Opening his eyes, the same familiar bright lights flooded his vision.
This time, something was different.
He could move. Freely.
He stayed still for a moment, letting his eyes adjust. The blur slowly sharpened into something recognizable.
The same cell. The same bed.
As if nothing had happened.
He didn't know how long he had been out. Hours? Days? Weeks? Time had lost its meaning in this place.
His hands moved instinctively, fingers brushing over his wrists—no restraints. No marks. Nothing.
He paused, then ran his hands over his body, Expecting something… missing. Or worse, changed.
That was when he noticed them.
A pair of legs at the foot of the bed.
Not his.
Someone else's.
Long black boots, worn but intact. Dark pants fell neatly over them, covering the tops cleanly. One leg rested over the other—casual, almost careless. The posture carried quiet confidence, as if he owned the room simply by sitting in it.
His gaze followed upward. Slow. Deliberate.
A man sat there, leaning back in a chair angled against the wall, as if he had been waiting.
His legs rested on the bed. His arms were crossed.
Still.
Unbothered.
Watching. Not directly, but enough.
A sidelong glance. Predatory. The kind that didn't need focus to feel dangerous.
Only the left side of his face was clearly visible. The right remained hidden by the angle. What he could see was sharp and severe—a strong jaw, thin lips, and short hair the color of dull silver, streaked gray like metal worn by time.
His visible eye was a striking emerald green, bright and unnervingly steady, fixed on the boy with quiet intensity.
The other side of his face disappeared into shadow, though burn scars climbed from his neck toward his cheek, the skin tight and uneven where fire had once claimed it.
And yet he looked completely at ease. Like this was control.
The air between them felt thick, almost tangible. Every shallow breath he drew seemed to echo in the sterile room. The faint smell of disinfectant lingered in the air, sharp against the metallic tang beneath it—a quiet reminder of where he was, and what had happened here.
He tried to swallow, but his throat was dry. His stomach twisted with a hollow, gnawing hunger. A memory flashed—cold injections, clinical hands.
They had kept his body going while he was unconscious.
But they did nothing for hunger.
A female voice rang out, the tone making it clear she was repeating herself—the question had been asked once already, but the boy hadn't noticed the first time, his attention fixed on the man.
"How are you feeling?"
Following the sound of her voice, the boy slowly turned his head to the left. There, beside the bed, she sat with one leg crossed over the other, her hands resting lightly atop her knee. She wore a fitted gray suit—jacket and tailored trousers in the same muted shade—with a simple white chemise beneath it, the collar left open without a tie. The clean lines of the outfit gave her a composed, almost clinical appearance. Soft golden hair flowed down her back, and when she tilted her head slightly, her brown eyes watched him with calm, patient attention.
The boy felt… strangely safe.
The sensation was unfamiliar. Distant. Like remembering something that didn't belong to him.
Like home.
Not that he had ever known what that meant. Only the idea of it.
A pause.
"…Fine," he said after a moment. "I guess."
She spoke again, her elegant voice carrying that same faint distortion, like a note slightly out of tune but somehow pleasant.
"Any pain? Anything else… worth mentioning?"
"No… aside from some minor vibrations… and slight distortions in my vision… nothing."
"That's a relief."
She stretched out her arm, fingers relaxed but deliberate. Her voice, gentle yet oddly distorted, whispered, "Give me your hand."
His heart stuttered. Hesitation rippled through him. Every instinct screamed caution, but he obeyed. Slowly, tentatively, he extended his hand.
Before he could even decide what to do, a deep, commanding voice cut through the room from his right.
"Julia!"
It was the male figure in the dark leather trench coat, draped over his broad shoulders—his arms not in the sleeves, just letting the coat rest. Beneath it, the black vest and shirt were fully buttoned, pristine, maintaining the same rigid posture as before.
Julia shot him a grim look, her expression unreadable, and spoke in a calm, unperturbed tone that made the words hit harder than he expected.
