The rain tapped a steady rhythm against the windows—sharp, insistent, like secrets trying to claw their way out.

Hoseok's grin lit up the room like a fuse. "We've got a party to crash."

He dropped a black envelope onto the table. The wax seal bore a raven encircled by thorns—The Veil's signature.

"High-profile art gala," he said. "Hosted by one of their puppets. The place'll be dripping with intel—laundered money, weapon deals, names that shouldn't exist."

Y/N leaned in, arms crossed. "And we're just waltzing in?"

"With style." Hoseok winked. "You two? Disguised. Taehyung, you're a Russian arms broker with a personal vendetta. Y/N, your dangerously attractive security. I'm a spoiled heir with a fake trust fund and a real hit list."

Taehyung didn't respond. His eyes were fixed on a half-burned photo, paper curled like it had flinched from the fire. Namjoon's handwriting scrawled in the margins—codes, warnings, a name scratched out.

"You good?" Y/N asked softly.

He blinked. "Just remembering something Min said." A pause. "Never mind. Let's move."

THE SAFEHOUSE – HOURS LATER

They should've been prepping for the gala, but Hoseok had rerouted them to a place that felt like memory and myth.

"You're gonna want to see this," he'd said. "It's... from him."

The ruins of a forgotten train station stretched before them, swallowed by ivy and ash. Hoseok led them through the dark, hands brushing across walls until—click. A stone panel slid back, revealing steel and secrets.

A fingerprint scanner glowed faint blue.

"Namjoon built this with an old friend," Hoseok murmured, pressing his thumb to the pad.

The door hissed open.

Inside: a bunker, silent and untouched. Like time had bowed to Namjoon here.

Cold lights flickered on. Dustless surfaces. Mugs left mid-sip. Notes like breadcrumbs. A jacket still slung over a chair—R.M.K. stitched into the collar.

Taehyung was already sorting through scattered documents.

Y/N moved slower. Reverent. She found a folded note wedged inside a book of poetry, ink sharp and frantic.

They know. I had to run.
The girl from the incident—they'll come for her.
If anyone finds this, tell her she was never supposed to be a pawn.
— R.M.K.

She frowned. "The girl from the incident?"

Taehyung looked up. "What incident?"

Before she could answer, the terminal behind them hummed to life.

The screen flickered—lines of code, then static—and Namjoon's voice broke the silence.

"If you're watching this, it means you followed the right trail. Good.
But this is only the beginning.
The Veil isn't just a syndicate—it's a cover.
For something older. Deeper.
Trust the girl. Protect her.
Even if she doesn't know who she is yet."

Y/N went still.

"...Okay," she muttered, half to herself. "That's starting to get creepy."

"More like prophetic," Hoseok said under his breath.

Taehyung stared at the screen, shadows shifting in his eyes.

"I think," he said slowly, "he wasn't talking about just one girl."

The silence that followed didn't just hang—it watched.

They arrived separately.

Taehyung stepped into the gala like sin in a tux—midnight black velvet hugging his frame, his smirk dangerous, his eyes colder than the champagne flutes being passed around.
Hair slicked back just enough to say don't test me. 

Every step calculated. Every glance a silent threat.

Across the room, Y/N glided in like a weapon disguised as a wish. Her dress shimmered in a wine-red sheen, slit high enough to distract, heels sharp enough to kill. 

The clutch in her hand? Lip gloss, yes. But also a tranquilizer pen and a pressure-sensitive flash drive.

"Damn," Hoseok muttered through the earpiece, already posted at the bar, golden embroidery catching the light. "You two look like the last thing a man sees before he sells his soul."

Y/N didn't answer—just smiled, a curve of crimson lips that promised danger. Her gaze locked on the target.

"He's at the bar," Taehyung murmured through their comms.

Y/N's eyes locked onto him. 

Hoseok sipped his drink. "You'll have to work fast. He's paranoid. Won't trust strangers unless they... leave an impression."

Y/N smirked. "Watch me."

Renzo Mavik. Weapons dealer. Whisper broker. Supplier of serums that melted secrets out of spies.

He looked like luxury with a criminal record—slicked-back silver hair, rings that weren't just for show, and eyes that said I know exactly what you are.

Taehyung's voice came low through the comms. "No body count. Just the serum's location."

Y/N purred, "No promises," as she stepped toward Renzo's table.

He noticed her instantly—how could he not? She moved like a slow burn, brushing past his shoulder like an accident engineered to be fatal.

He turned, amused. "Can I help you?"

She tilted her head. "That depends. You sell secrets?"

He chuckled. "Only if the buyer looks like you."

Y/N's fingers brush the bar counter as she slid into the stool next to him.

He glanced sideways. "You're either trouble or a dream."

Y/N turned, lips brushing the rim of her glass. "Why can't I be both?"

He laughed. "You here alone, sweetheart?"

"Only until I find what I'm looking for."

ACROSS THE ROOM – TAEHYUNG

Taehyung's jaw clenched, his fingers tightening around a glass of whiskey he hadn't touched. Hoseok raised an eyebrow beside him.

"Jealousy looks good on you."

