Somewhere down the hall, Changbin's soft snores filtered through the walls. A door creaked—Jisung shuffling to the bathroom, probably. The familiar sounds of eight other people existed around you, but none of them were awake.

Not for you.

The clock on your nightstand blinked 2:47 AM. You'd been staring at the ceiling for hours. The day had been long. Practice had been brutal, the choreography demanding, the vocal lessons unforgiving. Chan had pushed you all past exhaustion, and you'd smiled through it. You always smiled through it.

Your phone buzzed. A notification.

Your heart rate spiked.

You knew what it was before you even looked. The same message that always came at this hour, from the same unknown number, with the same offer.

Your fingers hovered over the screen.