"To the girl who was marked to die-
And the version of himself that did."
Y/N didn't ask for this.
It was supposed to be a girls' trip. A few days of laughter, beaches, and blurry memories.
But somewhere between the airport terminal and the baggage...
Morning arrived like a whisper instead of a warning.
For once, there were no alarms. No distant engines. No red lights blinking from surveillance monitors.
Just the soft, golden stretch of sunlight slipping through the curtained windows—painting the walls in sleepy warmth and dust motes.
Y/N stirred slowly beneath the sheets.
Eyes still half-lidded, hair a mess of sleep-tangled waves, her body aching in that strangely comforting way that meant: you’re alive, and nothing’s on fire.
She rubbed her face with both hands, groaned lightly, and sat up in the oversized lounge shirt Taehyung had given her.
It hung off one shoulder, hem brushing mid-thigh.
Somehow, it felt like armor.
She shuffled out of bed, yawning, bare feet cold against the wooden floor. One hand reached up to push her hair out of her eyes as she wandered toward the hallway, still wrapped in a quiet fog of sleep.
The house was still.
Still in that peaceful, almost eerie kind of way. But she didn’t feel watched.
Just… alone.
Comfortably alone.
---
She entered the bathroom with zero caution.
Toothbrush in one hand. Sleep still clinging to her spine.
She didn’t bother closing the door.
Why would she?
She was already brushing her teeth when she caught her own reflection in the mirror—hair wild, shirt oversized, eyes puffy—and nearly snorted with laughter.
I look like a hungover raccoon.
She leaned over the sink, brushing with lazy circles, foam forming at the corners of her mouth.
The world was quiet.
Still.
Safe.
Until—
the hallway creaked.
She didn’t register it at first.
Just the soft sound of a door opening—like the house breathing.
Then footsteps.
Not heavy.
Measured. Barefoot. Soft.
And then—
A figure appeared in the mirror behind her.
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