shadows and sacrifice

At the Hospital

The fluorescent lights buzzed softly overhead, casting pale blue light down the sterile white hallway. The rain hadn't stopped. It tapped against the windows like it was trying to sneak in.

Elira stood at the nurse's station, soaked and breathless, her jacket still damp from the storm. Her eyes scanned the list on the clipboard.

Room 207. ICU. Mr. Lee Dong–Wook.

She bolted.

Her boots echoed down the corridor until she reached the room. The glass door was half open. Inside, she saw him—her father—pale, bruised, an oxygen line beneath his nose, IVs dripping rhythmically beside him.

But he was awake.

"Elira," he rasped, eyes flicking toward her the moment she stepped in. "You look like hell."

She let out a breath that almost turned into a sob. "You scared the shit out of me."

Mr. Lee tried to smile, but the effort tugged at his bandaged jaw. "That makes two of us."

Elira rushed to his side, pulling the chair close and gripping his hand—gently, like she was afraid he'd break again.

"What happened?" she whispered, eyes scanning his bruises. "They said it was a hit-and-run—how? Did you see them? Are you okay? Dad, talk to me—"

"I'm fine," he said softly. "Bruised ribs, a busted shoulder, stitches… but I'm still here."

Elira's throat tightened. "Who would do this to you?"

He was quiet for a moment. Then he looked at her, eyes sharper than they had been.

"I was locking up. Someone was already in the alley. Waiting. They didn't take anything—they just hit and left."

He paused, watching her face carefully. "Like they wanted to send a message."

Her stomach twisted.

"They knew where I'd be," he added. "Knew when I'd be alone."

She squeezed his hand tighter.

He studied her for a second longer—then asked, his voice rough:

"You came alone?"

Elira's breath hitched.

Mr. Lee sat up slightly despite the pain. "Where's Selen?"

Elira opened her mouth—but no words came out.

A beat passed. His eyes sharpened.

"Elira."

She looked down. "She's… she's okay."

"That's not what I asked."

There it was. The moment her lie cracked.

She couldn't meet his eyes.

"I told her to come," Elira said finally, her voice barely audible. "But she didn't listen."

His voice went low ."Where is Selen?"

She blinked fast."She's... She's fine. Just resting. I told her I'd come. She wanted too."

She tried to smile. It barely formed. "She was shaken, That's all."

Mr. Lee didn't say anything. He just keep looking at her.

Reading her. He knew something was wrong. Very wrong. 

"Elira," he whispered softly , but it wasn't gentle. 

It was a warning. The kind only a father could give.

"I don't like being lied to," he said, voice low and slow. "And you're a terrible lier when it comes to your sister."

Elira's throat tightened.

"She's..okay...really."

"Where is she ?"

She hesitated. Just for a second but Mr. Lee saw it. 

That pause told him everything.

"Is someone after her?", he asked, voice sharp now. "Did she go somewhere alone?".

Elira looked away, her fingers curling around the edge of the blanket. She knew she couldn't keep lying— especially not to her father. They weighted heavier than guilty.

"She didn't want to get you involved," she whispered.

Mr. Lee's jaw locked. He stared at the ceiling for a long . Then, he reached for monitor.

"I need to be discharged." He said flatly.

Elira turned to him, panic rasing. "Dad no, you can't! You're still bleeding—"

He looked at her and his voice now steel.

"Someone touched my daughter. Someone put their hands on my family. And you think I'm staying in this bed?".

Mr. Lee's hand hovered over the call button.

"I need to be discharged," he said again, quietly but firmly.

"Dad, no—please." Elira stood and stepped back, her voice trembling.

He looked up at her, sharp-eyed. "Elira. Where is Selen?"

She tried. She really did. But the weight was too much.

Her chest rose with a shaky breath—and then the tears slipped free.

"She's doing this to save you, Dad," she whispered. "You."

Mr. Lee blinked. The fire in his eyes flickered—but didn't go out.

Elira's voice broke open. "She went because they threatened your life. Because she thought if she didn't… we'd lose you."

Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, her breath catching.

"I let her go," she cried. "I let her. And now you're trying to leave, too? What am I supposed to tell her?"

She stepped closer to the bed, her face crumpling. "That I couldn't even take care of our father without her? That she went into hell while I stood here doing nothing?"

