myah cuts in, her voice rising. "leave them to rot?"

"they’re still alive," chae-eun points out. "which means they’ve survived this long without our help. we can’t do this on our own."

silence stretches between them, thick and tense.

behind the bars, the hybrids watch.

assessing. waiting.

"fine," myah mutters. "then we’ll both go."

chae-eun’s eyes flick toward the cages one last time before she exhales sharply. "fine."

she doesn’t look at them as they turn toward the stairs.

but myah can feel their eyes on her.

heavy.

lingering.

like they already know,

she’s coming back.

chae-eun’s car is as neat as she is. clean, organized, everything tucked away exactly where it should be.

------

except for the backseat.

myah stares at the mess of medical supplies crammed into the space behind them. bandages, antiseptic wipes, surgical scissors still in their sterile packaging. a neatly packed emergency trauma kit sits half-zipped on the floor, a few vials of painkillers barely peeking out. the interior smells faintly of rubbing alcohol and lemon-scented wipes. it should feel sterile. safe.

but now it just feels clinical. like a place built to respond to the aftermath of violence.

it’s not the first time she’s noticed it. she’s ridden in chae-eun’s car more times than she can count. on grocery runs, late-night drives to clear their heads, weekend trips to nowhere in particular. she’s seen the supplies. but she’s never really seen them.

this time, after everything that just happened in the basement, it feels different.

“you never told me how bad it got,” myah says, voice quieter than before, eyes still fixed on the mess of gauze and blood-stained tape peeking from beneath a box of gloves.

chae-eun doesn’t look at her as she starts the car. “i didn’t think i needed to.”

the engine hums low as they pull out of the driveway, the headlights casting long, pale streaks across the empty street. her hands are tight on the steering wheel, knuckles white. the kind of white that comes from trying not to let your hands shake.

myah shifts slightly in her seat, unsettled by the silence, by the weight of what they’d just seen. the hybrids. the cages. the way one of them, unshifted, bleeding had flinched when chae-eun so much as moved.

“you work with hybrids,” she says finally, almost accusingly. “why are you so—”

“those hybrids aren’t the same.”

the words land like a slap. sharp. cold. not cruel, but close.

cha-eun exhales through her nose, gaze flicking to the rearview mirror before settling back on the road. the city lights are beginning to blur past them, red and blue and green glowing against the windshield like reflections from a dream.

“i work in sector four,” she continues, voice clipped, tightly measured. “mostly human and female hybrids. the ones who get hurt the most. the ones who end up on my table covered in bruises, missing teeth, stitched up from some feral hybrid attack or worse.”

myah swallows hard, her throat suddenly dry. she’s heard stories. seen the news reports that play like clockwork every time a hybrid-related crime occurs. not all hybrids are victims. not all of them want help. some of them hunt.

some of them kill.

and chae-eun has seen the worst of it.

“you think they’re different because they looked at you like that,” chae-eun says quietly, her voice flattening into something tired, something brittle. “but scared doesn’t mean safe. it just means desperate. and desperation makes things dangerous.”

myah doesn’t respond. her stomach is twisted too tightly, thoughts tangled too thickly.

the silence stretches between them, thick with everything they’re not saying.

and then chae-eun adds, more quietly this time, almost like she’s afraid to say it out loud:
“your grandparents died in a hybrid attack.”

myah turns sharply, staring at her. “what?”

“the reports, they said they were mauled. claws, bite marks. there were signs of struggle all over the kitchen. your grandfather had a shotgun. it didn’t help.”

the blood drains from myah’s face. she feels it leave her fingertips, cold creeping up her spine.

“and in that basement?” chae-eun’s voice is quieter now. measured. grim. “there are seven hybrids in eight cages.”

myah’s breath catches.

“you do the math.”

a cold sweat breaks across her back. she grips the edge of her seat, the world tilting slightly, the basement reassembling itself in her mind, seven sets of eyes, seven shadows behind bars. but she hadn’t counted the cages. hadn’t even thought to.

what if one had gotten out? what if that’s how they died?

what if it’s still out there?

“and you want to help them,” chae-eun continues, voice low, almost pained. “you want to free them. play savior. what if the one that escaped is the one that killed your family? what if the others knew and didn’t stop it?”

myah’s hands tremble. her chest aches.

but her mind,

her mind flashes again with soft eyes and silver hair, the gentle tilt of his head, the way he’d spoken to her like he saw her.

she should be running from this. from all of it.

but she can’t.

because something about him, about them, won’t let her go.

“so forgive me,” chae-eun says tightly, “if i’m not exactly in the mood to play savior to seven unregistered hybrids your grandfather locked in his basement.”

the car goes quiet.

outside, the neon of the city pulses like a heartbeat, flickering in the windows—restaurants, strip malls, pawn shops, each glowing with artificial warmth. it doesn’t reach her. nothing does.

myah turns back toward the windshield, her reflection faint in the glass. she stares through it, but she doesn’t really see.

because all she can think about is  the soft voice that asked her to come back. the way he’d looked at her like she was something safe. Something he knew.

and that’s the part that scares her most.

chae-eun exhales sharply, fingers tapping a restless rhythm against the steering wheel, the sound too fast, too tight. “and what exactly are we supposed to tell jisun when we get back?”

myah drags a hand down her face, the weight of the night starting to catch up to her. her head aches, tight and persistent like her thoughts. “i don’t know. that we went out for a drive?”

chae-eun lets out a humorless snort. “right. because that’s gonna fly. we both probably still reek of that place.”

myah goes still.

the basement.

she can feel it clinging to her now that chae-eun’s said it, the stale scent of dust and rust, old blood and sweat and something sharper beneath it all. something animal.

and not just that.

them.

the scent of fear. of power barely restrained. of too many eyes watching her through bars like they already knew her bones.

“i’ll shower before she gets too close,” she mutters.

chae-eun’s jaw ticks. “you could shower in bleach and she’d still know. myah, she’s obsessed with you.”

“she’s not—”

“don’t even try.” chae-eun cuts in, voice flat. “you know exactly what she’s like. the moment you walk through that door with a weird look on your face and half a story, she’s gonna dig.”

myah doesn’t deny it.

she can’t.

because jisun is smart. terrifyingly so. and worse, she’s protective. of myah, specifically. her moods turn fast. sweet like sugar one second, sharp like a snapped snare the next. and if she so much as suspects that myah’s hiding something,

"then we don’t give her anything to suspect,” myah says finally, her voice low. “we keep it surface. vague. just enough to make sense.”

