Namjoon meandered the hotel corridors attentively, restless eyes scanning the surroundings for every possible threat that his team might have missed.

He let out a small cough once the elevator arrived at the last floor. Even though all the windows were left open, the smell of smoke was still very strong, hovering in the air like an invisible poison that invaded his lungs and made it hard to breathe.

He proceeded to the penthouse soundlessly. Years and years in this business had trained him to be able to move extremely quietly, absolutely unnoticed by anyone. The front door had been left half-open, allowing him to peek inside. His ears detected the movement right away, seconds before his gaze fell on the tiny female form dressed in black and white, sweeping the floor.

All the cleaning ladies had already left the penthouse, except for her. Namjoon had seen her around many times and knew her well. He hadn't failed to notice how hard-working and diligent she was.

"Mr. Kim," she turned around startled, her tiny fingers clutching on the broom. "I didn't hear you coming. You surprised me." a shy smile crept up on her cracked lips. Unlike the other maids that were in their forties or their fifties, she was relatively young, probably around Namjoon's age. Yet, the bags that hugged her eyes made her look at least five years older.

"Layla, you should get going already," Namjoon glanced down at the clock on his wrist. "Your shift has ended an hour ago."

"Yes, yes, I was just about to wrap up here." she spoke quickly, tucking in a stray brunette lock that had broken free from her tight ponytail apprehensively. Something tugged on Namjoon's heart upon noticing the gray hairs on her head that were contrasting with the dark, hazelnut strands. So young and already gray hairs? She was so small, so thin. He wondered how she had the strength to even lift the broom.

"It's such a shame the hotel doesn't pay overtime," he mumbled. "Stingy assholes."

Layla gave a warm smile. "It's alright. I don't mind working late, even if they don't pay me," she shrugged. "It's not like I'm excited to go home early."

Namjoon nibbled on his lower lip. He walked up to her, patting himself for his wallet awkwardly before taking it out of his pocket and pulling out some cash.

"Here," he uttered stiffly. "Take this."

Layla's eyes rounded in disbelief as she stared at the money in his hand. "No," she said softly. "Mr. Kim, I can't-"

"Yes, you can," he cut her off impatiently. "And you should."

Her gaze fell to the floor. "Mr. Kim, I don't need your charity. I'm doing fine by myself," she bit her lower lip in an attempt to chase away the tears.

"No, you're not," Namjoon said. "And this isn't charity. Consider this your tip for working overtime. I'm not asking, Layla, I'm telling you to take it," he inhaled sharply. "It isn't much. It doesn't even begin to cover the hospital bills for your mother, but it should at least cover for some food expenses until the end of the month."

His face hardened, masking his emotions. He felt really sorry for the position Layla was in. He was suddenly overcome with the urge to help her, even though he didn't have much money for himself. That was the only cash he had on him.

She looked up, throwing him a furtive glance. It was evident she was struggling. Namjoon grabbed her wrist and practically shoved the cash in her hands.

"Thank you," she whispered. "I'll pay you up once I get on my own feet, I promise you. Thank you, Mr. Kim." Tears of gratefulness welled up in the corner of her crystal blue eyes, her eyelids fluttering.

Namjoon couldn't stifle the grin that stretched out on his face, nor did he want to. A wave of comforting warmness washed over him. It felt good to help, even if he hadn't done much. As he watched her bounce on her feet from joy, he was glad to be the reason behind Layla's thankful smile.

"Don't worry about it. Now go home. I'm sure your family needs you," he said, giving her a stern look.

Layla shook her head. "Not yet. I still have to take care of some things here."

"Like what?" Namjoon frowned, gesturing to their surroundings. "Everything is flawlessly clean already!" Considering the mess that the fire had left, it was a miracle the cleaning staff had managed to turn everything around in just some hours.

"This French window still needs to be cleaned," Layla pointed to the glass, small smoke particles scattered over the transparent surface.

Namjoon furrowed his eyebrows. "I'm not really sure if that's safe. What if you fall?"

