The forensic lab smelled of chemicals and death.

Bright white lights cast harsh reflections off steel tables, stretching long shadows across the room. The corpse lay still, unmoving, but something about it made Y/N's stomach knot too tightly.

Something wasn't right.

Something familiar.

Min Yoongi, clad in a stained white coat, pulled on his gloves with slow, practiced ease. His face remained unreadable as he picked up a scalpel.

"Well," he murmured, eyes flickering to the body. "Hope none of you just ate."

The blade sliced through flesh—a sound too clean, too easy. Yoongi wasn't cutting because he needed to.

He was cutting because he wanted to see if anyone would flinch.

No one did.

But then—his voice, casual, almost amused:

"This wasn't just a kill."

The tension in the air thickened.

"This was an art piece."

Jimin exhaled sharply. "I hate when you talk like that."

"Shut up. Let me work."

Yoongi's hands moved with eerie precision, peeling back layers of skin like silk.

"The throat," he noted, "was cut in one smooth motion. No hesitation. No struggle. The killer knew exactly where to slice. That's skill."

He glanced up, the overhead light making his eyes gleam.

"A professional." His lips curled slightly. "Or a psychopath. Your pick."

No one responded.

Yoongi turned the victim's wrist, tracing the ragged edges where fingernails had been ripped away. He hummed. "Defensive wounds. He wasn't restrained. He fought."

He paused.

Then, a smirk.

"Which means... they wanted him to think he had a chance."

Jungkook muttered under his breath. "That's fucked up."

Yoongi let out a soft chuckle. "Oh, I'm not done."

He reached forward. Slowly. Carefully.

And turned the body over.

The room changed.

The tension solidified, heavy and suffocating.

No one moved.

No one breathed.

The burned symbol stretched across the victim's back, charred into flesh—blackened edges, deep grooves, raw and blistered.

A flower.

That flower.

A mark that had been buried with everything they swore they'd never speak of again.

Something in Taehyung cracked. His breath left him in a sharp, unsteady exhale.

Seokjin's fingers twitched—just once—before he curled them into fists.

Jimin took a single step back, as if distance would sever the connection to what came before.

"No," Seokjin muttered, his voice thicker than usual. His smirk was gone—wiped clean. "No fucking way."

Jimin swallowed hard, rubbing his temple. "This can't be happening."

Yoongi straightened, watching them too closely.

His voice was calm. Unshaken.

"Huh. So you've seen this before."

Taehyung's pulse pounded in his ears. The weight of memory pressed against his ribs, clawing its way out.

Blood. Fire. Screams.

And that damn flower.

His voice barely made it past his lips.

"We've all seen it before."

Yoongi studied their faces.

Then, with a click of his tongue, he turned back to the body.

"Well then," he murmured, his scalpel glinting under the lights.

"Looks like your past never really left."

The long, gruesome night had finally ended, but its weight still clung to the team like a second skin. Headquarters, once alive with tension and theories, had fallen into an eerie, exhausted silence.

Taehyung leaned against the desk, running a tired hand through his hair, watching as Y/N gathered her things. 

The stiffness in his shoulders still hadn't eased. His sharp eyes followed her movements before he finally spoke.

"How are you getting home?"

Y/N, barely looking up, shoved her notebook into her bag and shrugged. "I'll take the bus."

Taehyung's face immediately twisted into an expression so profoundly offended that it would have been comical if not for how genuinely horrified he looked. 

His lips curled, brows furrowed, nose wrinkling like she had just announced she was about to take a swim in a sewer.

Y/N caught the look and snorted. "What's with that face?"

Taehyung shook his head slowly, deliberately, like the thought of public transport physically hurt him. "I don't like public transport."

Y/N smirked, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "Of course you don't, Mr. Expensive Taste. Let me guess—it's too... common for you?"

Taehyung crossed his arms. "You think I enjoy being crammed into a metal box with strangers breathing on me?"

"Dramatic," Y/N teased, stepping closer. "It's not that bad."

Taehyung gave her a look. "Tell that to the guy who sneezed on my sleeve last time I took the subway."

