The night hung heavy above them, an endless canvas of deep indigo stretching far into the unknown, its stars flickering like quiet secrets shared between old friends.

Y/n and Jun-ho sat side by side in the car, their gazes fixed on the sky, yet their minds wandered in separate labyrinths of sorrow and unanswered questions.

The world around them was still, save for the soft hum of the engine, and for a moment, it felt as if time itself had paused, holding its breath.

The man they had found—he was not Gi-hun.

The detective, the police—they had searched for traces, but the elusive shadow of the games had slipped through their fingers.

Every day, Y/n's thoughts drifted back to Sae-byeok and her brother, to the tender memory of their shared struggles. She had visited him, each time spinning new stories, her heart aching with the weight of lies she told.

She knew she would have to reveal the truth to him soon, but the words seemed to lodge themselves somewhere deep inside her, refusing to surface.

And Jun-ho, sitting next to her, was just as lost.

His mind wandered back to the day he had seen his own brother—yet, when faced with the chance to confront him, he had been powerless. No closer to finding In-ho than the day he had first stepped into the game, the questions gnawed at him—why had he stayed? Why hadn't he left when he had the chance?

In this shared silence, they found solace.

The pain was raw, but it was familiar, and it wrapped around them like a comforting ache. They did not need to speak; their presence beside each other was enough.

Hands brushed lightly, fingers intertwining, a silent promise in the dark. They clung to each other, hearts bound by shared grief, knowing that, for now, they had one another.

In the quiet of that moment, the world felt unbearably vast, yet somehow, it also felt smaller.

The weight of uncertainty was still there, pressing down on them, but in the simplicity of their connection, they found a fragile kind of peace.

Because, in a world that was anything but predictable, at least this—this moment, this quiet togetherness—felt certain.

__________

The two years hadn't been kind to Y/n and Jun-ho's careers.

The chief had reinstated them with little fanfare and even less respect—Jun-ho now monitored traffic and parking violations, while Y/n was relegated to solving laughable mysteries that seemed designed for amateurs.

It was humiliating, but they found solace in each other.

Jun-ho's mother adored Y/n, welcoming her into their family with open arms and a heart full of joy.

"It's about time," she'd often say, her voice light with affection.

And Y/n's own family had embraced Jun-ho even thought he'd always been one of them.

Her father, Chan-yeol, treated him like the son he'd always wanted, even offering for him to move in. Jun-ho had declined with a gentle smile, choosing instead to split his time between his mother's home and his modest new apartment—one that Y/n had helped him decorate with her impeccable taste and an enthusiasm that left the space feeling warm and alive.

Y/n's brother, Ha-kun, hadn't changed much—still the teasing older sibling, but now with a girlfriend, Ha-eun, who quickly won Y/n's approval.

At a family dinner, Y/n had blurted out, "Are you sure he isn't bribing you to stay with him?"

Jun-ho had nudged her, her father had given her a sternly amused look, and Ha-kun had spluttered indignantly.

But Ha-eun's laughter had cut through the moment, her reply effortlessly charming.

"Of course not. All the money in the world couldn't have gotten me to stay with him. Unfortunately, I fell in love with him."

The table erupted in laughter, and Y/n found herself truly happy for her brother's choice for once.

Months later, Ha-kun moved in with Ha-eun, leaving Chan-yeol with an unfamiliar stillness in the house.

The memories of days when the house was filled with laughter, footsteps, and the chaos of the Shin siblings and the Hwang brothers lingered like echoes in the empty rooms. He often found himself sitting alone at the dinner table, the absence of his children a quiet ache in his chest.

Chan-yeol was grateful Y/n had let go of her relentless search for the games.

He had wrestled with the weight of the truth—the connection he bore to those cursed events—but he'd chosen silence. He wasn't lying, he told himself; he was protecting her from a truth that could shatter her.

Still, as he watched her grow closer to Jun-ho, saw the light in her eyes return little by little, he clung to the hope that his past would remain buried. For now, his daughter was happy, and that was enough.

On quiet nights, Y/n and Jun-ho would often return to his balcony or the hood of his car, gazing at the stars and sharing their dreams.

The pain of their pasts lingered, but it had softened, dulled by the love they'd found in each other.

This night the moon hung low, casting a silver glow over the quiet streets as Jun-ho leaned against the railing of his tiny apartment balcony.

Y/n was perched on the edge of his sofa inside, her feet curled beneath her as she flipped through a book they both knew she wasn't reading.

She was waiting for him, her gaze drifting occasionally toward him, soft and full of something unspoken. Two years had passed since the storm of their lives, and though their professional worlds had shrunk to shadows of what they once were, their hearts had grown fuller.

Y/n closed the book with a decisive snap and joined him outside, her arm brushing his as she rested her chin on the cool metal. "You know, if we could bottle this quiet and sell it, we'd make millions," she teased, her voice laced with fond amusement.

Jun-ho chuckled, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and pulling her close.

"Or we could just keep it for ourselves," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple.

The stars above seemed to shimmer a little brighter, as if in agreement.