It was one of those Seoul nights where the rain came down in sheets, relentless and cold, hammering against the windows of the Stray Kids dorm like it wanted to break in. The city lights blurred behind streaks of water, and the streets below were nearly empty — sensible people were home, dry, safe.

Inside, the dorm was quiet, save for the low hum of a video game from the living room and the occasional clatter of chopsticks from the kitchen. It was a rare rest night. No schedules. No cameras. Just eight boys existing in the same space, each lost in their own thoughts.

The knock was soft. So soft it was almost lost beneath the storm.

But Chan heard it. He was nearest the door, laptop open on the coffee table, a half-finished track glowing on the screen. He frowned, glancing toward the hallway. Nobody visited at this hour. Not without texting first.

The knock came again — hesitant, trembling, like whoever was on the other side wasn't sure they had the right to ask for help.

Chan stood. The others noticed the shift in the air. Hyunjin looked up from his sketchpad. Felix paused mid-sentence in the kitchen. The room held its breath.

When Chan opened the door, the rain blew in first — cold and sharp — and then he saw her.

Y/n stood on the doorstep. Soaked through. Her hair plastered to her face, her clothes torn and clinging to her frame. She was shaking so violently she could barely stay upright. And she was covered in blood.

Some of it was dried, dark and cracking against her skin. Some of it was fresh, streaking down her arms and mixing with the rain. Bruises bloomed across her jaw and collarbone. Scars — old and new — traced angry lines over her wrists and shoulders.

For a long, terrible moment, no one spoke.

Then Y/n's eyes met Chan's. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Just a ragged, broken breath. A sob caught in her throat.

She swayed on her feet.