I woke with a jolt, my breath hitching as my eyes darted around the unfamiliar space. My heart pounded in my chest, its rhythm echoing in the vast stillness. The room was massive—too big for comfort. Three of its walls were lined with sofas that stretched endlessly under the dim glow of a flickering bulb suspended from the ceiling. The western wall was lined with medium-sized windows, their panes offering a glimpse of the quiet night beyond.
I pushed myself upright, the stiffness in my limbs making every movement feel sluggish. My eyes adjusted slowly to the room's faint light. Shapes began to form in the shadows: people scattered across the sofas and standing near the walls. I recognized their outlines but couldn't bring myself to focus on who they were. It felt easier not to know.
I stood, moving toward the west-side window. The cool glass greeted my fingertips as I peered outside. The moonlight revealed a barren expanse of sand surrounding the building. Far in the distance, the city glimmered faintly, its towering structures a world away. But closer—too close—stood something that didn't belong.
The room wasn't on the ground.
I stepped back sharply, my chest tightening. There was a door on my left side, so I reached for it and stepped outside. The cold metal of the grating beneath my boots sent a shiver up my spine. I found myself on a narrow balcony, barely large enough to turn around. A thin iron staircase spiraled downward, connecting the room to the sandy ground below.
The entire structure was elevated, perched on iron pillars that stretched impossibly high. In front of me, I saw more trees swaying gently in the wind. To the left side, the compound sprawled—desolate and empty, save for a three-story building in the distance, its dark silhouette looming like a silent sentinel.
What is this place? How did I get here?
A cold unease settled over me as I retreated back into the room, closing the door behind me. I sat on the edge of the sofa near the door. This time, I let myself really look at the others. All eight of them were here now—sitting, standing, or murmuring quietly.
Eight.
The number should have made sense, but it didn't. Noah, Tara, and Charlie were among them, sitting in front of me. The two who had fallen in the acid trap—Tara and Charlie—were alive and unharmed, chatting as if nothing had happened. Noah was beside them, his voice calm and steady.
And then there was Max, sitting at the far end of the room on a northern sofa. His boyfriend, Noah, leaned in to whisper something in his ear, and Max smiled, soft and genuine.
Noah didn't look my way, but Max's gaze found mine. His smile lingered as he locked eyes with me across the room. It was the kind of smile that could undo a person, and it nearly undid me.
For a moment, I forgot everything—the room, the mission, the impossibility of what I was seeing. Nothing mattered but him.
But the ache in my chest reminded me: his happiness wasn't mine to share. It never had been.
I looked away, the lump in my throat threatening to choke me. Would there ever be a timeline where Max's smile was meant for me?
"Alright, everyone, listen up!"
The commanding voice snapped me out of my thoughts. I turned toward the center of the room, where Eunha stood. Her sharp eyes swept across the room, silencing everyone with a single glance. Her presence was magnetic—each movement deliberate, each word carrying weight.
Beside her, Joon stood with his hands clasped behind his back. His expression was unreadable, his calm composure contrasting with the tension in the air.
"We need to review the plan," Eunha announced, gesturing toward the whiteboard on the wall. A map had been stuck across its surface, its edges held down by stray objects.
I froze.
Joon stepped forward, his voice cool and calculated as he pointed at the map. "This is the target building," he said, tracing a route with his finger. "We'll divide into two teams. Team A will infiltrate from the north side, while Team B provides cover from the west. We'll meet here on the second floor before proceeding to the target room."
He continued, laying out precise strategies and backup plans with unnerving clarity. Eunha nodded occasionally, adding her own observations as the plan unfolded.
But something was wrong.
As I watched them explain the plan, my stomach twisted. They described the mission in vivid detail, pointing out routes, traps, and contingencies. But it wasn't our mission.
Their version avoided every obstacle we had faced—every trap, every mistake, every loss.
How is this possible?
My chest tightened as I watched them. My fingers clenched into fists, the knuckles aching from the pressure.
This wasn't the plan we'd followed. This wasn't the mission I had lived through.
I stepped closer to the board, my eyes scanning the map. The building looked the same, but the paths were different. How could they know the pitfalls we'd encountered unless they'd somehow... seen it happen?
"What's wrong, Nine?" Eunha's voice cut through my thoughts, sharp and direct. Her gaze pinned me in place, and for a moment, I couldn't speak.
"Nothing," I said quickly, my voice wavering. "It's just... nothing."
She held my gaze for a moment longer before turning back to the group. My heart was still racing, my mind struggling to make sense of the impossible.
Max's gaze found me again, his expression curious, almost concerned. But I looked away, forcing myself to focus on the map instead of the growing unease clawing at my chest.
Someone knew.
Someone had rewritten the plan.
But why?
And what would it mean for us when the mission began again?