The Grand Hyatt suite was silent when Joon-ho pushed the door open. The heavy click of the lock echoed faintly before the hush of the room swallowed it whole. No voices, no movement, only the distant hum of the air conditioning and the faint whisper of the sea outside the windows.
He let his bag slide from his shoulder to the floor by the sofa. The fabric slumped against the leather with a muted thud, breaking the stillness. For a moment, he simply stood there, taking in the emptiness.
It was a sharp contrast to the hospital, where every corridor pulsed with tension and hurried footsteps, every patient's sigh seemed to carry weight. Here, the world seemed to hold its breath.
Mirae wasn't here—he guessed she was still caught up with the TV crew, locked in discussions about salvaging a show that seemed to unravel further each day. He half-expected her laughter or her humming to fill the corners of the suite. Without it, the space felt almost hollow.