“so we lie.” chae-eun doesn’t say it like a question. more like a dare.

myah glances out the window. the city’s creeping closer now, closer than she wants it to be. neon signs blinking against the dark like slow, mechanical winks. streetlights bending through the windshield, casting soft gold over the dash.

“we don’t tell her about the basement,” she says after a long pause. “not yet.”

“not ever,” chae-eun mutters, hands tightening around the wheel again. “jesus, myah, do you know what she’d do if she found out? she’d drag you out of bed, chain you to the damn radiator, and torch the house herself.”

the image is uncomfortably believable.

they both fall quiet for a beat, the air in the car growing thicker by the second.

“so,” myah says finally, voice barely above a whisper, “we agree, then. we figure it out.”

it’s not a real plan. it’s a compromise born out of exhaustion and panic and a shared instinct not to poke the sleeping bear that is jisun. it’s flimsy. reckless.

but it’s all they have.

“yeah,” chae-eun says after a long moment, the word more like an exhale than a commitment. “we figure it out.”

neither of them says anything else for a while. the car hums forward down the quiet road, the lights growing closer, brighter, sharper. they’re almost back now.

and myah can feel it in her chest—that tight pull, that creeping dread curling around her ribs. the apartment is safe. normal. filled with warmth and noise and the scent of jasmine tea. the kind of place that’s supposed to ground her.

but tonight, it feels too far away.

because the only thing she can hear, beneath the rumble of the tires, beneath the rush of blood in her ears, is that soft voice echoing in her head.

“thank you for not giving up on us”

and she knows, she’s not going to.

no matter what it costs.

------

they don’t speak again until chae-eun’s pulling into the lot.

the hum of the car engine fills the silence, low and steady, but it’s not enough to drown out the noise in myah’s head.

she watches the familiar curve of the building come into view—the warm orange glow of the hallway lights in their apartment complex, the too-small parking spots, the dented railing someone’s been complaining about fixing for months. it’s home. safe. normal.

and it feels so far away.

cha-eun shifts into park but doesn’t kill the engine.

her hands stay tight on the wheel.

“you’re already planning to go back, aren’t you.”

myah doesn’t answer.

not out of guilt, or because she’s trying to be clever, but because yes. she is. she’s been planning it since the moment she walked away. since she saw silver eyes in the dark and heard a voice that made something inside her sit up and listen.

cha-eun exhales through her nose, her knuckles pale. “of course you are.”

“i’m not going tonight,” myah says after a beat. she tries to keep her voice light. it doesn’t work. “besides, you’re working a double tomorrow. you need sleep.”

cha-eun’s head jerks toward her, sharp. “that’s your reason for waiting?”

myah doesn’t answer.

cha-eun exhales hard. “are you planning to go alone?”

“no,” myah says. and then, after a beat too long: “i’ll bring someone.”

“who?” she says, though she already knows.

“…kai.”

cha-eun stares at her for a second like she’s trying to figure out if she misheard before letting out a sharp, breathy sound that isn’t quite a laugh, too horrified for humor.

“kai. okay. great.”

“he’s a hybrid,” myah says, starting to defend it, already hearing how weak it sounds.

“exactly,” chae-eun snaps. “and do you honestly think that makes him qualified?”

“he understands how things like this work—”

“no, he understands what it means to survive,” chae-eun cuts in, voice sharp. “and the second you drag him into that basement and he sees what’s waiting down there? he’s not going to help you, myah. he’s going to shut it down.”

myah’s mouth opens. then closes.

“you think he’s just going to stand there and smile while you get cozy with a bunch of unregistered, starved, male hybrids?” chae-eun’s voice keeps climbing. “you think he’s going to just let that panther keep looking at you like that?”

myah’s stomach twists.

“kai’s not like that,” she says, too quickly.

cha-eun slams her hand against the steering wheel, voice cracking. “kai would rip him apart. rip all of them apartthe second he felt you were being threatened. and it won’t matter if you don’t feel threatened, because he will.”

the car is thick with silence again. this time heavier. uglier.

“he’s not going to let you go back,” chae-eun says finally, quieter now. “not once he knows what’s actually going on. not once he sees what they want.”

myah looks away, but that hits. hard.

because she knows what it looked like.

and she knows what it would look like to kai.

and he wouldn’t understand, not the way she needs him to. not without exploding. not without violence.

“then what,” myah says, voice tight. “just call it in? let some half-interested social worker show up and ‘assess the risk’? let the hybrids get drugged and shoved in a van and carted off to some overrun shelter in the middle of nowhere?”

“yes,” chae-eun says, like it’s obvious. “that’s exactly what needs to happen.”

“you can’t be serious—”

“i am. dead serious.” she leans forward, eyes flashing. “you’re not trained for this. you don’t know what you’re doing. this isn’t your responsibility, myah. it never was. this is government-level, containment-level shit, and you dragging in another hybrid, especially one who’s already attached to you, isn’t going to make it better.”

that lands harder than anything else.

and it hurts, because part of her knows she’s right. she is. but still, something in myah recoils.

“i need to know what they were doing,” she says finally, voice low. “my grandparents. the house, the cages, all of it.” she shakes her head. “it doesn’t make sense. none of it fits. and nobody else is going to care enough to look.”

“you think you’ll find some neat little explanation down there?” chae-eun snaps. “a confession letter taped to the underside of the freezer? myah, you could dig for months and still end up with more questions than answers.”

“maybe,” myah admits, “but at least i’d know i tried. i can’t pretend it didn’t happen. that basement is real. they’re real. and if it’s connected to my family, then i need to understand how.”

cha-eun exhales, eyes dropping to the dash.

“i’m not saying forget it,” she says, softer now. “i’m saying let it go before it swallows you.”

myah swallows hard.

and for a second, she almost says okay.

almost.

but when she closes her eyes, she still sees the silver-haired one, how he’d looked at her like he knew something. like the answers she was chasing weren’t in the paperwork, or the lawyer’s files, or the old photographs in her grandparents’ bedroom.

they were down there.

in the silence.

in them.

and it’s reckless. she knows it’s reckless.

but that doesn’t mean it’s wrong.

