Gggg

The air inside the mansion always smelled of old cedar and the faint, metallic tang of Jongho’s wires. It was a sanctuary, a fortress of stone and ivy owned by the only man among them who didn’t have a target on his back—at least, not for the reasons the rest of them did. Mingi sat at the heavy oak dining table, his fingers tracing the deep grooves in the wood. He was the only one who didn't shiver when Hongjoong walked into the room, and the only one who didn't flinch when Yunho’s temper caused the silverware to rattle against the plates.

"You're staring again, Mingi," Hongjoong said, his voice like the crack of thin ice over a lake. He took the seat at the head of the table, his movements stiff and precise. Even through his thick knitted sweater, the air around him dropped several degrees.

Mingi looked up, offering a small, lopsided smile. "Just thinking about the grocery list. We’re out of the tea Yeosang likes. And we need more protein if San is going to keep lifting the sofa to clean under it."

Hongjoong’s pale, frost-dusted lashes flickered. "You shouldn't have to worry about the mundane things. Not with everything else."

"The mundane things are what keep us human, Hyung," Mingi replied softly.

Across the room, Seonghwa was meticulously untangling a set of silk threads attached to a small wooden marionette. His fingers moved with a grace that was almost hypnotic. He was the bridge—the one who could walk into town without drawing a second glance, his presence so calming that people forgot to be afraid. He looked up, his dark eyes warm.

"Mingi is right," Seonghwa said, his voice a soothing balm. "If we stop caring about the tea and the dust, we become the monsters they say we are. We become nothing but weapons waiting to be fired."

The heavy front door slammed open, the sound echoing through the high ceilings. Yunho stormed in, his jaw set in a hard line. Behind him, the air shimmered with heat as Wooyoung followed, his hands shoved deep into his pockets to keep from scorching the doorframe.

"They were at the perimeter again," Yunho spat. As he spoke, a heavy glass vase on the sideboard slid six inches to the left, propelled by his agitation. "Three of them. Scanners, black suits. They’re getting bolder."

"Did they see you?" Hongjoong asked, his voice losing its softness.

"No," Yunho growled, his eyes flashing with a dangerous, synthetic light. "I wanted to crush their van. I could have folded it like a piece of paper. But Wooyoung pulled me back."

Wooyoung stepped forward, a faint wisp of smoke curling from his collar. "Because if you fold a government van into a scrap heap, they don't just send scanners next time. They send the heavy hitters. We can't afford a war, Yunho."

"I was built for war!" Yunho shouted, and the vase finally tipped over, shattering against the floor.

The sound of breaking glass was followed by a heavy, oppressive silence. From the corner, Yeosang winced, his hand flying to his chest. His eyes grew glassy, reflecting the turbulent, jagged spikes of Yunho’s anger and Wooyoung’s simmering anxiety.

"Please," Yeosang whispered, his voice trembling. "It’s too loud. Your hearts... they’re screaming."

San was by Yeosang’s side in an instant. He didn't use his strength to move furniture or break doors; he simply wrapped a massive, grounding arm around Yeosang’s shoulders, pulling him into the safety of his shadow. San looked at Yunho, his expression stern despite his usual gentle nature.

"Control it," San said firmly. "You’re hurting him."

Yunho took a jagged breath, his chest heaving. The stray pieces of glass on the floor vibrated for a second longer before falling still. He looked at his hands—hands that had been designed in a sterile lab to be the ultimate tool of destruction—and then at Yeosang’s pale face.

"Sorry," Yunho muttered, though the bitterness still clung to his tone. He turned and disappeared down the hallway, the heavy thud of his boots marking his retreat.

Mingi stood up, grabbing a broom from the pantry. He didn't say anything as he began to sweep up the shards of the vase. He was the only one who could do it without the risk of an accidental flare-up.

"He doesn't mean it," Mingi said to the room at large. "He’s just scared. We all are."

"I'm not scared," Jongho’s voice rang out from the balcony above. He was leaning over the railing, a thin, glinting wire dancing between his fingers like a sentient snake. "I'm bored. We spend all our time hiding in this beautiful cage you gave us, Mingi. What’s the point of having these gifts if the only thing we use them for is to keep the world away?"

"They aren't gifts, Jongho," Hongjoong said, his tone turning frigid. He stood up, and a thin layer of frost bloomed across the surface of the table where his hands had rested. "They are scars. Every time you use those wires, you remind them why they want us in cages. We stay hidden to stay alive."

