Inside the main house, the storm rattled against the windows, a persistent drumming that underscored the growing unease. Do-yeon stood near the door, phone pressed to her ear, her brow furrowed in a deep frown. Min-su watched her, arms crossed, his cheerful demeanor replaced by a palpable worry.

"Still nothing?" Min-su asked, his voice low.

Do-yeon shook her head, pulling the phone from her ear. "She’s not picking up." A pause, heavy with concern. She redialed. The phone rang again, its distant, tinny sound barely audible, then fell silent. No answer.

Soo-hyun, lounging nearby with a drink in hand, took a slow sip and exhaled. "Relax. It’s just a storm, not the apocalypse."

Min-su exhaled sharply, glancing out at the deluge outside. "That’s not the point."

Soo-hyun merely shrugged, unbothered, though a flicker of something in his eyes. "They’re adults. They’ll be fine."

Do-yeon finally lowered the phone completely, turning to face him, her frustration clear. "That’s easy for you to say. You didn’t see her leave."

Soo-hyun raised an eyebrow, a silent challenge, but said nothing, letting her words hang in the air. Min-su shifted, glancing toward the kitchen. "And we don’t have a vehicle to check." Another pause. Do-yeon pressed her lips together, her jaw tight, frustration mounting in her eyes.

Meanwhile, on the back roads, the utility vehicle sat in the heavy rain, abandoned. Seo-jin’s phone lay on the passenger seat, its screen glowing briefly with an incoming call, the name 'Do-yeon' a pale luminescence in the gloom. Raindrops gathered on its surface, trickling down the screen, obscuring the caller ID. Then the screen flickered, the call fading out, and the phone went dark. Water continued to soak into the fabric of the seat, pooling around the device.

The rain poured relentlessly, soaking into the uneven ground around the unfinished house. Hyun-woo pushed open the door, stepping outside into the deluge, ready to assess the utility vehicle.

Then Seo-jin followed, pulling the padded jacket, over both their heads, creating a small, temporary shelter from the worst of the storm. Rain slid off the heavy fabric, cascading around them. Hyun-woo glanced at her, a hint of bemusement in his eyes, but he didn’t pull away. He allowed her to hold the makeshift canopy over them both.

"Just check the damn car," Seo-jin instructed, her voice a little strained above the sound of the rain, a blend of urgency and a fragile intimacy.

He huffed a soft breath, half amusement, but moved toward the electric vehicle. She stayed close, the jacket stretched taut between them. At the driver’s seat, he opened the door, leaning inside to glance at the dashboard. The battery warning light blinked. Red.

A slow exhale escaped him. Not ideal.

Then his gaze flicked down. Her phone sat on the seat, screen dark, slick with rain, utterly lifeless. Seo-jin didn’t notice. She was too focused on keeping the jacket steady, on maintaining their fragile shelter. Hyun-woo picked up the phone, turning it over in his hand. He pressed the power button.

Nothing. Dead.

He moved smoothly, unhurried, slipping the phone into the glove box. He closed it with a soft click, right under her nose, a silent decision made.

She shifted slightly, adjusting the jacket further over both of them. "Is it working?"

Hyun-woo straightened, shaking water from his arms, as if the rain were an inconvenient thought rather than a force of nature. "Battery’s dead."

A pause stretched between them, heavy with the implications.

He finally looked at her, not just a glance, but a direct, steady gaze. "Looks like we sit out the weather."

Seo-jin studied him, her expression unreadable in the dim light, rain still pounding around them. She said nothing, just nodded, a silent acceptance of their predicament.

They turned back toward the house, the jacket still stretched between them, a small, shared haven against the wild night.