“…i just need time,” she says quietly.

“you don’t have time,” chae-eun whispers back.

but neither of them says anything more after that.

neither of them move. not yet.

the hum of the engine is steady beneath them, but everything else is cracking. shifting. realigning into something neither of them asked for.

chae-eun finally leans forward and turns the key in the ignition.

the car goes silent.

myah had barely registered the motion of getting out of the car. her feet felt like they were dragging, her mind too clouded to focus on anything other than the feeling of dread that had settled deep in her chest. as they made their way inside, the building’s lobby seemed colder than usual, and the air hung heavy with the kind of stillness that always felt like something was about to break.

she had barely gotten her keys out when the door to the apartment swung open. there, standing in the doorway, was jisun, eyes wide with concern.

“where were you two?” she asked, her voice soft but demanding, like she knew something was wrong, like she could already feel the shift in myah’s energy.

myah hesitated for a moment, then gave a small shrug, trying to brush it off. “oh, we just went to grab a bite to eat,” she said, glancing at chae-eun for confirmation.

chae-eun nodded, the faintest smile tugging at her lips. “yeah, we went to that cute little restaurant my coworkers have been talking about. the one with the soft, fluffy pancakes.”

jisun raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. “you went to a restaurant in sector two?” she asked, her voice laced with disbelief. she sniffed the air once, then again, her nose twitching slightly as she processed the scent. her eyes narrowed. “you smell like... ferals,” she said, her voice quieter now, the concern creeping in.

chae-eun tilted her head. “ferals?” she echoed, glancing at myah with a raised brow.

“yeah,” jisun said, her gaze sharpening as she studied myah. “ferals... or someone’s trying to mark you.” she sniffed again, her posture becoming tense. “why the hell were you in that sector anyway? I get you were hungry but there’s a mcdonalds is down the street. you know how dangerous it gets this late.”

“someone marked us?!” chae-eun exclaimed, worry laced in her tone, her eyes darting between myah and jisun. “we didn’t—”

“no, not you,” jisun cut in, taking another deep sniff, her nose circling back to myah with an almost predatory precision. her eyes sharpened as she focused entirely on myah. “just her.”

myah’s stomach dropped at the implication. her chest tightened as jisun’s words settled in the air like a weight. she swallowed, trying to keep her voice steady. “marked me? what does that even mean?”

jisun’s expression darkened, her lips pressed together in a tight line. “it means someone or something has claimed you, myah. not necessarily in the way you might think, but,” her voice trailed off as she looked myah up and down, her sharp eyes never leaving her. “this scent, this… feeling, it’s not a coincidence. and it’s not good.”

chae-eun shifted nervously beside her, crossing her arms tighter. “but how? how could anyone just claim her? what does it mean?”

“i don’t know,” jisun admitted quietly, her voice softer now, a flicker of concern breaking through the cool edge. “but it’s not something you want to mess with. you’re in danger now. and it’s worse the later it gets. someone’s definitely watching you.”

myah’s heart raced, her breath catching in her chest. “so what should we do? what now?”

“now,” jisun began, her gaze lingering on myah as she stepped closer, lowering her voice, “you stay close to home. you stay away from sector two. don’t go out alone. and if you feel anything off, anything at all, anything, you call one of us, or even that stupid fox, no questions. got it?”

myah nodded quickly, the weight of jisun’s warning settling heavily in her bones. the air around her felt thick with something more dangerous than she had realized, and she wasn’t sure how to navigate it. everything felt too uncertain now.

“we’ll stick together,” chae-eun added, her voice steady but with an undercurrent of concern. “no more risky moves. we’ll figure this out.”

jisun’s expression softened, but her eyes still held a trace of that intensity, as if she wasn’t fully convinced it was safe. “yeah, well. don’t get complacent. that’s how people end up disappearing.”

myah felt her skin prickle at the word. disappearing. it echoed in her mind like a whisper.

"we'll be careful," she said, though her voice felt small against the heaviness in the room.

the warning was clear, stay away from that house, that basement. yet myah knew tomorrow she would be back.

------

the morning light filtered softly through the blinds, casting a pale glow across the room. myah blinked awake, the gentle warmth of her bed pulling her into a moment of peace before the reality of the day ahead sank in. for a split second, she let herself sink deeper into the mattress, the faint hum of the city outside the only sound in the quiet apartment. it felt like a different world, a world where she could just stay here and forget. but that wasn’t her life anymore.

she shifted in bed, rubbing her eyes and groaning quietly. the bed beside her was empty, the sheets crumpled from when jisun had left for her early class. myah had barely noticed when she’d gotten up, the soft sound of her roommate’s footsteps and the creak of the door the only clues. jisun had always been considerate about her early classes, never wanting to wake myah up. it was one of those little things she did that made myah appreciate her so much more.

she pushed the blankets off her body, sitting up slowly, her limbs heavy from the lack of sleep, though it wasn’t from exhaustion, it was the tension of the night before still weighing on her. her heart beat slower now, but the unease from the warning, from the knowledge of what she had to do, lingered like a shadow.

as she stood and moved toward the window, myah caught sight of chae-eun in the kitchen, her back to her as she prepared breakfast. the soft clink of the kettle being set down, the smell of something rich and warm in the air. it felt oddly comforting. something familiar amidst everything else that had gone wrong.

“morning,” myah mumbled, rubbing at her eyes again, her voice thick with the remnants of sleep.

chae-eun turned with a soft smile, a cup of tea in her hand. “good morning. how’d you sleep?”

myah sighed, stretching her arms above her head as she walked over to the counter. “like crap,” she admitted, settling into the chair, her gaze flickering to chae-eun. “just can’t shake the feeling of... everything.”

“yeah,” chae-eun murmured, setting the cup down before her, her eyes softening as she studied myah. “it’s been a rough night. did you talk to jisun?”

myah shook her head, her hands wrapped around the warm mug. “she had an early class, didn’t want to wake me up.” she sighed again, this time louder. “i didn’t even want to wake up myself. it’s just one of those mornings.”

cha-eun nodded in understanding, but the way she looked at myah, that lingering thought on her mind. it was clear she wasn’t letting this go.

