Jaemin's gaze lingered on the pendant with a strange heaviness.
"…Dahlia," he whispered, the name slipping out like breath he'd been holding for years.
Something about that pendant…
Something felt strange.
Something felt magical.
Dahlia blinked, startled by the tone in his voice. Her fingers froze where they rested over the pendant on her chest.
"What do you mean?" she asked softly.
Jaemin exhaled—slow, weary, as though the air carried weight from another lifetime. His eyes turned distant, drifting, sinking somewhere fifteen years deep.
"When we fell from the cliff…" he said, voice low but steady.
"When the waves pulled me under… I remember the cold. Everything fading. My lungs burning."
His voice trembled despite him trying to control it.
"I was… dying, Dahlia. Really dying."
Dahlia instinctively reached toward him, her breath catching, her eyes already glassing over.
He continued, gaze unfocused as memories swallowed him whole.
"I saw nothing but darkness. Then—"
A small shiver ran through him.
"—something warm touched my hand. And I saw light."
Her hand flew to her mouth.
"Your necklace," Jaemin whispered, breath shaky. "It slipped out of my pocket, and it glowed… faintly."
Dahlia stared, heart pounding so hard she could hear it echo in her ears.
"It felt like… someone lifted me. Like something was holding onto me when my strength was gone."
His brows furrowed.
"That thing… it kept me alive."
He shook his head suddenly, scoffing at himself, as if afraid to believe in anything impossible.
"But that's impossible. A necklace can't do that."
He clenched his jaw, rejecting his own memory even as it haunted him.
But Dahlia—
Her eyes widened with sudden realization.
"…Jaemin," she whispered.
"My grandma… she told me a story."
His gaze flickered toward her, drawn in by the softness of her voice.
She gently lifted the pendant, turning it to reveal the small engraving on its back:
C.G.W.
"Did you notice this before?" she asked.
"Yes," he murmured, barely audible. "But I never knew what it meant."
"It's my great-grandfather." Her thumb brushed over the old, worn letters. "Choi GunWoo. He was a soldier during the war. Grandma said he survived battles he shouldn't have… because of this pendant."
She looked up at him—eyes shimmering, voice breaking.
"I think… it kept him alive."
Her breath hitched.
"And maybe… it did the same for you."
A tear slid down her cheek.
And Jaemin—
For the first time since they entered the bunker—
moved without thinking.
His hand rose slowly.
His thumb brushed her tear away—
slow, gentle, trembling.
"Dahlia…" he breathed.
Her name sounded like a prayer escaping from a cracked heart.
"Thank you."
Before she could lose her courage, Dahlia reached behind her neck, unclasped the chain, and held the pendant out to him.
Jaemin froze.
"Dahlia—what are you doing?"
She didn't answer.
She stepped forward, lifting the chain.
And she gently looped the necklace around his neck, letting the Fate Pendant fall against his warm skin.
Her hands lingered—on his collarbone, on the curve of his shoulder—longer than she meant to.
"You need this more than I do," she whispered.
"You have to get better. Stay alive."
Jaemin stared at her—completely undone.
Emotion flickered in his eyes: fear, longing, devotion he didn't know how to show.
She softened her voice even more.
"We'll find that immortality stone… together."
Jaemin closed his eyes briefly—
just to breathe, just to steady himself, just to absorb the warmth she poured into him.
When he opened them again—
He wasn't alone anymore—not in this hideout, not in this fight, not in this life.
Meanwhile—the hospital aftermath
Dojoon stood outside the battered ICU, arm wrapped in bandages, jaw clenched hard enough to crack teeth.
The hallway looked like a war zone:
Broken glass.
Bullet holes.
Blood smeared across the tiles.
Medical carts overturned.
Three policemen dead.
Four critically injured.
His fists shook.
The Shadows weren't just assassins—they were a plague.
An officer rushed toward him.
"Detective Choi—there's something else."