Her voice cracked into a sob. "You're all we have, Dad… Please."

She reached for his hand—gripped it like it was the only solid thing left in her world.

"Don't leave. Not tonight. Just… stay."

The silence stretched long and heavy.

And then—

Mr. Lee's shoulders softened, the fight in him faltering at the sight of his daughter's tears. But the one who did this? They'd never earn his forgiveness—only his wrath.

His face, bruised and tired, folded with emotion he rarely let them see. Not since they were little. Not since before they knew what the world was really like.

He squeezed her hand back, gently.

And in a voice low and warm, he said:

"Shhh, Princess. Look at me.....I'm not going anywhere."

Elira broke.

She sank to the chair beside him, crying quietly into his arm as he slowly, painfully shifted to hold her close.

"I've got you," he whispered.

"I've always got you."

________

Night. Streets of Seoul.

The rain had quieted, but the world still felt wet and waiting.

Selen and Nyra walked side by side down a dimly lit street, their coats pulled tight against the wind. Neither of them spoke. The city buzzed quietly around them—cars passing, neon signs flickering, distant music leaking out of half-closed bars.

But they were somewhere else entirely.

Somewhere between dread and defiance.

"Why haven't they said anything?" Nyra muttered, glancing over her shoulder for the third time in a block. "You think that was it? The letter, the hit… and now nothing?"

Selen didn't answer right away. Her fingers stayed curled around the phone in her coat pocket, like she was waiting for it to burn.

"They want something," she said finally. "They just haven't told me what yet."

"Yeah, well," Nyra snorted softly, "they sure know how to drag it out."

Their footsteps echoed against the sidewalk. The air smelled like wet asphalt and tension.

Then—

Bzzz.

Selen's phone lit up.

She froze.

The screen read: Private Number.

No profile. No trace.

And even worse—not hackable.

One single message, just ten words.

"Go to the nearby park. Black bench. You'll understand."

Nyra leaned in, reading over her shoulder. "What the hell…"

Selen stared at the words. Her pulse picked up.

"They're moving again," she murmured.

Nyra grabbed her arm. "We shouldn't. This feels off."

"Everything about this is off," Selen replied, already turning toward the end of the block.

The park lay ahead—just past a narrow alley, tucked between two tall apartment buildings. Quiet. Too quiet.

As they reached the edge of the entrance, the streetlights flickered—once, twice, then steadied.

The wind had stilled. Even the trees stood quiet, like they were waiting for something to break.

Selen stepped into the park, her boots crunching softly on the gravel path. Nyra followed two steps behind, silent now, every instinct in her body screaming that they shouldn't be here.

There it was.

The black bench.

In the center of it sat a single box—matte black, no markings, no tape. Just waiting.

Selen stared at it like it might detonate.

"You don't have to touch it," Nyra whispered behind her.

But Selen didn't answer. She stepped forward, breath shallow, and slowly reached for the lid.

Inside—

A folded letter. And beneath it…

A gown.

Black, satin , elegant and backless.

Fitted like something sewn for seduction.

For power.

For sacrifice.

Selen stared down at it. Her hands didn't move.

Nyra stepped closer, her voice barely audible. "What the hell is this?"

Selen unfolded the letter with slow, hesitant fingers.

The handwriting was familiar now. Too clean. Too cold.

She stared at the letter. At first, her brain refused to understand. The words swam before her eyes—too sharp, too cruel to be real.

Then it hit.

Her hands began to shake. Her breath caught somewhere between her chest and throat. And suddenly, she wasn't reading anymore. She was unrevealing.

The wind picked back up.

Nyra's voice cracked. "Selen…?"

Selen took one step back. Then another.

Her lips parted, but no sound came out.

"No," she whispered. "No, I can't… I can't do this—"

She nearly dropped the letter. Her legs went weak.

Nyra grabbed her arm, grounding her. "What did they say? What did they—"

Selen's eyes were wide, glassy. She didn't blink.

Nyra snatched the letter and froze in mid–stepped as she scanned the letter.

"No!... this can't be!.."

The word felt like poison on her tongue.

Silence closed in again.

And then—just behind them—

A camera shutter clicked.

Once.

Then twice.

Selen spun, heart hammering. But the street was empty. The trees didn't move. And the black bench behind her sat quiet again.

As if it hadn't just ruined her life.

[ To be continue..]