“you sure you’re okay?” cha-eun asked, her voice lighter but her eyes serious. “you don’t look like it.”

myah gave her a tired smile, but it was thin, strained. “i’ll be fine. just a little shaken up, that’s all.”

the moment hung between them for a beat, and cha-eun didn’t press. instead, she moved toward the stove, fiddling with the pots. “well, if you want to talk, i’m here. just don’t bottle it up, okay?”

myah gave a slight nod, watching her in silence as the air shifted, becoming thicker with the weight of their unspoken thoughts. cha-eun, always the one who saw the smallest details, could tell something was off, something deeper. and myah knew the next question was coming. she braced herself, trying to steel herself for the inevitable.

but when it came, it wasn’t gentle.

“you can’t seriously think about going back, right?” cha-eun’s voice was low, but sharp enough to cut through the tension. her eyes narrowed as she turned to face myah, the concern evident on her face. “especially after what jisun said? they claimed you, myah. claimed you. marked you.”

myah’s breath hitched, the word “claimed” hanging in the air, ringing in her ears like a warning bell. her heart skipped a beat, but she pushed it away. “i don’t have a choice, chae-eun,” she said quietly, her voice a little too steady. “i have to go back. i need answers. i need to understand what’s going on.”

“but—” cha-eun stepped closer, her face softening, her hands placed flat against the counter as if grounding herself. “you’re not thinking straight. you don’t know what’s out there, what’s waiting for you. What if jisun’s right, what if they’re not just marking you. they’re hunting you.”

myah opened her mouth to argue, but the words felt too heavy in her throat. cha-eun was right. she wasn’t thinking straight. but she couldn’t back down now. she had to know what happened, what her grandparents were involved in, what she had inherited by stepping into that house. something had happened there, and she wasn’t going to back away from it, no matter how many warnings or how much fear clawed at her chest.

“i don’t care,” myah finally said, her voice firm despite the cold dread spreading through her veins. “i have to go. i’ll figure it out. i just... i can’t leave it hanging over me.”

chae-eun watched her for a long moment, her lips pressing together in a tight line. she exhaled sharply, almost as if giving up, but then the words came, filled with that quiet edge of concern.

“okay, fine,” she said, her voice low. “but you’re going to need more backup than kai. you’re going to need... more.”

“more?” myah echoed, raising an eyebrow. “more backup? what do you mean?”

cha-eun leaned against the counter, her gaze shifting from myah’s face to the window, where the early morning light cast long shadows across the street. “call the police, myah. get professionals involved. you don’t know what’s out there. you’re not just going to walk in there and walk back out. and kai’s not enough. if something happens, you need to be prepared.”

myah swallowed, the weight of cha-eun’s words sinking deep into her chest. she hadn’t thought about it that way. she’d been so focused on going back, on finding out what was really going on, that she hadn’t considered how unprepared she really was. what if something happened? what if they were waiting for her?

“you’re right,” myah murmured, her voice quieter now, weighed down by the growing realization that she couldn’t do this alone. “i’ll call a hybrid service office. one that’s ethical and figure out what to do from there.”

“good,” cha-eun said, her voice softening as she reached over and squeezed myah’s shoulder. “this isn’t your responsibility. your grandparents might have fucked up, but you shouldn’t carry this burden alone.”

myah nodded, her chest tight with the unspoken promise. they would face it together. she didn’t know what was coming, but she wasn’t walking into it blind anymore.

the tension in the room began to lift slightly, the quiet comfort of their usual dynamic slowly returning as cha-eun began to gather her things to head out for work. myah remained seated for a moment, lost in thought. she could still feel the weight of the decision ahead of her, the uncertainty hanging like a cloud over her head. but for the first time that morning, she felt like she wasn’t carrying it alone.

“you’ll be okay,” cha-eun said, her voice light, though there was still concern in her eyes. “just remember to reach out if you need anything. me, the police... call whoever you have to.”

“i will,” myah promised, a small but genuine smile pulling at her lips. “thanks.”

with a nod, cha-eun picked up her bag and headed toward the door. “you’re stronger than you think,” she said over her shoulder, her words lingering in the air. “don’t forget that.”

and with that, she was gone, leaving myah alone in the quiet apartment once more. but the stillness felt different now. not so heavy. not so uncertain.

myah stood up, straightening her clothes, taking a deep breath.

she wasn’t going to back down, no matter how much she wished she could. chae-eun had been right, she needed more help, more backup. but who could she rely on?

her only family just died and everyone else was too far away or busy. school, work, their own lives. they wouldn’t be able to help, let alone understand the gravity of the situation.

and the police?

hybrid services?

the thought made her chest tighten.

her heart ached with something she couldn’t quite name. not guilt exactly, not fear either, something sharper. something heavier. like grief, but still forming. a knot of determination that hadn’t quite settled yet, tangled with something raw and restless and aching to make sense of all of it.

the truth was, if she called it in, if she let hybrid services come in and "handle" it, it would be the end.

they’d be torn from that basement, sedated, evaluated, assigned numbers, and locked away again. not for weeks.

forever.

because most of those hybrids, especially the predatory ones, would never make it out of a shelter once they were placed in one.

not the adults.

not the ones like them.

they were labeled too dangerous. unadoptable. unpredictable. too violent for re-entry into the workforce, too scarred for family placement. society had long since decided they were problems to be managed, not people to be saved.

and once they were in the system, that was it.

they'd disappear.

just like so many others.

but myah had seen them. not just down there in that cold, rotting basement, but years ago, back in high school, volunteering at a hybrid recovery center during summer break. she remembered the ones with hollow eyes and clipped ears, the ones who flinched at sudden movements and kept their heads down.

but she also remembered the way they moved when they thought no one was watching, silent, graceful, brilliant. she remembered the quiet strength in their bodies, the soft, unguarded moments when their masks slipped.

the kind of resilience no government file could capture.

no one ever looked long enough to see that part.

but myah had.

and now, she was seeing it again.

only this time, it wasn’t behind plexiglass and safety protocols, it was behind rusted iron, in the glow of a single swinging lightbulb, with eyes that watched her like she mattered.

and him.

the silver-haired one.

he haunted her thoughts more than the rest. not because he was the most beautiful, though he was, but because there was something in his voice when he spoke to her. something she couldn’t forget.

something human.

no judgment. no bitterness. just…

quiet gratitude.

warmth.

trust.

as if he already knew she wouldn’t leave him there.

as if he’d been waiting for her.

