Morning.

Soft sunlight slipped through the glass panels, reflecting off the cars lined across the lot. Namtan pulled into the company parking space like any other day — the way she killed the engine and unbuckled her seatbelt was so smooth that anyone watching would think she was having a peaceful morning.

Until she happened to glance at the back door.

A long scratch — sharp like a claw mark — stretched across the side of the car, running from the handle all the way to the tail. It wasn’t an accidental scrape from another vehicle. The cut was deep. Straight. Like someone had deliberately etched it in with something sharp.

Namtan frowned. She stepped out, crouched to take a closer look.

That was when her eyes landed on something small and black beneath the car — tucked just beside the chassis, half-hidden by dirt and yesterday’s rainwater.

She picked it up.

A GPS tracker.

For a split second, Namtan’s gaze darkened. Not out of fear. But because one name flashed across her mind before anything else.

Film.

She immediately pulled out her phone and called.
“Film, you’re at the studio, right?”

“Yes, I’m about to head into makeup. Why? Did something happen?”

“It’s nothing…” Namtan stared at the tracker lying cold in her palm, voice dropping low. “...I just wanted to make sure you’re safe.”

There was a pause on the other end — not long, but long enough to hear worry seep through the line.
“Namtan… what happened?”

“I’ll tell you when we meet.”

She ended the call. Her eyes lowered — as if a decision had been made.

---

Less than an hour later.

The small company meeting room was so quiet they could hear the AC humming. Six people sat around the table. No coffee. No water. No small talk. The tracking device lay in the center like a piece of dark, frozen evidence.

Bonnie crossed her arms, expression sterner than ever.

“So we’re not just being watched online anymore.”

Film nodded lightly — her voice low, but steady.
“This isn’t just defamation. This is deliberate contact.”

Milk leaned back in her chair, gaze so cold that Love beside her instinctively glanced her way before looking off again.
“A tracker on your car? She’s waiting for the moment Namtan goes somewhere alone.”

Everyone turned to Namtan.

She wasn’t panicked. She wasn’t angry. She simply placed her hands on the table, back straight, voice firm.
“To stay safe, we don’t separate anymore. Starting today, we move in pairs.”

Love reacted first — without a second of hesitation.
“Then let’s keep the current groups. Namtan with Film, Emi with Bonnie, I go with Milk.”

No objections. No jokes. Just silent agreement.

Emi’s head lowered, hands clasped — her usually composed face now holding a visible strain.
“Don’t underestimate her. Mim… if she’s already gone this far, she won’t stop here.”

The words drew everyone’s eyes to her. Emi didn’t look up.

Film looked at each of them one by one, as if imprinting the moment into her mind — then spoke clearly.
“From now on, neither Namtan — nor any of us — will face this alone.”

Namtan nodded slowly. She didn’t speak, but her eyes softened. Just a little — enough to say thank you, without sound.

---

A few blocks away, wind howled across a rooftop, tugging the edge of someone’s coat.

Mim leaned against the railing, face calm as if admiring the view. But in her eyes — something dark was gathering, like a sky preparing for storm.

View stood a step behind her, arms crossed. But this time — there was no hint of casualness in her gaze.
“Are you sure you have to go that far? You know this isn’t just a scandal anymore — this is—”

“—I know what I’m doing.”

Cut clean. Cold.

Mim didn’t look back. She simply stared down at the cars below — tiny as matchboxes — and spoke like telling a simple truth.
“If I can’t be with Emi… then at least I want her to know what it feels like to lose someone dear.”

There was no hatred in her voice.

Just… a chilling obsession.

View stood frozen. The wind slammed against the railing with a metallic clack, like the sound of a lock being turned.

Moments later, Mim turned toward the stairwell, whispering — not clear whether to herself or for View to hear.
“…A little pain is good. She’ll never forget me again.”

The steel door shut behind her with a clang — like a door closing inside someone’s chest, sealing off the last way back.

View remained still. For the first time since following Mim, she understood — some people, once guided by their obsessions, will walk straight into the dark without ever looking back.

---

Afternoon.

Namtan and Film left the set together. Sunlight slanted along the corridor. Film stayed quiet — but she walked just a step closer. The brush of shoulders and the scent of Namtan’s perfume steadied her — like as long as she was here, nothing could go wrong.

Elsewhere, Bonnie left the review room with Emi. She held Emi’s hand tightly. Refused to let go — as if the moment she loosened her grip, something else would slip between them. Emi said nothing. But her thumb stroked the back of Bonnie’s hand — slow, steady taps, saying I’m here. No one else touches you.

Milk drove slower than usual, taking an extra detour “to swing by the company and grab something.” A clumsy excuse — but enough so that when Namtan and Film reached the lot, Milk and Love were already standing there, pretending to say “oh my god, I forgot my wallet in the meeting room.”

No one said it aloud — but they were moving as one. A formation built without commands.

---

Night.

Film sat in the living room, wind from the open window stirring the curtains. She picked up her phone — last night’s anonymous message still there.

“Don’t get too happy. The fun’s just begun.”

No emoji. No signature. No retreat.

Film pressed her lips together. Her hand rested on her chest — where yesterday’s warmth from their six-person promise still lingered.

In that moment, she realized — she wasn’t afraid.

What was far scarier… was the thought of the people she loved getting dragged in.

She stared at the message one more time — then powered off her phone.

Her gaze was calm.

But deep inside, another wind had begun to rise.

The storm
was right at the door.

And this time — none of the six were spectators anymore.