By the time the sun hits Seoul, you're standing outside a building that looks nothing like the photos on the website.

Fuck.

It's not that it's wrong—it's that it's too right. Sleek. Modern. Glass walls. A security door that definitely requires a keycard you don't have. A plaque by the entrance reads: JYP Entertainment — Artist Dormitory B. Not Seoul Arts Academy Housing Block C. Not even close.

A group of guys is spilling out the front door before you can backtrack. Loud. Tired. Fresh off what looks like a practice session, judging by the sweat-slicked hair and the way one of them is still pulling at the collar of his shirt.

You freeze.

The first one to notice you is tall. Ridiculously so. Dark hair, sharp cheekbones, eyes that sweep over you once, then twice, like he's cataloging a threat. Minho, your brain supplies randomly, because you've seen enough variety content to recognize him. Oh. Oh no. That's Lee Know.

If you weren't panicking before, you're definitely panicking now.

He stops mid-step. Tilts his head. Doesn't say anything.

Felix, your brain supplies again, unhelpfully.

The leader steps forward. Bang Chan. You recognize him from the dorm photos, from the behind-the-scenes clips, from the way he carries himself like he's already responsible for everyone here, including you, apparently.

Your phone buzzes.

Then again.

You glance down without thinking.

Unknown: You made it.

Unknown: Don't trust anyone there.

You look up. Chan is watching you with his head tilted now, sharp and assessing, like a problem he's trying to solve. And behind him, Felix's smile is fading into something more careful, more curious.

Wrong building. The words are on your tongue. Your mouth shapes them. But they don't come out right.