Adelia's hand suddenly slammed onto the table again with a violent rhythm.
Margaret jolted once more, her body reacting before her mind could even summon its defenses. Rachel's hand, which was just about to scoop up a single meatball, jerked in reflex. The meatball slipped, plunging back into the bowl with a splash that sent droplets of broth onto her chin, leaving a warm trail that she immediately wiped away.
"AHA!"
That small exclamation burst out instantly—loud but not disruptive, like a spark of fire in the still air. Along with it, Adelia's sparkling eyes locked onto Margaret.
"Since Rachel mentioned CATYOURS, why don't we change the subject and talk about them, Margaret?"
"You must know them way better than we do, right? You see them every day, you can greet them whenever you want. Just imagining you casually chatting with them makes me lose my breath!"
"How does it feel to talk to them face-to-face, Margaret? Does your heart race? Do you get all flustered and blush?"
"How handsome are they up close? You must feel like fainting every single day, don't you?"
"So... who's your bias? Gomsuk Oppa? Namsek Oppa? Sehan Oppa? Oduun Oppa? Or Bunhang Oppa—the cute maknae who gets jealous so easily?"
"So, who's your pick, Margaret?"
The unexpected barrage of questions from Adelia came in rapid succession—fast, hurried, like a storm of words hitting without pause.
Margaret's eyes widened, her shoulders tensing up. She wanted to take a breath, just to calm herself, but before oxygen could even reach her lungs, the next attack launched—this time from Rachel.
"I'm curious too, Margaret."
Rachel's tone remained level, yet there was a distinct push behind her words.
"Do you know what their debut concept is? Is it cute, sexy, dark, bad boy… or maybe a mix of everything?"
"And what about their music? Are they directly involved in the production process?"
"Are they filming their first music video right now, Margaret? You must know their detailed schedule through your father, right?"
"If you don't mind… could you share a little with us? Just a tiny bit. Just so we know where they are and what they're doing today."
Rachel's gaze still radiated her trademark coolness, but the way she fired those questions revealed another layer: an urgent curiosity, a hidden passion, and a small glimmer of excitement slipping through her calm—like neon lights reflecting off the surface of ice.
Margaret's mouth hung open for a split second, completely unintentional. Her gaze froze, like a marble statue that had forgotten how to breathe.
The shift in the conversation had come too fast—just moments ago, she was in the interrogation chair under a harsh spotlight, and then, in a heartbeat, the light had swung around, blinding her from a completely different angle. The topic now invading her space touched a territory she was desperately unwilling to open.
She took a slow breath—breath-takingly slow—before finally responding.
"Didn't I tell you both earlier? Don't expect more from me than what you already think."
Her tone remained flat, but it was crystal clear that she was maneuvering to avoid the subject.
"I never go to the agency unless I have official business to settle there. Because of that, I never meet them in person."
"Regarding their debut concept, their involvement in the production, or even their schedule—including what they're doing today and where they are—I have absolutely no idea."
"And even if I did know, I couldn't just tell you. Information like that is confidential, for their own security."
"Besides, didn't they mention during last week's live stream that they're preparing a surprise? If I reveal it now, it won't be a surprise anymore."
"We should respect and honor their decision. So… just wait patiently."
Margaret's long explanation caused the light in Adelia and Rachel's eyes to dim, their excitement fading into a sudden, heavy gloom. The hope that had felt so bright—so easy to grasp—was extinguished in an instant. Like fine dust, it drifted away, slipping through their fingers, carried by the wind until it vanished without a trace.
Margaret caught the change.
A small tug pulled at her chest—a faint urge to fix the atmosphere, to find a comforting word so their disappointment wouldn't linger. Her lips parted, ready to weave a new sentence.
But a violent sound cut through everything.
It didn't come from their table.
A loud thud—the harsh collision between a bowl and the wooden surface—exploded from the table across from them, only a chair's length away. The sound was powerful enough to make all three pairs of shoulders—Margaret's, Adelia's, and Rachel's—jolt in unison.
Margaret's gaze froze once more.
There sat Noor.
Both of her arms were wrapped in white bandages from the upper arm down to the wrists. Her face was a chaotic map of bandages, with fading scars peeking through the gaps. Even her legs were bound in tan bandages, lending a fragile air to a figure that was usually so full of life.
And as her gaze accidentally locked with Noor's, something made her blood run cold: the small murmur she had uttered back then—the one she thought was just a whisper to herself, lost in the air—had actually been heard. Someone had been listening.