Y/N lost it.

She doubled over, clutching her stomach as laughter shook her shoulders. "Oh my god, you poor thing."

"I had to burn that jacket," Taehyung deadpanned.

Y/N wiped a tear from the corner of her eye, still grinning. "Fine, fine. I'll spare you from the horrors of public transport." Her smirk widened. "You offering me a ride, Mr. Fancy?"

Taehyung scoffed, but his amusement was obvious now, a flicker of warmth in his otherwise tired eyes. "I'm not offering—I'm forcing you to let me drive you. I refuse to let you willingly suffer like that."

Y/N tilted her head. "Oh? So you care about my suffering now?"

Taehyung opened his mouth, hesitated for just a fraction of a second—like he almost wanted to answer seriously—before rolling his eyes. "Get in the car before I change my mind."

Y/N grinned, bumping her shoulder against his as they walked toward the parking lot.

The air was cold. The night still carried the weight of what they'd seen. 

Taehyung's car was sleek, black, and smelled like expensive leather with a hint of his cologne—a scent Y/N had grown oddly familiar with after countless long nights at headquarters. 

As she slid into the passenger seat, she let out a low whistle.

"Damn. No wonder you avoid public transport," she mused, running a hand over the soft leather. "Wouldn't want someone sneezing on this."

Taehyung shot her a side glance as he started the engine. "Exactly. You're learning."

The ride was quiet at first, the low hum of the car filling the silence between them.

 Outside, the city blurred past—streetlights flickering against the windshield, casting fleeting shadows over Taehyung's face. 

His jaw was tight, his grip on the wheel firm, lost in thought.

Y/N stole a glance at him, fingers absentmindedly playing with the hem of her sleeve.

"So," she finally spoke, breaking the silence. "Rough night, huh?"

Taehyung exhaled sharply. "Understatement of the century."

Y/N nodded, gaze drifting to the window. "You thinking about Namjoon?"

His fingers tightened around the steering wheel—just slightly, almost imperceptibly. "I always do."

There it was. That deep, quiet ache she had seen before—the one he never spoke about but carried in his shoulders, in the flicker of something dark in his eyes whenever Namjoon's name came up.

Y/N hesitated before speaking softly. "We'll find out what happened to him, Taehyung."

Taehyung didn't respond immediately. He tapped his fingers against the wheel, gaze fixed on the road ahead.

"You don't have to say that just to make me feel better."

"I'm not," she said, voice steady. "You know me. I don't say things unless I mean them."

A small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of his lips, gone just as fast as it appeared. He glanced at her, something unreadable flickering in his eyes before he turned back to the road.

The silence that followed wasn't heavy.

Y/N leaned back into her seat, stretching slightly. "So, tell me, Mr. Fancy Car, do you always go out of your way to rescue damsels from the horrors of public transport, or am I just special?"

Taehyung scoffed, but amusement laced his voice. "Oh, please. 'Damsel in distress' is the last phrase anyone would use to describe you."

Y/N smirked. "True. I'd probably be the one causing the distress."

Taehyung paused for half a second—like he knew it was true but also recalled the times she had gotten herself into trouble. He chuckled, shaking his head. "That's more accurate."

The car slowed as they approached her building. Y/N felt a strange reluctance settle in her chest.

 As much as she wanted to curl up in bed after the hellish day they'd had... she kind of didn't want to leave just yet.

When Taehyung pulled up, he let out a quiet breath, resting his hand on the gear shift.

"You sure you're good?"

Y/N tilted her head. "You worried about me, dectective?"

He didn't roll his eyes. Didn't throw back a sarcastic remark. He just looked at her, gaze steady, intense.

"I always worry about my partners."

The words sat between them, heavier than she expected.

For once, she didn't have a witty comeback.

Instead, she smiled—soft, genuine. "I know."

She reached for the door handle but hesitated, glancing at him one last time. "Thanks for the ride, Mr. Fancy. I guess you're not as heartless as you pretend to be."

Taehyung scoffed, shaking his head. "Go inside before I take back my kindness."

