The trio arrived at an unassuming apartment building on the outskirts of the city.

The streetlights flickered, casting long shadows across the cracked pavement. The air was thick with the kind of silence that hummed with unspoken threats.

Taehyung knocked twice on a weathered wooden door, his expression unreadable.

"Who are we meeting?" YN asked, her voice low as she glanced around the dimly lit hallway.

"Park Jimin," Taehyung replied, his tone clipped.

Before YN could press further, the door creaked open just an inch. A sharp click echoed—a knife being readied.

"Don't move."

The voice from behind the door was smooth but laced with quiet danger. Not just a threat—an evaluation. 

YN's pulse quickened.

 She instinctively reached for her pocket, fingers brushing against cold steel.

Jungkook, unfazed, stepped forward with a slow, knowing smirk. "Still as dramatic as ever, huh, Jimin?"

There was a beat of silence before the door fully opened, revealing Jimin.

He stood there, spinning the knife between his fingers with a practiced ease. His gaze flicked over them like he was assembling a puzzle, picking out weaknesses and intentions before he spoke.

"Had to make sure it wasn't someone sent to kill me," he muttered, slipping the knife into his boot. His sharp eyes shifted to Taehyung. "Why are you here?"

"We need you," Taehyung said simply.

Jimin leaned against the doorframe, arching a brow. "Really? Since when does the great Kim Taehyung ask for help?"

Taehyung met his gaze evenly. "Since this case escalated beyond what I can handle alone." He handed Jimin a thin file.

Jimin didn't take it immediately. 

Instead, he studied Taehyung's face, searching for something unspoken before he finally took the file. He flipped through the pages, his expression hardening as he scanned the photos and notes.

"This is connected to...?" His voice was quieter now.

"Yes," Taehyung interrupted. "Namjoon and the underground organization."

Jimin's lips pressed into a thin line. He closed the file with a snap. "And what do I get out of this?"

"You want answers," Taehyung replied. "And I know you've been looking. We're your best shot at finding them."

A long silence stretched between them before Jimin exhaled through his nose, a quiet chuckle escaping. "You always were good at leverage."

Then, finally, he looked at YN for the first time. His eyes were sharp, assessing.

"And who's this?"

"YN," Taehyung answered. "She's already in."

Jimin tilted his head slightly before extending a hand to her, his smile laced with something she couldn't quite place. "Welcome to the chaos."

YN hesitated for a fraction of a second before shaking his hand. 

His grip was steady, firm—but there was something beneath it, something controlled. Like he was gauging her reaction.

Jungkook clapped his hands together, breaking the moment. "Great. Now that we've got Jimin, we're unstoppable, right?"

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Jimin murmured, stepping aside. "Come in. If we're doing this, I want every detail. No secrets."

Taehyung's gaze flickered for just a second before he nodded. "No secrets."

But as YN stepped into the dimly lit apartment, she had the distinct feeling that secrets were exactly what this team thrived on.

Inside, the apartment was precise—every item placed with purpose. No distractions. No comfort. 

Just function. 

The dim light from a single desk lamp cast flickering shadows on the walls, making everything feel sharper, more calculated.

Jimin leaned against the counter, watching YN with a smirk that didn't quite reach his eyes. "So," he said, his voice smooth, "YN, huh? You don't strike me as the type to work with someone like Taehyung."

YN arched a brow. "And what type would that be?"

Jimin's smirk deepened, but there was an edge to it now. "Straight-laced. Obedient. Someone who doesn't question authority."

"Good thing I'm none of those," YN shot back, her tone even.

Taehyung's voice cut through the moment like a blade. "Jimin."

Jimin lifted his hands in mock surrender. "Relax. I'm just getting to know our new teammate."

Jungkook snorted. "You always do this. Give her a break."

But Jimin wasn't done. He stepped a little closer to YN, lowering his voice. "You've got guts, keeping up with Taehyung. He's not exactly known for his patience."

YN's eyes flicked to Taehyung, who was already focused on spreading case files across the coffee table. His sharp features were half-lit by the desk lamp, his mind clearly elsewhere.

"He gets the job done," she said simply.

Jimin tilted his head. "That he does. But let me give you some advice—if you ever feel overwhelmed, I'm here. I make things... easier."

YN held his gaze, unflinching. "I'll keep that in mind."

Taehyung cleared his throat, pointedly not looking up. "Jimin, if you're done, we have a case to discuss."

