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The door to the interrogation room swung open, leaving Jungkook with a sense of whiplash. In strode the dark-haired figure from the day before—the detective with messy hair and stormy eyes that flickered with something close to irritation. Jungkook recognized him immediately. Yoongi wore that tired, disappointed cop look as well as he wore the shirt Jungkook had ruined.

Guess some people don't need words to look like they'd throw you out a window.

"Ah, the peach guy," Jungkook drawled, leaning back in his chair, a lazy grin curving his lips as he gestured toward the detective like they were old pals. "Didn't think you'd pop by so soon. Miss me?"

Yoongi's glower could curdle milk. "It's Detective Min to you, clown," he shot back, the words clipped and sharp. He stepped closer, the faint scent of coffee and stale cigarettes wafting off him as he reached down to unlock Jungkook's cuffs. "You're free to go."

Jungkook rubbed his wrists, feigning agony as if he'd just been freed from a medieval torture device. "No peach juice stains this time, huh? Guess you managed to wash away yesterday's sins. Still, sorry about the shirt."

Yoongi straightened, an eyebrow arched in silent challenge. The corners of his mouth didn't move, but the tension coiled tighter in the air between them. "You should be more concerned about yourself. Now leave before I reconsider and charge you with being a cocky idiot."

Yeah, I hear you loud and clear, Detective Peach.

Jungkook chuckled, the sound low and mocking. The silence hung between them, taut and electric.

"I was hoping Freckles would see me off," Jungkook pouted playfully, standing up and stretching as if he'd just woken from a long nap.

Yoongi barely acknowledged him, turning toward the door like he had better things to do—like staring down a suspect who actually deserved it. "Officer Lopez, process him out."

Before Jungkook could hurl another quip, a fresh-faced man bounded into the room, eagerness practically radiating off him. "Let's go, Mr. Jeon," Lopez said, his voice bright—a misplaced sunbeam cutting through the gloom.

As Jungkook followed Lopez out, he shot a final glance back at Yoongi. The man stood immovable, dark eyes like twin abysses, unreadable and unyielding.

Adios, peach guy. Here's to never seeing you again.

Lopez led Jungkook down the corridors, each turn revealing the same stale, institutional green that blurred into one endless tunnel. They passed other officers who barely glanced his way, their expressions locked in a mix of apathy and duty. Jungkook's fingers twitched slightly—a reflex he masked by running a hand through his hair.

As they reached the Property Clerk's Office, Lopez drummed a little rhythm on the counter, humming to himself as he dug out a clear plastic bag. "Alright, let's see here..." he said, pulling out each item with all the flourish of a third-rate magician. "One smartphone, one ID for a Mr. Jeon Jungkook, a grand total of thirteen dollars and forty-three cents, and..." Lopez's eyebrows lifted, and he leaned in as if this were the big reveal. "One wristwatch."

Jungkook reached for the watch, his fingers curling around the worn leather strap with something close to reverence. He lifted it with a slight frown. "Not just any wristwatch," he corrected, his voice low. "A Patek Philippe, 1954. Rare. Priceless."

Lopez nodded along with wide eyes and a light-hearted chuckle, as if Jungkook had told a joke. "Right, right! Special wristwatch, got it." He gave a little shrug, flashing a smile that bordered on oblivious.

Jungkook swallowed the officer's ignorance, sliding the watch onto his wrist. It was heavier than he remembered. The memory surfaced like a ripple on still water, catching him off guard—his father's hands, steady and large, guiding his own six-year-old fingers over the watch's gleaming dial. He could almost feel the warmth of his father's palm. His voice had been calm, carrying that rare gentleness his dad reserved for small lessons. "Time's slippery, Jungkook-ah. Learn to read it before it's gone."

It tugged at him, a phantom warmth mixed with a distant ache, a memory he hadn't invited but couldn't ignore. What would his father think if he could see him now? A half-stranger to himself, standing in a precinct with too much ink on his record and on his body and a bitter laugh for good measure.

He clenched his jaw, brushing off the thought with a familiar, hollow indifference.

What does it matter now, anyway?

"Just need your signature here, Mr. Jeon," Lopez said, sliding over a clipboard with a grin that was almost unnervingly chipper, like they were signing off on a delivery rather than handing back pieces of Jungkook's life.

Jungkook scribbled his name without a second glance, pressing the pen harder than necessary and leaving a slight groove in the paper. He handed it back, pocketing his ID and cash. As he turned toward the exit, his eyes swept the room one last time. He half-expected to see her lingering somewhere in the hallway, arms crossed, watching him with that maddening blend of irritation and intrigue.

