I wake up to the sound of a door being shut beside me. My instincts kick in, and I quickly grab the knife from under my shirt, turning towards the source of the noise. My muscles tense, ready to strike.

“Oh, it’s you,” I mutter, lowering the blade as I take in the figure before me.

White sits there, silent and still, his expression unreadable. He reaches up to untie his long black hair, the strands falling loosely around his face and shoulders. His hair, dark as midnight, contrasts sharply against his fair skin, giving him an ethereal, almost ghostly appearance in the dim light. His intense eyes, a piercing reminder of his inner turmoil, meet mine with a cold, unyielding stare. He looks both striking and distant, a blend of strength and vulnerability.

We sit in silence, the only sound the whisper of wind through the broken car windows. The noise outside is a constant reminder of our desolate surroundings, but here, in this small, confined space, an awkward silence envelops us.

My sleepless nights have left me trapped in this endless loop of restless thoughts and unanswered questions.

Finally, I break the silence. “White, why didn’t you just create a single pill?” I ask, hoping for some clarity.

“What’s up with everyone today?” His voice is edged with frustration. “We’re not just some normal people who would share things so casually together.” He looks at me with a mixture of anger and menace. “I could kill you if I wanted to.”

I need answers. I can't just ignore the situation I got dragged into. I’ll push the buttons, even if it’ll kill me.

“It’s true that we’re not normal people, but if I’m working with you, I need to know exactly what I’ll be destroying and whom I’ll be destroying.”

“Be careful of what you’re asking,” White warns, his tone cold and serious. “Sticking yourself in a place where you are not meant to be will end unpleasantly.”

Unpleasantly? Rage flares up within me. “So you digging into my background is okay, but me asking a simple question will end unpleasantly?”

Something doesn’t sit right with me. This man’s name probably isn’t White… This aura—I’ve felt it before, but I can’t remember where or when. Digging up information about me isn’t easy either; the old man hid it all. How did White manage to get his hands on it? The more I interact with him, the more I question, the more I need to be cautious.

“Just who the hell are you?” My thought slips out, more a whispered challenge than a question.

White moves closer, and I instinctively press myself into the corner, feeling like a trapped bird. His presence is imposing, and the dim light makes his already intense features seem even more formidable. The air between us crackles with tension.

“Who I am is irrelevant,” he says, his voice cold and authoritative. “If you have a role, you must fulfill it to the fullest.” His eyes narrow, drilling into mine with a menacing intensity. “Understand?”

I’m scared. For the first time, I’m afraid of someone other than the old man. I feel his gaze cutting into me from the inside out. Meeting his eyes, I force myself to speak through my fear. “If I’m a tool for you, then let it be. But I’m the one who decides when that role will end.” I breathe heavily, trying to steady my voice. “I’m not your puppet.”

White’s expression darkens. “Shut up!” he suddenly snaps, his voice harsh and cutting. He thrusts his gloved hand forward, the black fabric stark against his pale skin. The anger in his eyes is intense, almost unrecognizable.

His outburst is unlike anything I’ve seen from him before—his demeanor shifts, revealing a raw and unsettling vulnerability beneath his controlled exterior. I flinch, not just from fear but from the stark realization that I’m confronting a deeply troubled part of him.

“Shut up!” he repeats, his voice trembling, the anger in his eyes a mix of frustration and something deeper—something almost unhinged.

White suddenly puts his hand on his face, his breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps. He backs away to the other side of the car, his movements jerky and disjointed. His heavy breathing slices through the silence, amplifying the tension in the confined space.

My heart races as I move cautiously closer, my gaze fixed on him. I can’t help but think, Don’t tell me he’s having a panic attack? A shiver runs down my spine.

“No!” His voice shakes as he suddenly grabs my collar, his grip desperate and pleading. “I’ll be good—just don’t hurt me. Don’t turn it on… don’t put me there,” he pleads, tears streaming down his face. “Don’t… please.”

I look at him, my concern deepening. “Who are you talking to?” I ask softly, trying to reach the person behind the panic.

I gently place my hand on his face, my touch intended to be soothing. “No one’s here,” I say quietly. “You’re safe. You’re not alone.” I keep my voice calm, hoping to ground him in the present and ease his fear.

“Violet,” he murmurs, his eyes locking onto mine with a mix of relief and exhaustion. He suddenly pulls me into an embrace, his grip tight and trembling. “Stay with me… don’t leave me.”

I hold him close, feeling the tremors of his body against mine. His breathing gradually steadies as he clings to me, and then, with a final shudder, he falls into a deep sleep.

As we lie face to face, I look into his features—his face, which could captivate anyone, now etched with a haunting mixture of pain and vulnerability. It's full of mysteries and secrets that remain tantalizingly out of reach. Just what on earth happened to him?