Jimin sighed, stepping back. "Fine, boss. Let's get to work."

But as he picked up a photo from the table, his teasing smirk vanished, replaced by something sharp and unreadable.

"So, what's the plan?" he asked, glancing at Taehyung before briefly flicking his gaze back to YN.

Taehyung's voice was steady. "We have a lead on a location tied to the organization. It's heavily guarded. That's where you come in."

Jimin exhaled through his nose, the barest hint of amusement in his eyes. "Breaking and entering? Now that's something I can work with."

Taehyung nodded. "We move at dawn. Be ready."

Jimin's gaze lingered on YN for just a second before he smirked, but this time, it was different. Quieter. More thoughtful.

YN ignored the feeling creeping up her spine and focused on the task ahead.

Because she already knew—this mission was about to get very complicated.

The dimly lit room reeked of sweat and cheap cologne, the air thick with something suffocating—fear. 

A single overhead bulb flickered, casting sharp, shifting shadows against the cracked walls.

Across the table sat a man with trembling hands, his lip split from an earlier scuffle. 

His breath was uneven, his knee bouncing beneath the table in a weak attempt to mask his nerves.

Kim Seokjin, by contrast, leaned back in his chair with the ease of a man who had all the time in the world. A slow, almost lazy smirk played on his lips as he twirled a pen between his fingers.

"Negotiation," Seokjin mused, his voice as smooth as silk laced with steel, "is an art. Push too hard, things break. Give too much, and you're the one left bleeding."

The man swallowed hard, eyes darting to the two silent figures behind Seokjin—muscle, still as statues but exuding quiet menace.

Seokjin followed his gaze, chuckling as he shook his head. "Oh, don't waste your worry on them. Worry about me. I'm the one talking." He leaned in just slightly, voice dipping lower. "And you? You're running out of time."

The man exhaled shakily, his fingers twitching on the table. "I—I don't have what you're asking for."

Seokjin clicked his tongue in mock disappointment, his smirk never faltering.

And then—without warning—he reached forward, seizing the man's wrist.

But he didn't slam it down.

Not yet.

Instead, his grip tightened slowly, pressing down with excruciating precision, just enough to send a silent message—this will get worse before it gets better.

The man sucked in a sharp breath. Seokjin tilted his head, voice soft but laced with warning. "Let me make this simple. You tell me what I want to know, and we walk away friends. You keep stalling..." 

His grip tightened just slightly, "...and I start losing my patience."

The silence stretched. A bead of sweat trickled down the man's temple.

Then—the door creaked open.

Taehyung stepped inside, his gaze flicking between the trembling man and Seokjin's ever-unbothered expression. His eyes darkened slightly, but he didn't react immediately.

"Hyung." Taehyung's voice was even, measured. "That's enough."

Seokjin sighed dramatically, fingers loosening as he released the man's wrist. "You always ruin my fun."

He straightened his sleeves as he stood, turning to face Taehyung fully. "I assume you're not here just to watch me work?"

Taehyung smirked faintly. "I need a negotiator. Someone who knows how to handle situations like this."

Seokjin's brow lifted as he glanced at the man still shaking across the table. "Lucky for you, I just finished proving my résumé."

He clapped his hands together, pivoting slightly—only to finally acknowledge YN standing behind Taehyung. His gaze swept over her with a glint of intrigue.

"And you must be the wildcard he picked up." His smirk widened. "Interesting."

YN met his stare without a flicker of hesitation. "And you must be the man who talks big but lets others do the dirty work."

Something flashed in Seokjin's eyes—amusement.

A slow, wolfish grin curled his lips. He took a step forward, just slightly into her space, not touching but close enough that the air between them thinned. "Oh, sweetheart, I'm much more than that."

Taehyung exhaled through his nose, already regretting this. "Let's go. We have work to do."

Seokjin lingered for just a moment longer, his smirk never wavering. But as he finally stepped back, he cast a final glance toward the man still hunched over the table.

Leaning down slightly, he murmured just loud enough for the man to hear—"Sleep well tonight. If you can."

Then, without another word, he followed Taehyung and YN out the door.

The grand ballroom pulsed with golden light, chandeliers casting fractured reflections across the polished marble.

The air buzzed with the soft clink of crystal, the murmur of old money indulging in excess, drowning in luxury and whispered secrets.

Y/N's heels clicked against the floor, a slow, deliberate rhythm.