"I'm not jealous."

"Right. Just homicidal. With a side of heartbreak."

Taehyung said nothing. But his stare could've shattered glass.

 Taehyung gripped his glass a little too tight. His jaw clenched. The way Renzo was looking at her—it set something dangerous alight in his chest.

Hoseok, beside him, gave a sly side glance. "You okay there, Mr. Russian Arms Dealer?"

Taehyung's voice was low. "If he touches her, I'll break his fingers."

Hoseok chuckled. "That's not very professional."

Taehyung didn't blink. "Wasn't meant to be."

AT RENZO'S TABLE

Y/N sat beside him now, her hand lazily tracing his lapel, her voice silk and steel.

"I need something... potent. Something that makes liars bleed honesty."

He leaned in. "That's expensive."

"So am I."

He laughed. "You're dangerous."

She smiled, eyes dark. "You have no idea."

Her fingers shifted—slipping a sleek tracker beneath his watch strap.

Then Renzo's hand landed on her thigh.

Renzo's hand lingered on Y/N's thigh just a breath too long before he leaned in, his cologne clinging to the air like a lie.

"You want the truth, bella?" he murmured, voice silk-drenched menace. "Meet me outside in five. Alone."

He brushed a strand of hair behind her ear like he had the right. Like he hadn't just signed his own death warrant.

Then he stood—buttoned his jacket with theatrical calm—and melted into the golden crush of the crowd.

Y/N's lips held their curve, but the spark behind them dimmed. The moment his hand left her, something colder settled in her bones.

She didn't move. Not at first.

Then—slowly—she turned her head.

Across the gala hall, Taehyung stood frozen in a storm of chandeliers and whispered strings. A glass still in his hand. His jaw locked. Eyes carved from obsidian and rage.

They didn't speak. They didn't need to.

Hoseok's voice crackled in her ear, sharper now. "Do not follow him. We've got the data. Y/N, I'm serious—this isn't worth it."

Taehyung's voice cut through after, lower. Rougher.

"He's bluffing. You know that. Y/N. Don't—"

But her heels were already moving.

Measured steps across marble. A ghost slipping past laughter and wine.

Outside, the gala lights bled into the night, softening the sharp bite of the wind.

She spotted the car—sleek, black, hungry. Renzo in the driver's seat, door open, a cigarette burning low between two fingers.

 One arm draped over the wheel, the other curled around nothing—like he expected her to fill the space.

Y/N didn't pause.

She slid into the passenger seat like a warning, not a guest. Closed the door with a snap that sounded like a gunshot.

Legs crossed. Eyes forward. No words.

Renzo turned toward her slowly, grinning like the devil in velvet.

"You're braver than you look."

She turned her head, one brow lifted. Calm. Lethal.

"I'm worse than I look," she said, voice laced with velvet and venom. "Drive."

Taehyung tore off his comms.

"Shit."

He was already moving.

"Taehyung—" Hoseok started.

"She's not doing this alone."

The car rolled to a stop.

Renzo killed the engine, and silence swallowed the world—just wind whispering through the pines like ghosts warning her to run.

Y/N calmly unbuckled her seatbelt, eyes on the darkness beyond the windshield.

"So... you kidnapped me for a
romantic walk?" she asked, voice like shattered glass laced with velvet.

Renzo didn't smile this time—he smirked. 

Different. Darker. "You're not here by accident, bella. I brought you here because I know exactly what you're after."

She tilted her head. "Oh? Then hand it over and maybe I won't break your nose."

He leaned in, voice dropping to a murmur. "I know who Namjoon is to you."

Silence.

Like the forest held its breath.

Renzo's lips brushed her ear. "You want answers? One night. Or you die here."

Her eyes flicked toward him, slow. Cold.

Then she smiled.

Sharp. Cruel. "Option three."

She reached into her clutch—and steel caught moonlight.

A flash.

Renzo flinched as the blade whistled past his face.

She was already moving, heels crashing into the door as she twisted out of the car in a blur of red and shadows. Wind in her hair. Rage in her blood.

Renzo exploded out after her, fury in every step.

The forest turned still—then snapped alive with violence.

He grabbed her wrist—she spun, elbowed him in the jaw. He stumbled.

She ducked, slashed—blade slicing fabric and skin.

He roared, tackled her—but she twisted mid-air, flipping him over her shoulder.

He crashed into the dirt, groaning. Rolled. Stood. They clashed again—fists, knives, instinct.

Twigs snapped. Blood sprayed. Grunts echoed.

He landed a blow to her ribs—she gasped, fell—but her hand was already reaching her thigh.

Another blade.

She slashed up, slicing his knee. He went down hard.

"You bitch—" he spat, bloodied.

"Wrong again." She was already on her feet. "I'm your karma."

She straddled him, pressing her blade to his throat, face wild with blood and moonlight.

He wheezed, blood at the corner of his mouth. "Your partner won't get here in time—"

Her grin was wicked. "He already knows where I am."

The forest was a blur around him.

Branches clawed at his arms, but he didn't stop. Tracker in one hand. Gun in the other. Voice shaking.