it made her chest hurt. made her wonder what he knew.

what he’d seen.

and that was the other thing, the part she hadn’t said out loud yet, not even to chae-eun.

they were the key to understanding everything.

the whispers sealed in her grandfather’s safe. the secret side of her family she never knew existed. who they really were. what they’d done.

there was a rot at the center of it all, and the only place she’d ever felt close to it was in that basement.

standing in front of those cages.

staring into those eyes.

no one deserves to be locked away.

not forever.

and that was why she couldn’t let it go.

even if it meant risking everything.

even if it meant lying to her friends.

even if it meant stepping straight into something she might not walk out of.

she wasn’t going to let them vanish into the system like they were nothing. she wasn’t going to let her life be defined by silence, by ignorance, by the same kind of cage her family had apparently helped build.

if she was going to get answers,

if she was going to help them,

if she was ever going to understand what the hell her grandparents had really been involved in,

then she had to start by going back.

even if every part of her said she shouldn’t.

even if it already felt too late.

she had to face it.

she shook off the lingering doubt and made her way to the door, grabbing her keys from the hook by the entrance. she stepped out into the hallway, the familiar scent of the building’s damp concrete filling her lungs, but it did nothing to ease the unease crawling up her spine.

the city was alive around her, bustling with the usual chaos, but she felt completely disconnected from it all. she moved quickly, trying to block out the intrusive thoughts, the questions of whether she was making a mistake.

as she made her way to the train station, the streets felt emptier than usual, the buildings casting long, looming shadows over the sidewalks. the rain had stopped, leaving the pavement slick and reflective, but the tension in the air was palpable, like the whole city was holding its breath.

her fingers tightened around the strap of her bag as she walked, the familiar route to the house feeling foreign under her feet. she glanced around, half-expecting someone to be following her, but there was no one.

just the hum of the city, the occasional car speeding by, the echo of her own footsteps.

when she arrived finally at the house, it seemed even more intimidating in the daylight. it loomed before her, quiet and brooding, as if it had been waiting for her return. myah paused at the gate, her heart thudding in her chest.

the house hadn’t changed, its faded, weather beaten exterior, the overgrown ivy clinging to the walls, the windows dark and lifeless. everything about it screamed abandonment. and yet, it was calling to her. pulling her back. demanding that she come inside.

with a deep breath, she pushed open the gate, the rusty hinges creaking in protest. the sound echoed through the stillness, making her flinch. she moved up the cracked stone steps, each one heavy under her feet, until she reached the door. she paused there for a moment, hand resting on the handle.

do i really want to do this?

the thought hit her like a punch to the gut, but she didn’t flinch this time. she couldn’t afford to. she had already made the choice.

she turned the handle and stepped inside.

the air was the same as yesterday, thick with dust. the old house holding its breath, as though waiting for her to make her move.

the floor creaked beneath her feet, the familiar scent of must and aged wood filling her lungs. the hallway stretched ahead, dark and silent, the faded wallpaper peeling in some places, revealing the skeleton of the house beneath. everything looked the same as it had when she left. and yet, it felt different. darker.

she made her way through the house, the silence pressing in around her as she moved towards the hatch to the basement. the steps leading down felt narrower than before, the air getting colder as she descended. her heart pounded louder now, the anticipation building in her chest with every step. she wasn’t sure what she expected to find, but she knew it wasn’t going to be easy.

when she reached the bottom, the basement stretched out before her, dimly lit by a flickering light bulb that cast eerie shadows on the stone walls. the cages were still there, stacked in rows against the walls. and there they were.

the hybrids.

the ones she had met just yesterday.

the ones whose eyes she could never forget.

the silence was suffocating. they didn’t make a sound. they just watched her. their eyes, so full of life and longing, fixed on her, waiting. expecting.

one of the hybrids, the lion, shifted slowly inside his cage, the bars groaning faintly as he leaned into them.

his movements were deliberate, graceful in a way that spoke of restrained strength. golden eyes, deep and piercing, locked onto hers, holding her captive in their intensity. the rounded ears atop his head flicked just slightly, attentive to every tiny sound she made, and his thick tail curled languidly behind him, swishing in silent contemplation.

“you came back,” he murmured, his voice a deep, rumbling vibration that seemed to ripple through the darkness, touching places within her she didn't fully understand. it carried a heaviness, something hidden beneath layers of calm control.

myah froze in place, her heart hammering against her ribs. his words echoed through the basement, hanging in the air between them, charged with meaning she couldn't decipher. she didn't know if she felt relief or fear, or some intoxicating mixture of both, but there was no turning back now.

“i had to,” she whispered back, voice barely audible, trembling slightly beneath the intensity of his stare. “i’m not leaving you here.”

he remained motionless for a heartbeat longer, gaze unyielding, a flicker of something unreadable.

something darkly possessive passing through those golden eyes.

his lips curved into the faintest ghost of a smile, subtle enough to almost seem imagined, but unmistakably there. her breath caught as the realization settled heavily into her bones.

the silence stretched between them, deeper and more charged now, until it felt as though the room itself were waiting, holding its breath.

and in that quiet, myah sensed something else begin to take shape, something dangerous, enticing, and far beyond her control.

the silence lingered, dense and heavy, pressing in around her until myah felt like she could barely breathe. she let her eyes drift away from the golden-haired hybrid in front of her, shifting instead toward the others trapped in their cages.

they watched her carefully.

silently.

their eyes, so piercing and full of guarded curiosity, seemed to catch the faint, dim lighting in the basement, each gaze following her movements with a predatory focus she tried desperately to ignore.

she swallowed hard, the lump in her throat painfully tight, before realization suddenly flooded her chest. her heart twisted sharply as she took in the hollowed look to their faces, the subtle way their ribs pressed sharply against skin.

god, when was the last time they had eaten?

"oh my god," she whispered, voice breaking slightly, guilt stabbing sharply in her chest. "you all must be starving."

the golden eyed hybrid’s gaze softened, something almost amused flickering behind the predatory calm in his eyes. he tilted his head slightly, studying her carefully, his long tail flicking lazily behind him.

From across the room another hybrid, with midnight dark hair spoke up,

"you care," he drawled slowly, voice deep and smooth like honey, though an edge lingered beneath the surface, subtle and dangerous. "how interesting."

myah’s cheeks heated at the weight behind his words, but she forced herself to stay steady, stepping a little closer despite the warning bells going off in her mind. she ignored them, shaking off her hesitation. she had to help. she couldn't turn her back, not now.

