The firehouse doors swung open with a slow, heavy creak.
Jin stepped in first, his boots hitting the tiled floor with a dull thud. The air inside was thick—not dusty, not stale, but still.
Like the place was waiting.
The others followed in behind him, their footsteps echoing lightly in the vast, open space. The firehouse was intact. More than that, it was untouched. The high ceilings stretched over them, red-painted walls lined with equipment, fire suits still hanging neatly in their lockers.
And yet, something was wrong.
Jin's eyes moved carefully over the details.
A duffel bag sat on a bench, partially unzipped. It was packed, but whoever owned it never finished closing it.
A chair had been pushed back from the main desk, as if someone had just stood up but never sat back down.
The fire truck was still parked in the bay, its doors open, keys still in the ignition.
People were here.
Not days ago. Recently.
And yet, the map had marked this place as unoccupied.
