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The car sped down the empty road, the sound of tires humming against the pavement filling the tense silence. The air between them had been thick ever since Minhyeong's last conversation with Haechan. Mark had taken over again, his grip tight on the wheel, his jaw clenched.

Haechan sat stiffly in the passenger seat, arms crossed, staring out the window. "So where exactly are we going now?" he finally asked, trying to break the silence.

"Safe house," Mark muttered. "Johnny's trying to set up another meeting point."

Minhyeong hummed from somewhere inside their shared mind. "You think it's actually gonna be safe?" he taunted.

Mark ignored him.

But then—

The world spun.

A blaring horn, the screech of metal against metal, and suddenly the car was airborne. It flipped violently, everything moving too fast to register. Haechan screamed as glass shattered around them, the impact slamming his body against the seatbelt. The car twisted in the air before crashing down, rolling several times before coming to a dead stop, upside down in the middle of the road.

Silence.

Mark's vision blurred in and out, blood dripping down his forehead. The ringing in his ears was deafening. His breath came in sharp, shallow gasps.

And then—

The world around him shifted.

A dark, sterile room. Straps digging into his wrists and ankles. A single overhead light flickering. The sound of footsteps approaching.

"You're stronger than this, Mark."

His father's voice.

"But you're weak. Pathetic. That's why you need him."

The straps tightened. The pain in his head, his chest, everywhere—it was unbearable. His father stood above him, a clipboard in one hand, a syringe in the other.

"Let's see if Minhyeong can handle this better than you can."

The needle plunged into his skin. A searing pain shot through his veins, setting his entire body on fire. His screams echoed in the room, but no one came. No one ever did.

"That's it. Give in to him. He's the only reason you're still alive."

The memory blurred, shifting, twisting—

Minhyeong gasped, eyes snapping open. He was back in the car. Blood dripped from his forehead onto the crushed roof. Haechan groaned beside him, shifting weakly. The shattered windshield had left small cuts on his face, but he was breathing. Alive.

Minhyeong exhaled shakily, the phantom pain of the memory still searing through his body. His hands trembled as he unbuckled himself, falling onto the shattered glass beneath him.

Haechan coughed, his voice weak. "Mark...?"

Minhyeong forced a smirk, despite the pain. "Guess again, sweetheart."

Haechan groaned. "Oh, great. Just what I need right now."

Minhyeong ignored him, his mind still half-stuck in the past. His body ached like hell, but they needed to move. Someone had hit them on purpose. That meant whoever it was could still be out there.

"You're weak. You need him."

His father's voice still echoed in his mind.

Minhyeong clenched his jaw. "We need to get the fuck out of here."