But she wasn't there. Just more of the same tired walls and yawning fluorescent lights. Part of him felt the sting of disappointment, but there was relief too—an empty, nagging sense of freedom.

Outside, the air was dense and warm, carrying the iron scent of rain that threatened but hadn't yet fallen. Jungkook adjusted the watch on his wrist, the weight familiar, but somehow today, heavier than it had been in years. He squared his shoulders and stepped toward the parking lot.

The skyline loomed, a mess of dark glass and grit, washed in that hazy, neon glow that made the place look almost glamorous from a distance. But Jungkook knew better. There was no romance in Ravenport's filth—just people hustling to stay afloat. Himself included.

In the distance, he caught sight of a familiar slender figure lounging against a black G-Wagon, his G-Wagon, looking every bit like he owned it, and maybe even the city behind it. But what really threw him wasn't the attitude—it was the outfit.

Jungkook stopped a few paces away, eyebrows shooting up. "Is that... a hanbok?" He jabbed a finger, as if pointing might bring some logic to the fabric swirling in shades of royal blue and gold. "What, you think you're a Joseon prince now?"

Taehyung looked up, grinning wide, and gave a slow, theatrical twirl, arms raised like he was showcasing couture. "A man's gotta look his best." He reached into the car, pulling out another swath of silk. "And, my friend, I got you one too."

"Absolutely not." Jungkook crossed his arms, eyes narrowing at the silk dangling in front of him like some kind of joke he hadn't agreed to be a part of.

Taehyung raised an eyebrow, all innocence, tilting his head toward the marks faintly visible above Jungkook's collarbone. "Like I'm going to be seen with someone in an undershirt and"—his gaze lingered on the bruises—"a necklace of hickeys."

Jungkook's scowl deepened. With a muttered curse and a glare that could strip paint, he snatched the hanbok. "Fine. But if anyone takes pictures, you're a dead man," he grumbled, shrugging on the fabric and tugging it into place.

"Keep whining, and I'll buy you a matching headpiece," Taehyung shot back, tossing him a lazy grin before slipping into the driver's seat.

Jungkook slid into the car beside him, the fabric swishing as he settled in. The hint of Taehyung's citrusy cologne filled the car. Somewhere in all the sarcasm and absurdity, he found comfort—this back-and-forth felt like home.

God, I missed this idiot.

Taehyung glanced over, his expression briefly serious. "By the way," he said, keeping his eyes on the road as they pulled out of the lot, "Plan B's set. Got the bug installed, and the painting's already en route. Should be at the auction by morning."

The tension Jungkook had been carrying around like armor finally started to loosen, though he kept his expression blank. "Good. Finally, something going my way."

About time.

They cut through Ravenport's underbelly, where the neon lights cast garish reflections, painting the streets in streaks of sickly green and red. Passing under a set of blinking streetlamps, shadows danced erratically across the windshield, as if the city itself had secrets it was hiding. Jungkook leaned back, his mind quieting for once, his eyes half-shut.

At a red light, he pulled out his phone, scrolling through notifications until a message from Melanie popped up.

Oh, hell no!

A shiver slid down his spine at the thought of dealing with her again. But then he noticed a missed call from Mingyu, and with a sigh, he hit redial.

Two rings, and Mingyu's voice crackled through. "Well, well, look who decided to join the land of the living. Where were you last night?"

"Busy," Jungkook replied, poking his cheek with his tongue. "Tied up, you could say."

Beside him, Taehyung snorted, rolling his eyes. Jungkook smirked, tilting the phone away.

"Tied up? Is that what they're calling it these days?" Mingyu laughed but quickly turned serious. "Well, quit messing around and get to the club. We gotta talk."

Jungkook sighed. "On my way." He ended the call and pushed his phone back into his pocket. "Change of plans," he said, turning to Taehyung. "We're going to Headliner."

Taehyung's smirk widened, eyes glinting. "Should've known you'd be crawling back to the club. Let's roll."

With a smooth turn, Taehyung merged into the flow of traffic. The city stretched out before them, pulsing and alive, and as they sped toward the club, Jungkook let the thrill creep back into his veins.

Chaos or not, I'm still exactly where I want to be: in the game and one step ahead.

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A/n:

I know the updates
have been slow lately,
so thank you for your patience, my precious delulus!

2 things to look forward to
in the next chapter:
a lot of progress on the case
and an appearance of WWH - senator Kim Seokjin!
Who's excited?
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