Layla snorted a laugh, putting her foot on a chair so that she could reach the handle. "It's okay, I've done this a million times."

"Can't someone else do it?"

"Do you want to do it, Mr. Kim?" she peered at him, amusement written all over her face.

"I don't know if anyone should do it, to be honest," Namjoon shrugged, still worried. "We're so high up. I had never realized how dangerous your job is."

"Compared to yours, it's not dangerous at all, Mr. Kim," Layla beamed. She opened the enormous window pane, bending over to grab the cleaning supplies so that she could start scrubbing. "It's not like we're responsible for anyone's safet-"

"Careful!" Namjoon yelled out upon seeing her sway a little bit and stagger backwards. Time had seemed to slow down as he watched Layla's hand reach out to hold onto something but to no avail. His eyes darted to her pale face, both shock and horror flashing through it as her body twirled. An ear-splitting shriek escaped her as she fell behind the railing, arms spread apart and hair all over her face.

All of the muscles in Namjoon's body knotted up as he rushed forward to grip on to the railing and stretch his arm out to grab onto Layla's nonexistent hand. He was too late. Everything was a blur. A blur that made the blood in his circulation stop.

"Layla!" he cried out in despair. "Layla! Oh, god, no, Layla," Namjoon had never been an emotional person, but now his face contorted in a grimace of pain, an ache that was worse than any other physical pain he had endured. The tears burst out relentlessly and he did nothing to stop them as he couldn't stop looking down at her motionless form laying on the bare concrete fifteen floors down, her limbs twisted in forms that he knew were incompatible with life. She was dead.

"No," he mewled, the image of her terrified face as she fell still clear in his mind. He cursed himself internally, accused himself of how useless he was. He was there, he should have done something. He should have offered to clean the window himself. He should have been quicker. His reaction should have been faster. Why didn't he do something?

He laid his fist against the wall. Hopeless. That's how he felt. Regretful. Guilty. If only he had one more chance. If only he knew she'd fall. If only he could fix this. Do something different. Change. Repair this. Turn back time. Redo the whole thing all over again.

Namjoon opened his bloodshot eyes, fogged by the unstopping tears. He wiped them away violently and took a deep breath in. Suddenly, the colors around him started swirling and blending together. He took an unsteady step back, blinking several times.

An infinite darkness crept up around him, swallowing him and sucking him in. The air pushed against his face as he clutched feebly for something to hold onto. All of his surroundings fell away as the darkness consumed him. The vortex took him in, causing him to shut his eyes closed to keep them from the violent whirlwind.

Everything became quiet the next second. Namjoon suddenly felt the solid ground underneath his feet.

"I still have to take care of some things here."

His eyes shot wide open.

"This French window still needs to be cleaned."

Layla's delicate voice reached his ears as he saw her take a step to the window. His breath hitched in his throat. Deja-vu?

"Mr. Kim, are you alright?" Layla frowned slightly. "You're as pale as a ghost."

A ghost? Namjoon felt like a cluster bomb had exploded in his mind.

"Layla, you... yo- you're okay?" he rasped, stuttering the words.

She seemed perplexed. "Yes, I'm okay. I mean, thanks to you. I don't know how I'll ever be able to repay you."

"What do you mean? Repay me for what?" he questioned, a sharp edge to his voice.

"For giving me the money, of course. It was such a kind gesture," Layla's cheeks slightly flushed. "Mr. Kim, are you really sure you're alright? You don't look so good."

Namjoon gulped, his frantic thoughts swirling together in a surging hurricane. He rushed to her, hands darting to her sides, shaking her. "You're here," he said breathlessly.

"Um... yes, I'm here," Layla muttered. "I've been here for the last fifteen minutes since you walked in." she clicked her tongue. "Mr. Kim, something's wrong with you. I think you need to see a doctor. I'll come with you, but first I have to wipe that window real quick," she spun on her heel to grab her cleaning gloves.

"Oh, no," Namjoon growled, grabbing her by the upper arm roughly and dragging her to the door with unseen haste before she could even protest. "You're not going anywhere near that window."