The dream was always the same.
Ha-Joon stood in a place that felt like nowhere. Everything was a dull, dusty gray, and the air smelled like blood and decayed bodies. It was quiet—the kind of silence that made her ears ring.
Then, he appeared.
He didn't walk; he just seemed to manifest out of the haze like a mirage. He was tall and dark, a shadow that felt more real than she did. He liked to move close, circling her, playing with the strands of her hair or whispering right against her ear.
"You're staying away too long," he would murmur, his voice like a cold breeze. "You belong to me, Ha-Joon. It's time to come back."
In the dream, she would feel a terrifying pull toward him, a deep surge of emotions that made her knees weak. The feeling that she was in danger was there, his mere presence felt wrong, yet she was powerless against him. He would reach out a hand, his fingers almost touching her skin, promising to take her home.
Then, she would blink.
Ha-Joon bolted upright in her bed, gasping for air. Her skin felt hot, and her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. She looked around her dark room, waiting for the memory of the man's face to settle, but it slipped away instantly.
She knew she had seen someone. She knew he had spoken. But within seconds, the details were gone, replaced by a hollow, gnawing feeling in her chest—a sensation that she was missing something vital.
She sat there in the dark for a long time, staring at her hands. They were trembling. She didn't know why she was scared, and she didn't know why she felt so lonely, but she knew that it was more than a recurring dream.