Warning- This chapter contains some gruesome scenes. If you are uncomfortable feel free to skip

The night air was crisp as Jimin stepped out of the lavish ballroom, the distant hum of music still lingering behind him.

Golden light spilled from the open doors, painting the pavement in a warm glow before fading into the cool darkness.

The woman on his arm pouted, fingers tracing slow, deliberate patterns over his sleeve.

"Baby," she purred, tilting her head just enough to let her perfume drift toward him—an expensive scent, but one that lacked depth. "Let's go somewhere more... private."

Jimin exhaled through his nose, biting back a sigh.

Instead, he offered his signature smirk, the one that had left a trail of broken hearts in its wake. "Of course, sweetheart. You go ahead, I'll bring the drinks."

Her eyes sparkled, lips curving in satisfaction.

She had no idea she was about to be abandoned.

With a sway of her hips, she walked toward the side exit, confident he would follow.

Jimin didn't even glance back.

Instead, he turned on his heel, slipping through the grand entrance like a shadow and stepping into the sleek black car parked just outside.

The leather seats were cool against his skin as he leaned back, finally exhaling in relief. He ran a hand through his tousled hair, tousled just enough to look effortlessly undone.

Jungkook, already in the driver's seat, had been listening through the earpiece the entire time. He didn't even try to hide his amusement, shaking his head with a smirk.

"Damn, hyung, did you just ditch that woman?"

Jimin scoffed, adjusting his cufflinks like the question barely deserved an answer. "I did her a favor. She would've fallen too hard, and frankly, I don't have the time for a tragic love story."

Jungkook let out a low chuckle, revving the engine. "Cold."

Jimin hummed, tapping his fingers against the door. His reflection in the tinted window smirked back at him.

"What can I say?" He tilted his head slightly, as if considering.

Then, with perfect ease— "I break hearts for a living."

The dimly lit headquarters still buzzed with the ghosts of their last mission. The scent of burnt coffee lingered, the soft hum of monitors filling the heavy silence.

Taehyung exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair before leaning against the cluttered table. Documents, maps, and half-empty coffee cups were scattered across the surface—a battlefield of information still waiting to be pieced together.

"Good job, everyone," he muttered, his sharp gaze sweeping over the team. "We got a few answers... but it's not enough."

Jin, arms crossed, exhaled slowly. The usual smirk was absent, replaced by something sharper, colder. His fingers flexed once, a faint twitch—his knuckles still darkening with bruises. "That guy knew things, but he was holding back. I could feel it."

Y/N sighed, stretching her arms like a cat after a long hunt. "He was too willing to talk about the low-level operations. Nothing about the higher-ups." She reached for her glass, swirling the remnants of her drink before taking a slow sip. "He was either terrified or loyal."

Jungkook, leaned back in his chair, idly spinning a pen between his fingers. 

"Or both."

The words settled into the room like smoke. For a beat, no one spoke.

Then—

The door creaked open.

A uniformed officer stepped inside, his movements stiff, precise. His face was grave, unreadable, but the sheen of sweat at his temple betrayed him.

Every gaze snapped toward him.

"Detective," he addressed Taehyung, his voice clipped, urgent. "There's something you have to see."

The silence deepened. The weight in the air thickened.

Taehyung straightened, the sharp cut of his jaw tightening. "What is it?"

The officer hesitated—half a second too long.

He took a step forward. His voice, when it came, felt heavier than the walls themselves.

"We found something... and it changes everything."

The crime scene was a nightmare.

The warehouse loomed in the dead of night, its rusted walls swallowing sound whole. 

The kind of place where no one screamed for help—because no one was left to listen.

Inside, the scent of rot clung to the air like a thick, invisible shroud, clogging throats and turning stomachs. 

Even the most hardened officers hesitated at the threshold, their instincts screaming at them to turn back.

The victim—if you could still call him that—was barely recognizable as human. 

His body was arranged like some twisted masterpiece, limbs deliberately placed in a pattern too precise to be random. 

His throat had been slit, but whoever had done it hadn't been satisfied. 

The edges of the wound were uneven, hacked through with something dull, something slow. 

His torso was marred with deep, jagged lacerations, almost like claw marks. Or something worse.

But it wasn't the blood. It wasn't the torn flesh.

It was the eyes. Or the absence of them.

Twin hollows stared at the ceiling, the edges of the sockets burned black, as if cauterized. 

Dried blood streaked down his cheeks like grotesque tears.

 His lips had been sewn shut with thick, black thread—not crude, but precise.

 A slow, methodical hand had done this, taking their time, making sure every stitch was tight. As if silencing him wasn't enough. As if the message had to be permanent.

A single playing card was pinned to his chest with a dagger—The Hanged Man.

No one spoke.

Taehyung inhaled sharply through his nose, his jaw clenched tight. 

Jin's usual sarcasm was nowhere to be found, his expression unreadable. 

Y/N's gaze flickered over the body, lips pressed into a thin line. The blood pooling around the corpse had already begun to congeal, thick and dark, soaking into the cracked concrete floor.

Jungkook crouched down, his breath barely a whisper. "Look at his hands."

The victim's fingers told their own story. His nails were shattered, jagged, with bits of flesh wedged underneath. He had fought. Hard. One of his fingers was bent back at an unnatural angle, snapped. Tortured. Extracting information.

And then, there was the writing.

Just beside the body, smeared in dying strokes, was a name.

Namjoon.

The letters weren't complete. The last one trailed off, unfinished, as if the victim had run out of time. Or blood.

The room felt too small, the air too thick.

Taehyung didn't move.

Jimin exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down his face. "Well," he muttered. "That changes things."