"You're here to stand guard, not to tell me what to do. I know my job and the risks—so either shut your mouth, or get the fuck out, Jack!"
The boy froze. The words sounded strange coming from someone so composed. It unsettled him more than he wanted to admit.
"Tsk. Do what you want."
Julia's gaze shifted back to the boy. Her eyes spoke volumes—no words were necessary—and he understood. Hesitantly, he extended his hand. She took it gently, her touch light, deliberate, almost featherlike.
A sudden white glow flared in her eyes, catching him off guard. He recoiled instinctively, heart hammering. The light seemed to pierce through him, probing, measuring… judging. But as quickly as it appeared, it dimmed, leaving only her calm gaze behind.
She released his hand and exhaled softly. "Nothing. Just as before."
The moment lingered, balanced between a strange sense of connection and the quiet edge of danger—like standing on a cliff while a storm gathered below.
As she finished speaking, a sound rang out—sharp, sudden. The front legs of the man's chair, once suspended in the air, slammed against the floor with a violence that made the floor tremble.
The boy turned instinctively. The man's towering figure filled his vision. He was standing now, having left the chair—roughly 1.9 meters tall. For the first time, the boy could take in his entire presence.
The same menacing look burned in his visible eye. The right side of his neck bore unmistakable burn scars, and a wide eye patch covered the white expanse of the right side of his face, hiding whatever injuries lay beneath.
The boy noticed the black leather glove on the man's right hand, while the left remained bare. Every movement was precise and deliberate, as if even his posture carried authority.
The man withdrew his gaze, walking toward the left wall. Without turning, he asked, "I'm going for lunch. You coming, or staying?"
The boy felt a brief flicker of acceptance at the invitation—until Julia turned her gaze to Jack. "You go. I'll be there in a moment," she said, her tone calm but firm.
The boy's chest tightened. In an instant, that small spark of inclusion vanished, leaving him feeling… left behind.
Hunger gnawed at him, sharp and relentless—like he could devour not just his own share, but everyone else's as well. And yet… he reminded himself that he was the captive. They were the captors. No matter the small comforts or fleeting invitations, that truth anchored him, cold and inescapable.
His mind raced—curiosity, fear, and the sharp ache of hunger colliding together. He wanted to move, to speak, to do something—but the weight of uncertainty held him in place.
At the same time, Jack tapped the white wall. Out of nowhere, a crack appeared, swinging open like a hidden door. Without hesitation, he passed through, stepping into the unknown beyond it.
The boy froze, bewildered. A door… appearing from nothing, leaving no trace it had ever existed.
Before he could make sense of it, a voice called to him.
"You're extremely hungry. Injections won't do the job of real food, as I thought. I'll have someone deliver something here. Rest—you'll need it."
Her voice—charming, heartwarming, as always—washed over him, though he barely knew her. It carried that strange familiarity that made him feel… safe, almost at home.
She rose from her chair. Around 1.7 meters tall with her heels on, her golden hair shifting across the shoulders of her gray suit.
She moved gracefully toward the doorway, her brown eyes briefly settling on him again. Each step was measured, deliberate, like a dancer threading across invisible strings. She stopped, turning back to him one last time.
"Don't mind him," she said, eyes sparkling. "Jack is always cranky. I'll check on you later. Bye." She waved lightly as she passed through the door.
And just like that, the wall sealed itself, leaving no trace that a doorway had ever existed.
The boy blinked, mind racing. How… how did she know he was hungry?
He sank back against the mattress, chest heaving. The room seemed impossibly silent now, filled only with the echo of unanswered questions. The metallic tang in the air seemed sharper now, more insistent. The steady hum of the lights above him suddenly felt deafening.
And yet… for the first time in this place, he didn't feel entirely alone.
He didn't know why, or how. Somehow, their presence had left a mark—soft, subtle, and terrifying all at once.