The air smelled faintly of fabric softener and something sweet—the remnants of someone's late-night snack. The clock on the wall read 2:47 AM.

You stopped outside the door at the very end. Chan's door.

Your hand hovered over the handle, fingers brushing the cool metal. Your head was still spinning, the world tilting gently on its axis, and your heart was beating too fast for a hallway this quiet.

You shouldn't be here.

You turned the handle. It clicked open—unlocked, as always.