As they stood over the mutilated body, the stench of decay thick in the air, Y/N felt it again—that nagging sensation at the back of her mind, like invisible eyes boring into her.

This wasn't just a message. It was a warning.

The word Namjoon scrawled in blood sent a sharp, electric tension through Taehyung's entire body. 

His jaw clenched, his hands curled into fists at his sides. 

Y/N could practically hear the gears turning in his head, the cold, calculated rage simmering just beneath the surface. 

Whoever did this knew. They knew Namjoon's name. They knew that Taehyung would come after them.

And that's what worried Y/N.

She glanced around the dimly lit warehouse, taking in the shadows stretching across the walls, the dark corners that felt too dark. 

Someone had led them here. Someone had wanted them to find this. 

But was the message just for Taehyung? Or was someone toying with all of them?

Her fingers twitched at her side, the weight of her concealed weapon a small comfort. She turned slightly, scanning the exits, the rafters, even the shattered windows above.

Something wasn't right.

"We need to get out of here," she murmured under her breath, her voice low enough that only Taehyung caught it.

He didn't answer immediately. He just stood there, staring at the mutilated corpse like he could force the answers out of it with sheer will alone. 

When he finally moved, his voice was eerily calm.

"I want a list of everyone who knew this man," Taehyung ordered, directing his words at the officer who had led them here. "Where he's been, who he's spoken to. Someone knew exactly what to say to set me off, and I want to know who."

The officer hesitated. "Detective, I—"

Taehyung snapped his gaze to him, and whatever the officer saw in his expression shut him up immediately.

Y/N didn't like this. 

This wasn't just a murder scene—it felt staged, planned.

 The card, the sewing of the lips, the missing eyes—it was all too deliberate. 

And now, with Taehyung's mind locked onto the idea of Namjoon, he was playing right into whoever's game this was.

Y/N's skin prickled again, that feeling of being watched creeping up her spine.

Something about this felt personal.

And that meant they were all in more danger than they realized.

Y/N tore her gaze away from the grotesque scene, exhaling sharply as nausea curled in her stomach. Get a grip. She forced it down, her voice cutting through the thick tension.

"That body needs to go to forensics. Now."

No hesitation. No wavering. She needed control, or else the horror in front of her would win.

Taehyung barely acknowledged her. His fists were clenched so tight his knuckles had gone white, his jaw locked in silent rage. The dim lighting cast sharp shadows over his face, making the storm in his eyes even darker.

Y/N stepped closer, lowering her voice. "Detective."

His nostrils flared.

"This is what they want," she continued, gaze flickering back to the mutilated corpse. "You losing your mind over Namjoon. They want you reckless. We need to be smarter than that."

For a second, she wasn't sure he'd listen. Then, a sharp exhale. A muscle in his jaw twitched before he finally turned away.

Relief was a luxury she didn't have time for.

She turned to the nearest officer, whose posture was stiff—too stiff. His eyes flicked from Taehyung to her, a silent plea for an order.

"Get the body to forensics," she commanded, voice like steel. "I want a full report—time of death, cause of death, anything that tells us who left him like this."

The officer barely nodded before he rushed to move, almost tripping over himself in his eagerness to get away.

Y/N crossed her arms, scanning the warehouse again.

That feeling hadn't left.

The weight of unseen eyes pressed against her spine, a pressure too tangible to be paranoia. The air was still—too still. Her breath felt too loud in her own ears.

Something wasn't right.

Her gaze flickered to the dark corners of the warehouse, where the shadows stretched long and deep. Was it her imagination, or had one of them just moved?

She swallowed, the hairs on the back of her neck standing up.

This wasn't just a warning.

It was a promise.

And the worst part?

She had a sinking feeling the real nightmare was only just beginning.

The dim glow of multiple monitors painted sharp, shifting shadows over Jungkook's face as he leaned forward, fingers flying over the keyboard. 

The air in the room was thick, the kind of silence that stretched too long, pressing against their lungs.

Behind him, Taehyung, Y/N, Seokjin, and Jimin stood motionless, waiting.

"Let's see what we've got," Jungkook muttered, clicking through frames.

The grainy black-and-white footage flickered to life.

A man, stumbling. 

His movements were erratic, his breaths ragged. He kept glancing over his shoulder—hunted. The fear in his posture was so raw, it bled through the screen.

Then, the shadows moved.

A figure stepped forward, smooth, deliberate.

  Head to toe in black. Gloved hands. A hood pulled low. 

Nothing identifiable. Just a dark presence, exuding cold control.

The victim tried to run— too slow.

A single, fluid movement— the killer yanked him back, effortless.

The man thrashed. Kicked. Desperate. But the killer didn't flinch.

A blade glinted under the dim alley light.

One deliberate motion.

A clean slash.

The victim crumpled.

Blood pooled.

The killer crouched, as if observing their work. And then—

They turned.

And looked straight at the security camera.

A slow tilt of the head.

The air in the room plunged into dead silence.

Y/N exhaled quietly, her arms crossed. Her gaze stayed locked on the screen, but a small, knowing smirk ghosted over her lips.

"They wanted us to see that."

Jungkook's fingers hovered over the keyboard.

 He swallowed, the click of his throat too loud in the stillness. The gunshot still echoed in his ears.

"They're playing with us." Taehyung's voice was dangerously quiet, his knuckles white.

Seokjin exhaled, rubbing his temples. "Question is—why?"

Jimin let out a short scoff, but his jaw tensed as he ran a thumb over his lower lip. "Better question—who the hell is crazy enough to challenge us like this?"

The silence that followed felt wrong.

Heavy.

Weighted.

The killer had left them with nothing.

No face. No prints. No trail.

Except for one thing—

They knew they were watching.

And that meant...

The killer had been watching them first.