"of course i care," she replied, voice stronger now, her chin lifting slightly with defiance. "no one deserves this. i won’t leave you hungry."

from one of the cages behind her came a quiet chuckle, a low, husky sound that sent shivers down her spine. turning sharply, she caught sight of another hybrid in the shadows, his silvery-white hair glowing softly even in the dimness, eyes glittering like shards of ice as he regarded her from behind the rusted bars.

"brave little human," he murmured softly, tone playful but dangerously sharp around the edges, "you have no idea what hunger really means."

myah tried not to let his words unsettle her further, tried not to let his icy stare cut beneath her skin. instead, she focused again on the lion hybrid, meeting his steady golden gaze head-on. "i’ll get food. just, wait here."

another amused sound drifted from the raven haired hybrid, his amber eyes peering at her from the darkness. his lips curved faintly into something sharp and unsettlingly knowing.

"we're not going anywhere," he drawled, voice silky but cold, dripping with quiet menace. "take your time."

myah took one last glance at their eyes, sharp, glowing, hungry, and turned quickly, racing back up the creaking basement stairs. her heart pounded painfully in her chest as she emerged into the stale air of the house, her mind spinning wildly.

food.

she had to find food. but what did they even eat?

hybrids, predators, they probably needed meat.

fresh meat.

her stomach turned uneasily at the thought, memories flickering through her mind of childhood visits spent here. her grandfather had hunted regularly, she remembered vividly.

yet, somehow, she’d never once seen a deer carcass or anything remotely like it inside the house.

no, there had never been any raw meat in the fridge. not even once. her grandparents had always kept their kitchen pristine and tidy, a place of warmth and home-cooked meals. there had never been anything bloody or raw tucked away.

so where had it all gone?

myah spun around slowly in the kitchen, pulse quickening as realization dawned on her.

the shed.

her grandfather’s old hunting shed. the little wooden shack that had always felt eerie and had been forbidden during her childhood.

it sat tucked back in the shadowed corner of the backyard, concealed by overgrown bushes and towering trees. she’d never been allowed near it as a child; her grandfather had always warned her away, claiming it was dangerous.

She always assumed it was because her grandparents didn’t want her to get ahold of her grandpa’s rifles and knifes, but now, she understood the true reason.

it must’ve been where he’d stored the meat, fresh from his hunts, hidden away from innocent eyes.

myah rushed out the back door, stepping quickly through the tall grass, the yard eerily quiet around her. the old shed loomed at the edge of the property, dark and weathered with age. ivy crept up its sides, tendrils gripping tightly onto rotting wood. it felt like something from a nightmare, shadowy and foreboding. but she pushed down the dread, forcing herself forward.

with a trembling hand, she grasped the rusty door handle, wrenching the creaking door open. the interior was dark, dusty, smelling strongly of leather, oil, and something sharp and metallic. the air inside felt colder than outside, raising goosebumps along her arms.

she fumbled for the old light switch beside the door, praying it still worked. after a tense moment, the dim bulb flickered to life, casting pale, sickly yellow light across the cluttered space.

her grandfather’s hunting gear lay scattered everywhere, rifles mounted on racks along the walls, knives and traps piled haphazardly on a workbench, old hunting boots lined up beside crates stacked high against one wall. but at the far end of the shed stood something else,

a large industrial freezer, humming quietly.

myah swallowed hard, stepping hesitantly toward it, her throat dry. her heart beat wildly in her chest as she placed her hand on the cold metal handle.

she’d come too far now to turn back.

with a firm tug, she opened the heavy door, a blast of freezing air rushing out to meet her, carrying with it the metallic scent of frozen blood. inside, neatly stacked on shelves, were wrapped cuts of raw meat, large and small. each package labeled meticulously in her grandfather’s neat, cursive handwriting.

deer.

elk.

rabbit.

even something labeled boar.

her stomach churned again at the sight, but relief flooded through her just as quickly. at least there was enough here to feed them. to ease some of their suffering.

carefully, myah pulled out several packages of meat, ignoring the sharp chill that bit at her fingers. she had no idea how much they’d need, but she grabbed enough that her arms strained under the weight. the freezer door slammed shut heavily behind her, echoing sharply in the quiet of the shed.

as she made her way back across the yard, she felt a prickling at the back of her neck, the creeping sensation of being watched. she glanced around quickly, but saw nothing.

just the still, empty yard, the trees looming silently. she shook her head, dismissing the feeling.

she had other things to worry about right now.

by the time she reached the hatch in the kitchen again, her heart was hammering so loudly she feared the hybrids would hear it. she steadied herself carefully, balancing the frozen packages awkwardly in her arms as she descended the steps, back into their cage lined darkness.

their eyes were waiting for her, glowing softly in the shadows, sharp and calculating. watching. hungry.

"i found something, i hope this helps," myah said quietly, steadying her voice as she lifted the heavy packages of frozen meat onto the worn wooden table. her pulse quickened under the weight of their gazes, each hybrid watching her with an intensity she stubbornly refused to show intimidated her.

The same hybrid stepped forward, his amber eyes narrowing slightly, glinting with predatory curiosity. his movements were smooth, deliberate, exuding a controlled menace barely contained behind rusted bars.

"oh, it helps," he purred softly, voice smooth and dangerously alluring, eyes never leaving her face. "you have no idea just how hungry we've been."

myah forced herself not to flinch under his stare, silently holding his gaze with quiet defiance. she wasn't going to let him see how easily he could rattle her. her composure was her armor, and right now, she needed every bit of it.

"interesting," the lion hybrid remarked softly, gaze steady and quietly evaluating. "you returned without your friend this time. was she too frightened to come back?"

myah paused slightly, she vividly remembered how tense chae-eun had been yesterday when they first discovered the hybrids; the way her friend's eyes widened at the creatures who'd seemed so fearful, so vulnerable in their cages. at that moment, they’d looked more frightened of them than the other way around.

myah couldn't help but wonder what had changed. were they simply hungry, exhausted, or was it something else?

