The hours passed slowly, the tension in the mansion a palpable force pressing down on Hana as she sat alone in her room. The garden outside remained bathed in sunlight, but to her, it felt as distant as a dream. She could still see the boys out there in her mind's eye—talking, laughing, living their lives as if nothing had changed. As if they hadn’t ripped her from her own life and locked her away in this beautiful cage.

It was during one of these quiet moments, when her thoughts had started to drift into a haze of fear and confusion, that Hana noticed something—an opening. Her eyes scanned the room, and she saw it: a small window, high up on the far wall, partially hidden by the heavy curtains. It was small, but big enough for her to squeeze through if she tried.

Her heart skipped a beat as the possibility of escape flashed before her eyes. She could climb up, open the window, and slip out into the world beyond these walls. She could run far away, put as much distance between herself and these men as possible. The thought sent a spark of hope surging through her—a hope that she hadn’t felt since the moment they had taken her.

But almost as quickly as the hope appeared, it was smothered by the crushing weight of reality. Hana’s eyes darted back to the door, the memory of how easily they had found her when she tried to resist, the way Yoongi had snapped at her with such cold fury. Even if she managed to get out, how far would she really get before they caught her?

A shiver ran down her spine as she imagined the consequences of trying to escape. What would they do to her if she was caught? Would they punish her? Hurt her? She remembered Yoongi’s eyes—how they had burned with anger when she defied them. And then there was Jungkook, with his quiet but firm demeanor, and Taehyung’s soft smile that only seemed to hide something darker.

Hana shook her head, trying to push the thoughts away. She couldn’t take that risk, couldn’t afford to find out what they were capable of if she crossed them. The fear was too great, too suffocating.

She took a deep breath and turned away from the window, feeling her chest tighten as she did. The idea of escape had been nothing more than a cruel illusion, a mirage that vanished the moment she reached for it. There was no way out of this, no path to freedom. The mansion’s walls were as much a prison as any cell, and the men who had brought her here were its wardens.

Hana sat back down on the bed, her hands trembling slightly as she tried to calm herself. But the fear that had gripped her refused to let go, and before she knew it, her mind began to spiral down into the dark depths of her past.

A memory flashed before her eyes—sharp, vivid, and filled with pain. She was younger, maybe ten or eleven, standing in the living room of her old home. Her father loomed over her, his face twisted in anger, his hand raised high. She didn’t remember what she had done to provoke him, only that she had done something wrong, something that had sent him into one of his rages.

The first blow landed hard against her cheek, the pain radiating through her skull like a bolt of lightning. She had cried out, her small body crumpling to the floor as she tried to shield herself from the blows that followed. But her father was relentless, his anger fueling every strike. He didn’t stop until she was a sobbing mess on the floor, her body bruised and battered, her spirit broken.

Hana squeezed her eyes shut, trying to force the memory away, but it clung to her like a shadow, refusing to leave. She could still hear his voice, yelling at her, calling her names, telling her she was worthless, that she deserved everything she got. The words had cut deeper than the blows, leaving scars that had never fully healed.

She opened her eyes, staring blankly at the wall as the memories continued to assault her. They came in waves, each one dragging her deeper into the darkness. The nights when her father would come home drunk, stumbling into the house with the smell of alcohol heavy on his breath. The times when he would lock her in her room for hours, leaving her alone in the dark with nothing but her fear for company.

And then there were the times when he would apologize, his voice soft and sweet, promising that he would never hurt her again. But the promises were empty, as hollow as the man who made them. He would always go back to his old ways, the cycle of abuse starting over again, each time worse than the last.

Hana’s chest tightened, her breathing shallow and rapid as the memories threatened to overwhelm her. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to hold on to something, anything, that could anchor her in the present. But the past was too strong, too powerful, and it dragged her down like a riptide, pulling her back into the depths of her trauma.

She hadn’t even realized she was hyperventilating until the room started to spin, the walls closing in on her as panic gripped her heart. Her vision blurred with tears, and she could feel herself slipping away, the edges of her consciousness fraying as the terror overwhelmed her.

And then, through the fog of her panic, she felt it—a warm hand on her shoulder, firm but gentle, grounding her in the present. She gasped, the touch pulling her back from the brink, but she couldn’t bring herself to focus on who it was. All she could do was clutch at the hand like a lifeline, her body shaking with fear and confusion.

“Breathe,” a voice said softly, the tone calm and steady, cutting through the chaos in her mind. “Hana, you need to breathe.”

The voice was familiar, but she couldn’t place it. She was too lost in her panic, too consumed by the memories that had taken hold of her. But the hand on her shoulder remained, and she felt herself being gently pulled into an embrace, the warmth of the other person’s body a stark contrast to the cold terror that gripped her heart.

Hana’s hands clung to the fabric of the person’s shirt, her fingers trembling as she tried to force air into her lungs. The voice continued to speak to her, the words soothing and patient, guiding her through the storm of her emotions.

“It’s okay,” the voice said, and she could feel the vibrations of it against her ear, the rhythm of their heartbeat steady beneath her cheek. “You’re safe. Just breathe.”

She tried to do as the voice said, focusing on the sound of the words, the warmth of the embrace, the gentle pressure of the hand that held her. Slowly, painfully, her breathing began to slow, the frantic gasps turning into shaky inhales and exhales. The room stopped spinning, the walls stopped closing in, and she found herself anchored once more in the present.

As the fog of her panic began to clear, Hana became aware of the person holding her. She could feel the steady rise and fall of their chest, the way their arms encircled her protectively, as if shielding her from the world. And then, as her mind began to piece together the fragments of her consciousness, she realized who it was.

Yoongi.

Her body stiffened in his arms as the realization hit her like a shock of cold water. Her heart, which had just started to calm, began to race again, this time for a different reason. She pulled back from him, her hands shaking as she scrambled away, her eyes wide with fear and confusion.

“I’m sorry,” she stammered, her voice trembling as she backed away. “I didn’t mean to—I’m sorry. I didn’t know it was you…”

Yoongi watched her carefully, his expression unreadable, though the intensity of his gaze was softened by something she couldn’t quite place. He didn’t move toward her, didn’t try to stop her from retreating, but there was a calmness about him that only made her more confused.

“You don’t need to apologize,” he said, his voice low and even, as if trying to reassure her. “You were having a panic attack. It’s okay.”

Hana’s breath hitched in her throat, her hands clutching at her chest as if trying to hold herself together. The memory of clinging to him, of burying her face in his chest as she sought comfort, filled her with a deep sense of shame. She had shown weakness in front of him, the very person who had frightened her so much just days ago.

“I didn’t mean to… I didn’t know,” she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper. She lowered her gaze, unable to look him in the eye, afraid of what she might see there. “I’m sorry for—”

“Stop apologizing,” Yoongi interrupted, his tone firm but not unkind. He took a step forward, but when she flinched, he stopped. His hands remained at his sides, showing that he wasn’t a threat. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Panic attacks happen. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Hana bit her lip, the fear still bubbling beneath the surface, but there was something in his voice that made her pause. It wasn’t the anger she had expected, nor the cold indifference she had feared. There was a gentleness in his words, an understanding that she hadn’t thought him capable of.

But even so, the fear remained, and she couldn’t stop herself from retreating further, her back pressing against the wall as she tried to put as much distance between them as possible