Dojoon turned sharply.
The officer held out a small, steel tag.
A serpent coiled around a sword.
Dojoon's expression darkened like a storm.
"Black Viper," he growled.
The officer swallowed hard.
"Sir… are we still going after them?"
Dojoon stared at the destruction around him—at the ruined ICU doors, at the shattered window where Jin had stood watching him with that twisted smile.
"Yes," he said coldly.
"Even if it kills us."
His chest tightened as he turned toward the night sky outside.
He whispered:
"Noona… please stay safe.
Jaemin hyung… heal fast.
Come back to us.
We need you."
The wind carried his quiet plea away.
----------------
Far across the city…
Inside a towering private compound lit by red lanterns, a man sat silently.
Black kimono.
Long silver hair tied neatly.
Eyes like sharpened ice.
On the table:
A golden pipe.
Ancient scrolls.
Old paper maps stained with forgotten blood.
A viper tattoo curled along his pale wrist.
He was known by many names.
But one name silenced entire rooms:
Master Kurogiri Ren
The Serpent of the East.
The unseen ruler of Black Viper.
A subordinate knelt before him, trembling.
Ren's voice was soft—too soft.
"Now that the police are already moving…"
He lifted a scroll with delicate fingers.
"…I must find the immortality stone soon."
His cold smile deepened.
"The world is running out of time."
Back in the bunker…
Dahlia arranged the medicines, antibiotics, ointments, disinfectants, and bandages neatly across the bar counter.
When Jaemin stepped out of the bathroom—hair damp, shirt off—she straightened abruptly.
"We need to clean your wound," she said softly. "Apply the meds… and change the bandage."
He nodded.
"I'll do it."
She instructed him gently—step by step—what to take, what to apply, which ointment first, which second.
He said, quiet:
"Alright."
Dahlia stepped back, pretending to browse her phone on the bed, but her eyes kept darting toward him.
And when she caught sight of his bare back—
Her cheeks heated instantly.
He tried to wrap the bandage himself.
He struggled.
Her heart tightened.
She stood, hesitant, then approached him slowly.
"Let me… help," she whispered.
He froze—shoulders stiffening—then nodded slightly.
She stepped behind him and wrapped the bandage around his torso.
Her fingers trembled.
Her breath skipped.
Jaemin swallowed hard, chest tightening.
His heart pounded so loudly he was sure she could hear it.
Dahlia tried not to look, but her eyes betrayed her.
His body was covered in scars—old ones, fresh ones, stories carved into skin.
Her heart squeezed painfully.
When she moved behind him to lock the bandage in place, she saw it—
A gunshot scar—high on his back, below his right shoulder.
The first wound, fifteen years ago.
Her vision blurred.
She remembered everything—the fear, the blood, the boy collapsing into her arms.
She almost touched it—almost.
But she turned away quickly, hiding her face, clearing the counter, packing supplies with shaking hands.
"We're… done," she said softly.
"Put on your shirt now."
But the moment she said it—
Her tears fell—quiet at first, then all at once.
Her hands trembled as she gripped the counter.
Jaemin turned around instantly.
"Dahlia—? What's wrong?"
She shook her head, but the sob escaped uncontrollably.
Then she rushed forward and threw her arms around him.
She hugged him tightly, desperately, her face buried against his bare chest.
Her voice cracked:
"What happened to you…?
You've been through so much, Jaemin-ah…
All those years—you suffered everything alone…"
Her tears soaked into his skin.
"Thank God you survived, and I'm so… so glad you came back to me alive…"
Jaemin froze—then slowly his arms wrapped around her, pulling her closer, holding her like she was the last safe place he had.
He closed his eyes.
For the first time in fifteen years, he let himself be held.
And for a moment, the world above them—the assassins, the stone, the shadows, the storms—didn't exist.
Only them—two souls stitched back together in the quiet heart of an underground room where no one could tear them apart.