"she thought it was better to stay behind," myah replied carefully, keeping her voice even. "after yesterday, i can't say i blame her."

from the cage closest to the stairs, another hybrid chuckled quietly, lounging with casual elegance against the bars. his deep brown curls drawing attention even in the shadowy basement, his tiger-like eyes playful and subtly teasing as he watched her reaction.

"shame," he drawled lightly, a lazy smirk curving his lips. "we barely got a chance to say hello."

myah raised an eyebrow slightly, managing a faint, wry smile despite the unease fluttering in her stomach.

"i think your idea of a greeting might be a bit different than ours," she replied dryly, masking her nerves beneath humor.

a quiet grunt slipped from the cage across from his, containing what looked to be a jaguar.

the hybrid was still shifted, however his gaze held a quiet amusement, silently studying her reaction with careful, thoughtful intensity.

the subtle tension shifted again when a gentler voice drew her attention, familiar, soft, and inexplicably comforting. her heart quickened slightly in recognition. this was the hybrid she’d spoken to through the door yesterday, the gentle voice that had quietly pleaded with her, easing her doubts.

the hybrid who had asked her to return, who she had been unable to forget about.

stepping slightly closer to his cage, she saw his delicate features more clearly, soft hazel eyes wide with sincerity beneath wispy silver hair.

"you shouldn't blame yourself," he murmured quietly, his gaze gentle, reassuring, yet tinged with subtle sadness. "we knew you'd come back. thank you for keeping your promise."

myah’s breath steadied subtly at his quiet sincerity, inexplicably comforted by his voice, his gentle expression. she couldn’t help but trust him, despite the uncertainty that still prickled at the edges of her mind.

"i just want to help," she said softly, earnestness slipping into her tone as she held his gaze briefly.

from the back again, the black-haired hybrid shifted slightly, regaining her attention effortlessly. his eyes narrowed subtly, golden gaze glittering with quiet amusement. "help," he echoed smoothly, voice dripping with subtle skepticism, yet somehow alluring in its challenge. "an interesting way to describe bringing raw meat to caged predators."

myah glanced at him, forcing herself not to react outwardly, though his words did send a small spike of anxiety through her chest. she knew there was truth in his statement, but she refused to let him control the moment. she held her composure steady, lifting her chin slightly.

"would you prefer vegetables instead?" she asked lightly, refusing to be baited further. "because i'm not sure rabbits were on the menu."

another soft laugh drifted from near the stairs again. the curly headed hybrid grinning wider now, openly amused by her retort. "see?" he murmured teasingly, eyes glinting with clear interest. "i knew she had claws."

the silver-haired hybrid, sensing the subtle tension rising again, spoke gently, quietly soothing the room once more. his voice was careful, gentle, subtly pleading for calm. "we're grateful for anything you can do," he assured her softly, hazel eyes earnest. "we just want freedom from this."

the quiet sincerity in his voice tugged deeply at her chest, melting some of the tension still clinging to her shoulders. despite everything, she felt drawn to trust him above all the others, instinctively believing the gentle sincerity he offered.

"i’m trying," she promised softly, sincerity clear in her tone. "i won't leave you stuck here."

silence briefly settled between them, and myah felt the weight of their collective stares again, heavier than before, each hybrid watching her carefully, some with amusement, some curiosity, others quiet calculation.

finally, she stepped back slightly, glancing around the basement thoughtfully, determination steadying her again despite the lingering uncertainty inside her chest. "alright," she said firmly, gaze flickering back to the silver-haired hybrid, quietly finding reassurance in his gentle, hopeful expression. "let's see if i can figure out how to get you out."

a charged silence followed her words, the air in the basement feeling suddenly heavy with cautious hope. myah drew in a slow breath, steadying herself as she glanced around again at the cages, searching for anything she might've missed before.

"do any of you remember how you got out last time?" she asked carefully, keeping her voice calm and gentle as she moved closer to the nearest cage, the one containing the lion. she kept her movements deliberate, careful not to startle or upset them.

he regarded her with quiet authority, eyes steady and watchful. after a brief moment, he shook his head slightly, the thick waves of his golden hair shifting softly against his shoulders.

"we've never been out of these cages," he replied evenly, his deep voice resonating softly in the quiet basement, laced with subtle yet firm certainty. "at least, not since we were put in them."

myah’s brows furrowed slightly in confusion, her heart giving a sharp, anxious twist. that didn't make sense. something wasn't adding up. "but, someone got out," she murmured, mostly to herself, recalling the reports of a hybrid attack, the police statements. her grandparents' fate. she swallowed hard, pushing down the sharp sting of grief. there was no time for that now.

the dark-haired hybrid with the intense amber eyes watched her closely, clearly noting her distress. his voice was soft, velvet-smooth, edged with quiet menace.

"perhaps someone’s not telling you the whole truth," he suggested quietly, his amber gaze narrowed and thoughtful, subtly unsettling in its quiet intensity.

she glanced sharply at him, feeling another small flicker of unease.

was he implying something about her grandparents?

about someone else entirely? she forced herself to shake the thought away, not ready to entertain those suspicions yet. not until she had more answers.

determined, she carefully checked the locks and hinges, examining each door for weakness. her fingers brushed against cold, rusted metal; the surfaces worn but still frustratingly secure. each latch held firm beneath her attempts. frustration began to gnaw at the edges of her composure, her pulse quickening anxiously with every fruitless test.

the curly headed hybrid leaning lazily against his bars tracked her with slow, interested eyes. his posture was relaxed, lounging like a cat sunbathing, but there was a flicker of something sharper beneath it.

something watchful.

"you seem pretty determined," he drawled, his voice light with amusement, but the glint in his eyes wasn’t playful. "but i doubt you’ll get these open by hand. believe me, we’ve tried."

myah let out a quiet breath, running a hand through her hair, trying to mask the growing tension pressing in behind her ribs.

"there has to be another way," she muttered, stepping back to scan the room again. "they can’t have just locked you down here without some kind of system."

"oh, there’s a system," came a voice from the farthest cage, low and smooth like velvet over blades. "you’re just not the one they built it for."

she turned sharply. the one in the shadows hadn’t moved much, but his golden eyes glinted in the dim light, watching her with quiet calculation.

like he was waiting for this moment.

"what does that mean?" she asked slowly. "how did the eighth hybrid get out?"

a beat of silence.

the silver-haired one shifted where he sat, his eyes suddenly distant. he didn’t speak.

the one lounging by the stairs stilled too, his expression folding in just slightly, the casual edge softening into something unreadable.

