I lock my bedroom door behind me and lean against it, squeezing my eyes shut. My cheek still burns from where Dad hit me, and the adrenaline is starting to fade, leaving behind a throbbing headache. My hands are shaking, my breaths uneven.

I press the heels of my palms into my eyes and force myself to breathe. In, out. In, out. It doesn't help. I shove my chair back and sit down, gripping the edge of the desk as my head starts to spin. The world feels too loud and too quiet all at once, like something is pressing down on my skull. My fingers dig into the wood. I need to calm down. I just need to—

The first jolt comes fast and sudden. My fingers twitch, then curl against my will. My whole body jerks once, then again, and my vision blurs at the edges.

No. I try to move, to stand, to do something, but my muscles aren't listening. A sharp pain spikes through my head. My body seizes up. The chair tips backward. I crash onto the floor. My mind snaps into darkness.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

I'm running. The city streets blur past me, neon lights smearing against the rain-soaked pavement. Sirens wail in the distance. My heart pounds so hard I can feel it in my throat.

My feet slam against the ground. My clothes are torn. My breaths are ragged.

A sharp voice echoes through the alleyways. "Stop running!"

I don't listen. I push harder, lungs screaming for air, legs aching, but it's not enough. A shadow moves to my right. I twist, trying to dodge, but a hand snatches my collar, yanking me back so hard that I crash into the wet pavement.

"Got him!" someone shouts.

Pain explodes through my ribs. Hands grab at my arms, pinning me down. I thrash, but I can't break free. My wrists are yanked behind my back, metal snapping around them with a harsh click. Handcuffs.

"You have the right to remain silent."

I choke on my breath, gasping, but no air comes in.

"Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law."

My vision blurs. The buildings, the sirens, the lights—it all warps together. I squeeze my eyes shut. I can't breathe

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

My body jerks violently. Something tugs at my arm—a needle. There's a beeping sound, steady and rhythmic.

The lights above me are too bright.

I blink, my vision swimming. I'm not in the street.

I'm in a hospital bed.

I blink again. My throat feels raw, as if I swallowed glass. My limbs are heavy. The beeping sound—a heart monitor—is the only thing grounding me, keeping me from slipping back into that nightmare.

I try to swallow, but it's painful. My mouth is dry, my tongue feels swollen, and when I shift even slightly, my whole body aches.

Hospital.

Hospital.

Hospital.

I'm in the hospital.

I force myself to focus. There's an IV taped to my arm. The smell of antiseptic clings to the air. The sheets under me are stiff. My fingers twitch against them, but it takes effort, like my body still isn't fully under my control.

The door creaks. I don't have the strength to turn my head, but I hear footsteps.

"Minho."

Dariel.

His voice is quiet. Relieved, maybe. But also tense.

I swallow again, forcing out a sound, but it's barely more than a croak. I try again. "What...?"

"You had a seizure." He sighs. "It was bad," he adds after a moment. "I found you choking on your own saliva."

I frown. I don't remember that. The last thing I remember is falling to the floor, too wound up to think straight. And then...

The nightmare. The cuffs. The sirens.

I close my eyes. The feeling of suffocation had been real.

Dariel shifts in his chair. "I called 911. By the time they got there, you weren't breathing right. They rushed to the hospital." He rubs his face. "I thought you were gonna die."

I should say something. I should thank him. I should apologize for scaring him.

But all I can manage is a hoarse, "Dad?"

Dariel exhales through his nose. "Hasn't come back since he left. I didn't tell him anything yet. Not Mom, either. I thought... I thought maybe you'd be more comfortable without her bugging you."

Silence stretches between us. I can feel Dariel's eyes on me, but I can't bring myself to look at him. I stare at the ceiling instead. My mind is too hazy to process what he just told me.

"You scared me," he says finally.

I don't respond. I can't. My throat feels too raw, my body too heavy, my thoughts too tangled.

Dariel shifts again, the chair creaking. He sounds exhausted. "I know we were fighting," he murmurs. "But I didn't want—" He cuts himself off, shaking his head. "I didn't want to."

My mind drifts, replaying what happened before the seizure. Dad hitting me. The argument. My hands shoved against the desk, fingers curled too tight, trying to force myself to calm down. I should've seen it coming.

I close my eyes, and the dream presses against the back of my skull like a warning.

The guilt. The feeling that I did something wrong, that I deserved to be caught.

The fear of consequences. That something was always chasing me, that no matter how fast I ran, I would get caught.

I almost open my eyes when I realize.

The guilt. The feeling that I did something wrong, that I deserved to be caught.

Being in love with Luciana.

The fear of consequences. That something was always chasing me, that no matter how fast I ran, I would get caught.

Dariel.

I ran in that dream, but they still got me. They slammed me to the ground, cuffed my wrists, read me my rights. I was suffocating, and it didn't stop when I woke up. I betrayed my brother the second I realized how I felt about Luciana. Even if I never acted on it, even if I fought it with everything in me, I still felt it.

And I let it linger. Just like Dariel said.

I force my eyes open again. The heart monitor beeps steadily. My body aches with exhaustion. My fingers twitch against the hospital sheets.

Dariel is still watching me, waiting for me to say something. Maybe an apology, maybe just an acknowledgment that I heard him.

I want to tell him it won't happen again. That I'll stop, that I'll fix things. Somehow.