The rain began as soon as the screens went dark.
A low growl of thunder rolled across Cheongdo-gu, and the old lab's cracked windows shuddered like they'd been holding their breath for years.Yoon Ha-rin stared at the words still glowing faintly on the monitors — ECHO 3: IN PROGRESS — while Kang Jae-hyun grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the exit.
"Come on. Before this place decides to collapse on us."
Outside, the night opened like a broken dam.
They ran through the alley, shoes splashing through ankle-deep water, laughter and panic tangled in their breath. Neon lights reflected on the puddles, painting their soaked silhouettes in blue and gold.
By the time they found a small tea stall under a tin roof, both were dripping, half-laughing, half-shivering.
The old vendor smiled at them like he'd seen every kind of storm."City rain follows the heart," he said, pouring steaming cinnamon tea into two paper cups. "The harder it beats, the heavier it falls."
Ha-rin took hers, fingers trembling slightly. "You always end up in poetic weather, don't you?"
Jae-hyun blew on his tea. "If it were sunny, you'd call it suspicious."
She chuckled. "True."
For a moment they just stood there, steam rising between them like a veil. The rain softened, each drop making the night quieter instead of louder.
"Those files," Ha-rin said finally. "Project Echo, our faces… it's impossible."
He leaned against the post beside her, blazer plastered to his shoulders. "Impossible seems to be our specialty."
She looked up. "Do you think we caused it? The loops, the twelve-minute rewinds?"
He hesitated, then met her gaze. "Maybe. Or maybe we were trying to fix what someone else broke."
The tea vendor switched off his radio. For a second, the world felt eerily still — the kind of silence that usually comes before something remembers how to move.
Ha-rin sighed. "It's strange. Every time it rains, it feels like time's breathing again."
He smiled. "Then at least we know it's alive."
A gust pushed water under the awning. Without thinking, Jae-hyun stepped closer and draped his blazer across her shoulders. The warmth of it startled her — not the fabric, but the quiet care behind it.
"You'll catch a cold," she murmured.
"I'll survive," he said. "You, however, look like a drowned cat with a mission."
She nudged him. "You really have no sense of romance."
"Romance?" He tilted his head. "I'm literally shielding you from pneumonia."
Her laughter broke through the chill, soft and genuine.
When the laughter faded, something heavier hung in the air — not awkwardness, but recognition. They'd been here before, not this stall, but this moment — rain, warmth, and the feeling that the world might stop any second.
Ha-rin glanced down. Beneath the hem of his blazer, she caught a faint metallic gleam."The watch…"
Jae-hyun pulled it out. The cracked glass reflected the glow of the stall's bulb."It's quiet now," he said.
But she shook her head. "No. Listen."
At first, there was only rain. Then, slowly —
Tick.Tick.Tick.
Soft, steady, real.
The vendor looked up from wiping the counter, brow furrowed. "You kids hear that clock? Thought it broke years ago."
Ha-rin's eyes widened. The watch wasn't in sync with any rhythm she knew; it ticked slower than the rain, faster than her heartbeat — twelve irregular beats, then silence.
Jae-hyun whispered, "Twelve again."
The rain eased into drizzle. A taxi crawled past, tires hissing.
He turned to her, voice low. "Whatever's happening, I'll figure it out. You won't go through another storm alone."
She met his gaze — not the confident director, not the calm strategist, just the man who kept standing in the rain because she did.
"I'm not afraid of storms anymore," she said. "I'm afraid of forgetting how they sound with you beside me."
He exhaled softly, something fragile and fierce caught in his smile.
"Then I'll keep reminding you," he said.
When the last drops fell, they walked back toward the car. The city smelled of wet asphalt and jasmine — the same scent that had haunted every version of them.
Neither noticed the old vendor watching them leave, or the faint shimmer that passed through his reflection in the window.
On his wrist, half-hidden by rolled sleeves, a silver pocket watch gleamed.
It ticked once — perfectly in sync with the one in Jae-hyun's pocket.