"Y/N. Say something. Come on—breathe. Talk to me."

She leaned in, her lips ghosting Renzo's ear like a death sentence.

"Here's how this ends. You give me the serum. You tell me everything you know about Namjoon."

She pushed the blade deeper. "Or I leave you here for the wolves."

His hands trembled now, the pain catching up with the arrogance.

"...Fine," he rasped.

She yanked his phone from his pocket, thumbed on the voice recorder, and held it to his mouth.

"Talk."

The forest was still.

Renzo groaned, half-conscious on the ground, blood soaking into the earth. Y/N stood over him—breathing heavy, lips cut, one strap of her dress hanging loose, eyes gleaming like she'd walked out of the flames of hell.

And then—

Crunch.

A branch snapped.

Y/N turned, blade still in hand.

Taehyung.

Black suit jacket gone. White shirt stained from pushing through brush and pine needles. Tie hanging loose. His chest rising and falling as he took her in.

The blood. The smirk. The fact that she'd won.

He exhaled—half relief, half something else. Something darker.

"You tracked me," Y/N said, brushing hair from her face, stepping over Renzo like he was a broken toy.

Taehyung's jaw clenched. "You put up a fight."

She tilted her head, walking toward him. "You sound surprised."

"I'm not." His voice was hoarse. "But you're bleeding."

She glanced down at her shoulder, now red. "Barely."

He stepped closer. Hand cupping her cheek, thumb brushing blood off the corner of her lip.

"That's mine to deal with," he muttered.

Y/N smirked. "Possessive much?"

His eyes flicked to her mouth. "You look like hell."

"And I still won."

Taehyung's smirk broke through. "Remind me to never piss you off."

Behind them, Renzo groaned again.

Taehyung didn't even glance at him. "You want me to kill him, or do you want to finish the job?"

Y/N sighed. "He still has answers. Let's take him in."

Taehyung looked at her again—at the mess of her, the glory of her, the absolute madness of falling in love with someone like her.

"Remind me why we aren't official yet?" he muttered under his breath.

She leaned in, just a whisper between them. "Because the day I say I'm yours... I'll never belong to anyone else again."

And damn if that didn't make Taehyung feral.

Renzo sat cuffed to a bolted-down metal chair, shirt torn, lip cracked, and bruises painting his arms like abstract war.
He looked like he'd brawled with a demon—and lost.

Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead.

Hoseok sat opposite him, calmly tapping the table with a pen. Tap. Tap. Tap.

"You've got a wildcat on your team," Renzo rasped, spitting blood to the side.

Taehyung didn't flinch. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, gaze locked not on Renzo—but on Y/N.

She sat with lethal stillness. Legs crossed. Expression unreadable. Dangerous calm.

"You're going to tell me who gave you the prototype," she said softly. "Or I let him take over."

She tilted her head ever so slightly toward Taehyung.

Renzo grinned, teeth stained red. "You think your boyfriend scares me?"

"No," she said, leaning in just enough to make him twitch. "But I know I do."

His grin faltered.

Hoseok pushed a folder across the table. "Last vial you moved ended up in Morocco. Buyer paid in crypto—wallet tied to a shell corp in Busan. You're running out of shadows, Renzo."

Renzo chuckled—but there was a flicker in his eyes now. He looked at Y/N. Too long.

"He must hate the way you look at me."

That was a mistake.

Taehyung moved.

One blink—he crossed the room, yanked Renzo up by his shirt, and slammed him against the concrete wall. Cuffs rattled, metal screamed.

"You really don't know when to shut the fuck up," Taehyung growled, low and venomous.

"Taehyung," Y/N said—sharp. Cool.

He released.

Renzo crumpled like wet paper, wheezing.

Y/N crouched beside him, lips close to his ear. She whispered something only he could hear.

His entire face changed.

"What's the drop point?" she asked aloud.

"...Port 27. Dockside. Midnight. Tomorrow."

"Buyer?"

Renzo hesitated. Then: "The pin. That's all I know."

Y/N stood, smoothing her dress.

"Good boy," she said mockingly, stepping over him like he was dirt.

The door shut behind them.

"You were going to kill him," Y/N said, arms crossed.

Taehyung leaned against the cold wall, eyes on her like she was a storm he'd never outrun.

"I thought about it."

She stepped forward until the space between them crackled.

"Why?"

His voice didn't shake. "Because he touched you. Because he made you bleed. Because he thought he could."

Beat.

"You really want me that bad?" she asked, tilting her head.

"Y/N..." Taehyung's voice dropped to a growl. "Wanting you isn't the problem. Not having you is."

Silence like gravity.

"I don't do feelings," she whispered.

He stepped into her breath. "I do. Enough for both of us."

And then—

The moment cracked wide open.

 She shoved him into the wall. He gripped her waist like he'd never let go. 

Until—

"Are you two—seriously?!" Hoseok's voice cut through the air like a slap.

Y/N didn't even look at him. "So is surviving this outfit without jumping him."

Taehyung smirks "Noted. I'll bring restraints next time."

Hoseok, pinches his nose "I need a transfer. Or therapy. Possibly both."