Jongho flicked his wrist, and the wire retracted into his sleeve with a sharp *zip*. "Survival isn't the same as living, Hyung."

He walked away, leaving the tension to settle like dust.

Wooyoung sighed, leaning against the wall. The temperature in the room had risen several degrees since he entered, and sweat began to bead on Mingi’s forehead. Seeing this, Wooyoung immediately backed away, heading toward the kitchen.

"I'll start dinner," Wooyoung said, his voice muffled. "Maybe some spicy stew will distract everyone from wanting to kill each other."

As the group dispersed, leaving only Mingi and Hongjoong in the dining room, the silence grew heavy again. Mingi finished sweeping and dumped the glass into the bin. He walked over to Hongjoong, who was staring out the window at the darkening woods.

Mingi reached out, hesitating for a moment before placing his hand on Hongjoong’s shoulder. The cold was instantaneous, a biting chill that seeped through Mingi’s skin and made his bones ache. He didn't pull away.

"Your hands are freezing, Hongjoong-ah," Mingi said softly.

"I know," Hongjoong replied, not turning around. "I can't help it. The more I worry, the colder it gets. I feel like I'm turning into a glacier, and one day, I’ll just freeze this whole house solid."

"I'll just buy more heaters," Mingi joked, though his voice was thick with emotion. "I have the money. My parents left enough for a lifetime of electricity bills."

Hongjoong finally turned, his eyes searching Mingi’s face. "Why do you do it? You’re the only one who could walk out that front door and never look back. You could have a normal life. A wife, a job, friends who don't break things when they get frustrated."

Mingi smiled, and this time it reached his eyes. "Because my parents were like you. They spent their whole lives running until they couldn't run anymore. They died making sure I had this house so that I could be the one to stop the running. You guys aren't my burdens, Hongjoong. You're my family. And besides," he added, nudging the leader’s arm, "who else is going to make sure San doesn't accidentally pull the roof down while trying to catch a spider?"

A small, genuine smile broke through Hongjoong’s icy exterior. It was fleeting, but it was there. He reached out and briefly touched Mingi’s cheek. The cold was sharp, but Mingi leaned into it.

"You're a strange human, Song Mingi," Hongjoong whispered.

"I'm the normal one, remember?" Mingi teased. "Now, come on. If we don't go help Wooyoung, he’s going to burn the stew again, and then Yunho will get grumpy, and Yeosang will start crying, and I really don't want to buy another vase."

They walked toward the kitchen together, the sound of their footsteps a rhythmic pulse against the quiet of the mansion. Outside, the world was harsh and unforgiving, filled with people who saw them as anomalies to be studied or threats to be eliminated. But inside these walls, amidst the frost and the fire, the wires and the shadows, there was a fragile sort of peace.

In the kitchen, Seonghwa was already helping Wooyoung chop vegetables, his puppets sitting on the counter like silent observers. San was showing Yeosang a book, his voice low and rhythmic as he tried to soothe the empath's frayed nerves. Jongho was sitting on a stool, his wires absent for once as he focused on peeling an orange.

Yunho was the last to join them. He stood in the doorway, looking uncertain, his large frame making the space feel small.

"There’s a spot by the stove, Yunho," Mingi called out, gesturing with a wooden spoon. "I need someone to stir the pot. Someone who won't complain about the heat."

Yunho hesitated, then moved forward. As he passed Yeosang, he reached out and awkwardly patted the younger boy’s head. Yeosang looked up and smiled, the jagged edges of his aura smoothing out.

As they gathered around the stove, the air was a chaotic mix of temperatures and energies. It was a mess of abilities and trauma, a group of people who had been told they didn't belong anywhere. But as the steam from the stew rose and the sound of bickering and laughter filled the room, the fear of the outside world seemed to fade, if only for an hour.

They didn't use their powers without reason, but here, in the heart of the mansion, they didn't have to. Here, they were just people.

"Mingi," Wooyoung said, poking the human in the ribs. "You forgot the salt."

"I didn't forget the salt, you just have no taste buds because you eat everything charred," Mingi shot back.

"Hey!"

The laughter that followed was the loudest sound in the house, louder than any explosion or slamming door. It was the sound of a sanctuary holding firm against the dark. And as the sun set behind the trees, casting long shadows across the lawn where the scanners had been, the eight of them sat down to eat, bound together by a bond that no lab could replicate and no hunter could break.