The door slammed shut behind them, and for a second, it felt like the whole city exhaled.
Ko Zay leaned against it, heart still thudding against his ribs like it hadn't realized they were safe yet. His hand was trembling, he realized. Not from pain, but from adrenaline that hadn't quite worked its way out of his bloodstream.
Kyaw Lin tossed the plastic bag onto the coffee table, its contents clattering louder than they should have—burn ointments, gauze, a bottle of whiskey, two packs of cigarettes. None of them spoke. They just… stood there. Soaking in the silence like it might wash the fear off their skin.
Ko Aung was the first to move, but even that was slow. He didn't say anything, just walked to the sink and let the tap run. The cold water hit the raw spot on his forearm, and he hissed. Not loudly. Just a quiet breath between clenched teeth.
"You okay?" Ko Zay asked, finally pulling himself away from the door.
Ko Aung nodded. "It's not bad. Burns more because it almost got me." He gave a weak laugh, but it didn't stick. It came out brittle.
Kyaw Lin opened the burn cream and dropped to his knees beside Ko Aung, wordlessly dabbing at the red skin. "We got lucky," he muttered. "So fucking lucky."
No one said Min Zaw's name out loud.
Ko Zay sank into the couch and peeled his soaked shirt over his head. A pink patch on his shoulder was already starting to swell. He touched it gingerly and winced.
"She didn't hesitate," he said. "She didn't even blink. Just threw it."
Ko Aung nodded slowly, his eyes distant. "That kind of hatred… you don't fake that."
Kyaw Lin stood up, reaching for the whiskey. He didn't bother with ice or mixers—just poured three shots and set the glasses down without a word. They all reached for one. This was one of those silences where drinking felt like breathing. Necessary.
They drank.
Ko Zay ran both hands over his face and through his wet hair, then looked up at the ceiling like it might offer answers. "I was just going for a smoke," he said. "Didn't even notice her. Didn't feel her behind me."
"I did," Kyaw Lin said. "Something about her didn't sit right. The way she moved. Not festive. Just… waiting."
"And you led her away," Ko Aung said, giving him a small nod. "Could've gone really wrong."
Kyaw Lin didn't respond. He just looked down at his hands, the faint pink marks where the acid had nicked him. "She's not finished. You saw the way she looked at us when we cornered her. That wasn't panic. That was rage. And she'll carry it with her until she finishes whatever she started."
They all knew what he meant.
Ko Zay leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, the whiskey still in his hand. "Min Zaw didn't deserve that," he said quietly. "None of us did. I don't even know why she's doing this."
"Maybe you do," Ko Aung said, his voice calm, but firm. "You just haven't admitted it yet."
Ko Zay looked up sharply. But he didn't deny it.
There was a beat of silence. Then another. The kind where all three of them were thinking the same thing but none of them wanted to be the one to say it first.
They sat like that for a while—burns stinging, hearts pounding slower now, the weight of something bigger than all of them pressing down on the room.
"She'll come again," Ko Aung said at last. "She's angry. And she's not finished."
Ko Zay took a deep breath and exhaled shakily. "Then next time… we don't run."
Kyaw Lin didn't say anything. He was still looking at the photo. Still trying to figure out how joy and horror could exist in the same frame.