The rain pounded heavily on the roof, a relentless drumbeat that filled the quiet house. Lightning flashed outside, painting the dim dining room in stark, flickering light for just a second before plunging it back into shadow. Thunder rumbled low and long, shaking the walls as a cold draft slipped through the cracked window, carrying the scent of wet earth and something sharper—ozone, maybe, or the metallic hint of distant trouble.  

Shin shivered, rubbing his arms. This storm’s got teeth tonight.

Across the table, Michael blinked sleepily at his half-eaten plate, his chin drooping toward his chest. Micah reached over and ruffled the boy’s hair, her voice warm but firm.

 "Looks like someone needs to go to bed."

"Are you done?" Shin asked, though it was obvious.  

Michael nodded, his voice soft as a sigh. 

"Yes, Dad."

Micah stood, taking the boy’s small hand in hers. Her fingers were calloused but gentle, a contrast to the storm’s icy breath creeping through the room.

 "Come on, let’s go."

The stairs groaned under their weight, each step a whisper of old wood. Micah glanced back to make sure Michael followed, her silhouette framed by the flickering hallway light

The house settled around them like a living thing.  

Then—BANG!

Shin jerked upright as the wind slammed the shutters against the siding. The noise was gunshot-loud, and for a heartbeat, his body locked into fight-or-flight. 

"It's just the wind," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. 

He pushed back his chair and crossed to the window, his pulse still thrumming in his throat. Rain lashed the glass as he reached for the latch—  

And froze.  

There. Parked across the street, barely visible through the downpour: a black car, engine off but not abandoned. His gut twisted. He’d seen it before. Yesterday, outside the gas station. Two days ago, idling near the playground.  

*They’re not even hiding anymore.*  

----

Behind him, the floorboard squeaked.  

A hand clamped down on his shoulder.  

Shin whirled—  

"What are you doing?"

Micah. Just Micah. Her head tilted slightly, the warm glow of the hallway light catching the gold flecks in her golden eyes. She studied him, her thumb absently rubbing the fabric of his shirt where she still held him. A casual touch, but her fingers trembled. Had she noticed the car too?  

Shin forced a breath out through his nose. 

"Nothing," he said, too quickly. "Just… looking outside." 

Micah’s gaze flicked past him to the window. The rain blurred the glass now, turning the streetlights into smears of sulfur-yellow. The black car was a silhouette, its windows opaque.  

"Are you expecting anyone?" she asked.  

"Not… really." The lie tasted like copper on his tongue.  

He turned back to the window—  

—and his lungs seized.  

There. Half-hidden by the downpour and the car’s bulk: a figure. Tall, shoulders hunched against the rain, standing too still to be a passerby. The storm should’ve made them a ghost, but Shin *knew* that posture. The way the head tilted, just slightly, as if listening for something.  

His pulse roared in his ears, louder than the thunder.  

SLAM!  

The sound ripped through the house—a shutter tearing loose, a window crashing shut downstairs. Shin’s body moved before his brain could catch up;

Micah flinched at the loud noise, her heartbeat quickening—a trapped bird against her ribs.  

"What the hell was that for?!"

she snapped, voice sharp enough to cut glass.  

Shin forced a stiff smile, the corners of his mouth twitching. He nudged her arm, casual as a man whistling past a graveyard. 

"Hey… uh… why don’t you… go upstairs and bring me my phone?"

Micah’s frown deepened. "Your phone?"

An awkward laugh punched out of Shin’s throat. He studied the ceiling, the walls—anywhere but her eyes.

 "Yeah… I-I think I left it there."

Before she could argue, he pressed a hand to her back, steering her toward the stairs.

 "Hurry!" 

Micah sighed but obeyed, her socked feet silent on the steps—  

KNOCK. KNOCK. 

The sound froze Shin mid-breath. His stomach dropped. Slowly, so slowly, he turned toward the door. His eyes darted to the staircase.  

*Empty.*  

*She’s gone.* Relief flooded him—  

BANG! 

The door burst inward in a hail of splinters. Three men filled the wrecked frame, their shadows swallowing the room. At the front, leaning on the shattered doorjamb like it was a throne:  

Linol.  

"You could’ve just opened the door nicely," he said, grinning.  

Shin’s blood turned to ice. 

"Linol…?" The name tasted like ash.  

Linol’s smile widened, all teeth. 

"So… you do remember me."

What was the last time Shin had seen that smile, The kind that didn’t need words to say:  

And now it said one thing, clear as a gunshot:  

----

Upstairs, Micah sat up with a jolt. Her heart hammered against her ribs—too fast, too loud.

 That wasn't the wind.

"What was that...?" Her whisper dissolved into the dark.  

Shin's phone felt like ice in her trembling hands. She crept toward the staircase, each step a silent prayer. Then—  

A shadow flickered at the bottom of the stairs.  

Micah froze.  

The scene below refused to make sense. Shin pinned to the floor. Two strangers twisting his arms behind his back. The chair screeching like a dying animal as it scraped across wood.  

And *him*—the smirking one with the gun.  

"Hold him," linol drawled.  

"Wait—what do you think you're doing?! Hey—!" 

Shin's voice cracked as a knee dug into his spine.  

The gunman—*Linol*—chuckled. The barrel of his pistol caught the light as he spun it lazily around his finger.  

"I could make this quick, but..."

A pause. The gun stopped spinning.  

"...where's the fun in that?" 

----

A small voice cut through the chaos.  

"Mommy...?"

Micah whirled around. Michael stood in his doorway, rubbing sleep from his eyes, his dinosaur pajamas rumpled. Her blood turned to ice.  

She lunged forward, scooping him up before he could see downstairs. His small body stiffened in her arms as she carried him back into his room.  

"What’s that noise?" 

Michael whispered, eyes wide.  

Micah knelt, gripping his shoulders. 

"Stay here." Her voice shook.

 "No matter what you hear. No matter *what*." 

"But Dad—"

"We’ll handle it." She pressed a kiss to his forehead—too quick, too desperate. 

"Be my brave boy. *Stay.*"  

The door clicked shut behind her.  

----

Downstairs, Linol's laugh slithered up the stairs 

The fist came out of nowhere.  

**CRACK!**  

Shin’s head snapped back, teeth clacking together. Pain exploded through his jaw, white-hot and dizzying. Before he could suck in a breath—  

*Another hit.*  

"Let’s get to the point," 

Linol said, rolling his shoulders like he was just warming up.  

Shin groaned, lifting his head. The room swam—Linol’s face blurred at the edges.  

"You know why I’m here, right?"  

"What are you talking—"  

A fist buried itself in Shin’s gut. All the air left his lungs in a whoosh. Ribs flared in protest as he doubled over, only held up by the goons wrenching his arms back.  

"You really thought I wouldn’t know you ran away with my money?" 

Linol crouched, tilting his head like a curious predator.  

How did he…? Shin’s thoughts slithered, slippery with pain.  

"And as stupid as you are…" Linol’s smile widened. 

"You didn’t even run far enough." 

Upstairs, Micah trembled. Her breath lodged in her throat, sharp as a knife. Her fingers dug into the doorframe, but her legs refused to move.  

The thought looped, maddening. 

Below, Linol straightened, towering over Shin. When he spoke again, his voice was a scalpel—slow, precise, and lethal.  

"Now, you know what I want, right?"