Y/N laughed as she stepped out, closing the door behind her. But as she walked toward her building, she swore she could still feel his gaze lingering.

And when she finally turned around at her doorstep—just to check—his car was still there.

His hands rested on the wheel, unmoving. His gaze fixed forward.

And yet, he didn't drive away.

Y/N's breath hitched as she stepped inside. The moment she flicked on the lights, her stomach twisted into knots.
Her apartment was destroyed.

Glass crunched beneath her shoes as she stepped forward. The air smelled sharp—ink, dust, something off. 

Drawers had been yanked open, their contents spilled across the floor. 

Clothes lay in chaotic piles, her bookshelf toppled, pages torn from bindings. 

The picture frames that once lined her shelves were shattered, the glass glinting ominously under the dim light. 

Her couch cushions had been gutted, stuffing strewn across the room like someone had been searching.

For something important.

Then she saw the walls.

Scrawled across them in black ink, smeared like someone had written in a frenzy, were numbers.

At first glance, they seemed random. But something about them clawed at the edges of her mind, whispering that they weren't.

Her pulse hammered against her ribs. The silence in the room was thick, suffocating—

And then she screamed.

"Fucking hell!"

The door burst open within seconds.

Taehyung was inside, gun drawn, body tense, eyes sweeping over the destruction with razor-sharp precision. 

He moved instinctively, stepping in front of her, shielding her from a threat he couldn't yet see.

His voice was sharp, low. "Are you hurt?"

Y/N swallowed hard, shaking her head. "No, but—look."

She gestured toward the wreckage, her voice unsteady. "Someone's been here."

Taehyung's gaze hardened as he took everything in—the devastation, the ink-streaked walls, the torn-apart cushions.

 His expression remained unreadable, but Y/N caught it—the slight clench of his jaw, the way his grip on his gun tightened.

He was already piecing things together.

Then his eyes landed on something.

Right in the center of her dining table, amidst the chaos, lay a note.

A single slip of paper.

Placed deliberately. Waiting.

Y/N exhaled sharply, taking a step forward, but Taehyung's hand shot out, stopping her. His movements were careful, measured, as he grabbed the note himself, unfolding it.

His gaze darkened.

Numbers. A sequence.

A date.

Today's date.

And beneath it?

A time.

Y/N's breath stilled as Taehyung's eyes flicked to the clock on her wall.

The time written was barely fifteen minutes from now.

The room fell into a sharp, breathless silence. The only sound was the faint ticking of the clock.

Taehyung's head snapped toward Y/N.

"We need to move—now."

As Y/N and Taehyung hurried down the dimly lit stairwell, the urgency in the air was suffocating. The cryptic message clung to them, pressing against their chests like an omen.

"But wher-" Y/N was cut off.

Taehyung's phone buzzed violently in his pocket. 

He yanked it out without stopping, pressing it to his ear while his other hand gripped Y/N's wrist, leading her through the building's exit.

Jin's voice was sharp, urgent. "You need to come here. Now."

Taehyung's steps didn't falter, but Y/N felt the slightest shift in his grip.

"Hyung, we just—"

"Another murder."

A beat of silence.

Jin's voice dropped lower, edged with something rare—concern. "No time for questions. Just get your ass here."

Taehyung didn't ask for details. He hung up and turned to Y/N, his expression unreadable—but his fingers tightened around hers, firm, grounding.

"Where are we going?" she asked, breathless from the rush.

Taehyung didn't answer immediately. He pushed open the car door, pausing just long enough to scan the street before ushering her inside.

His voice was calm—too calm. "Jin hyung found another body." He exhaled through his nose, knuckles whitening on the steering wheel as he turned the key. 

The engine growled to life. "And it looks like whoever's behind this..." His gaze flickered to the rearview mirror.

"They want us to see it."

Y/N shivered, a chill that had nothing to do with the night air.

And just as Taehyung pulled onto the road, she glanced back—one last time.

Her apartment stood in eerie stillness, windows dark, shadowed. But just as the car rounded the corner, she swore—just for a second—she saw movement.

A figure. Watching.