The silence stretched out like a blanket, heavy and suffocating.
Jin slumped against the wreckage of a display shelf, his chest heaving, every breath scraping through his throat like sandpaper. The staff lay across his lap, streaked with blood and ash, the metal cool against his burning skin.
His body hurt.
Not just the ache of bruises or the sting of torn flesh — but something deeper. A bone-deep exhaustion that made even tilting his head back to rest against the wall feel like a victory.
But they were alive.
Jin closed his eyes, letting out a shaky breath.
They were alive.
Joon sprawled on the cold tile, limbs spread out like he was trying to fuse with the floor. His Magnetron Sphere hovered lazily above his palm, crackling faintly as it spun in slow, aimless circles.
Seul leaned against a broken fridge, her knees pulled up to her chest, her arms draped over them. She stared at her gloves, the dried blood and grime crusted along the seams, absently picking at the fabric.