She moved with practiced grace, arm looped through Jimin's, their presence commanding attention.

They weren't just elegance—they were danger wrapped in silk and smirks, the kind of beauty that made people look twice, then regret it.

Jimin leaned in, his breath a whisper of warmth against Y/N's ear. "He's here," he murmured, tone smooth, unbothered, as if this were just another night, another target.

His gaze cut to the bar, where a middle-aged executive sat nursing his drink—too much arrogance, too little caution. He didn't know he was already caught in their web.

The woman beside him laughed, her manicured fingers grazing his sleeve, unaware that Jimin's attention had shifted entirely to her.

With effortless ease, he peeled away from Y/N, his lazy smirk settling into place. "You know," he murmured, his voice a low drawl, laced with something just sharp enough to unsettle, "a woman like you shouldn't be waiting on a man already looking elsewhere."

The woman turned, startled, her lips parting as she took him in—his dark suit, his impossible confidence, the air of quiet control that made him untouchable.

Y/N, meanwhile, took her place. A ghost of a smile curved her lips as she grazed the rim of her champagne flute, her eyes meeting the executive's with just enough intrigue to make him lean in.

"Funny," she mused, voice honeyed with subtle amusement, "I don't usually come to these kinds of events. But something told me tonight would be... worthwhile."

The executive chuckled, already ensnared. "Then I should consider myself very lucky."

Y/N tilted her head slightly, letting the pause linger—let him think he had the upper hand. The fool.

Jimin's voice, a mere murmur, reached her through the noise of the ballroom. "Ten minutes. Make him trust you. Then we take everything."

Y/N smiled. "Consider it done."

Across the room, Jimin let out a quiet chuckle, his voice a velvet thread of amusement.

He guided the executive's date away with effortless charm, spinning tales of exclusive after-parties and whispered secrets, his touch light but deliberate—a tether leading her straight into his trap.

His smirk remained, lazy and inviting, but beneath it was something colder. Calculated. 

The woman hesitated for a fraction of a second, some instinct whispering caution, but Jimin tilted his head just so, letting the warm timbre of his voice smooth away any doubt. 

She giggled, eyes alight, completely his.

On the far side of the ballroom, Taehyung wove through the crowd, his crisp white shirt and black vest blending him seamlessly into the background. 

He moved like a shadow, a tray balanced effortlessly in one hand, his every step deliberate.

He listened. Always listening.

His gaze remained sharp, tracing Y/N and the executive's conversation without ever looking directly at them. 

He noted the slight twitch of the man's fingers on his glass, the tension in his jaw. 

Taehyung wasn't just an observer—he was a predator waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

His eyes flickered toward Jimin for the briefest second. A silent confirmation.

Jimin, still leading the woman toward the dance floor, dipped his head slightly in return. Everything was in motion.

And Y/N?

Y/N was already reeling the man in, her smile slow and knowing, the weight of inevitability settling over their target.

He just didn't know it yet.

"You have quite the eye for business," Y/N purred, leaning in just slightly, her perfume curling around him like a whisper of something he couldn't quite grasp.

She traced a delicate finger along the rim of her glass, her movements unhurried, deliberate.

Then, a slow sip—just enough to make him watch, to keep his attention exactly where she wanted it. "A man like you must know... things. Important things."

The executive chuckled, the burn of whiskey loosening his restraint. "Information comes at a price, sweetheart."

Y/N tilted her head, feigning thoughtfulness. "And what price would that be?"

Her fingers barely grazed his wrist before retreating, leaving behind the phantom of her touch.

The man leaned in instinctively, as if drawn by something he didn't understand.

Perfect.

Taehyung arrived at the table like clockwork, setting another glass of top-shelf whiskey before the man with the ease of someone who had done this a hundred times before.

 His face remained unreadable, but his eyes—sharp, amused—flickered toward Y/N for the briefest second.

The man barely acknowledged him before taking a deep sip, his posture looser now, arrogance settling in his bones.

Y/N let her lips curve into a teasing smile, her gaze locking onto his, holding him there. "Why don't we take this conversation somewhere more... private?"

A pause.

For just a moment, something flickered in the man's expression—hesitation, perhaps?

 Some small, distant voice of reason trying to surface?

 But then, it was gone, swallowed by the warmth of alcohol and the promise of something enticing.

He exhaled, his smirk widening.

"Lead the way."