"there was no eighth predator," the black-haired hybrid said finally. deliberate. calm. like it was a truth he’d held in his teeth too long. "that cage wasn’t for one of us."

myah stared at him. "then who was it for?"

"prey," another voice answered, quieter, softer from the left side of the room. "they kept them there overnight. until they were…taken."

"they never returned," said the deep voice in front of her, steady but heavy. "not ever."

her breath caught.

"you mean prey hybrids? like rabbits? deer?"

"among others," the dark headed hybrid said smoothly. he shifted just slightly in his cage, his golden eyes never leaving hers. "kept in that cage. fattened. frightened. sometimes sedated if they cried too much. usually just…quiet. they knew what was coming."

myah shook her head. no, that didn’t make sense. it didn’t fit.
"but no. my grandfather didn’t do that. he,” she paused, sucking in a breath, “he hunted, yeah, but he wasn’t like that. he believed in clean kills, in ethical tags and permits and—"

"you think he was dragging whitetail out of the forest?" the hybrid tilted his head slightly, amusement curling at the corner of his mouth. it wasn’t a smile. it was a warning. "those went extinct in this region before you could even walk."

her stomach dropped.

"there’s no wildlife left out there," the one with the golden hair said, his voice calm but edged. "you’d be lucky to find a squirrel. the ecosystems are gone. wiped out. pollution, over-harvesting, fires—take your pick. all the original prey species are either dead, relocated, or too protected to touch."

"but he had meat," she whispered as she slid to the ground. "the freezer, there was venison, rabbit, he said he hunted in the northern woodlands—"

"hybrids are the only remaining source," the hybrid’s voice quiet now. almost gentle. "the gene carriers. you want deer meat, you need a deer hybrid. they harvest from us. still do. just not out in the open."

her blood went cold.

"you’re lying," she said. but it came out wrong. weak. like she was asking.

the one sitting near the stairs scoffed, his eyes gleaming. "do we look like the liars in this story?"

she turned toward the table, staring at the empty meat packages, the ones she’d pulled out of the freezer herself. her stomach twisted violently. she’d brought that meat down here like a gift. like an offering.

"no," she whispered, voice cracking. "he wouldn’t, he wouldn’t feed people—"

"who said it was for people?" the black haired hybrid murmured, almost too low to hear. "some of it, sure. the best cuts went to buyers. the rest? maybe to the staff. maybe into his own freezer. maybe right back down here to us, to see what we'd do."

her hands curled into fists. the nausea burned in her throat.

she looked at the cage again. that cage, noticed its smaller size, the lack of locks to hold it shut. it had never been meant to hold someone like them.

it had been a pen. a prep table.

livestock containment.

"i didn’t know," she said. her voice shook. "i didn’t know any of this."

"you do now.”

the words weren’t cruel. they weren’t sharp or cutting.

they were just…

final.

and somehow that made it worse.

myah stood there, frozen, the truth settling around her like dust after a collapse. heavy. choking. inescapable. she could still feel the cold metal of the cage beneath her fingertips, the weight of the meat she had carried down, the flicker of pride she’d felt for thinking ahead. thinking she was helping.

but that meat had come from someone.

someone who had slept in that cage. breathed in this basement. cried out in the dark and gotten no answer.

someone who had never left.

and her grandfather had known.

not just known, he had organized it. built it. maintained it. made it look normal. made it look ethical.

and she’d never questioned it. not once.

"i grew up in that house," she murmured, not to any of them, not even to herself, but to the ghost of something that had once felt solid inside her. "i used to sit on the porch with him while he cleaned his arrows. i used to help him label the cuts. i thought…"

her voice broke. she blinked hard.

"you didn’t put us here," a voice said quietly.

she looked up.

he was sitting near the front of his cage now, close enough to reach the bars, close enough that she could see the way his pale lashes caught the light.

the silver haired one.

his fingers were loose around the rusted metal, not clutching, just resting. like he’d been waiting. like he wasn’t in a cage at all. just keeping her company.

"but you came back." his voice was soft, careful, like he knew her heart was still in pieces. like he didn’t want to step on the shards. "that has to mean something. doesn’t it?"

myah blinked at him.

there was no accusation in his face. no push. just that unbearable calm, that gentle gravity he carried, like he was built to be safe, even in a place like this.

and that was the problem, wasn’t it?

he made her want to believe in something again.

she stood slowly, brushing her palms off on her jeans. her legs ached, but she kept her gaze on him, watching him watch her.

he tilted his head, just slightly.

and smiled.

not wide. not teasing. just this soft little thing that tugged at her ribs.

“you have a name?” he asked, voice low and warm, like it didn’t matter if she answered or not, he’d remember the way she looked when she did.

“myah,” she said, after a moment. “it’s myah.”

his smile deepened, just a breath.

like he was tasting it.

like he already knew it would ruin him.

“myah,” he repeated, slow and deliberate, like it was a word worth savoring. “that’s a beautiful name.”

her stomach did something embarrassing.

something fluttery.

and then he leaned forward, just a little, just enough for the light to catch on the golden flecks in his eyes, and said, softer, almost conspiratorial, “you can call me jimin.”

like it was a secret. like it was just for her.

she stared at him for a beat too long, her lips parting slightly, caught between suspicion and the stupid, impossible urge to smile back.

“thank you jimin,” she said finally, voice quieter than she meant it to be.

“anytime,” he murmured, leaning dangerously close, like the rusted bars weren’t even there.

"excuse me, sweetheart," a voice drawled from somewhere off to her right. "but some of us would like to eat."

her head snapped toward the sound, heat crawling up her neck like she’d just been caught doing something she hadn’t meant to.

the one who’d spoken leaned lazily against the bars, grinning like he’d been watching the whole thing and was thoroughly entertained.

her stomach twisted. because the grin didn’t reach his eyes. and his gaze, sharp and golden, wasn’t just amused.

it was hungry.

she looked back at the table.

the meat was still sitting there, thawed now. bleeding slowly through its plastic.

but when she turned her gaze back to the hybrid watching her, there was something in his expression that made her feel like that wasn’t the dinner he meant.

she swallowed.

hard.

and the room suddenly felt just a little too warm.

a little too quiet. like the real hunger in here had nothing to do with the meat behind her.