"The source of their abilities remains unknown, lost to the Old World. When did the mutation start? Centuries before the Calamity? Decades? A generation? Two? These are questions that may never be answered. Perhaps, they are not truly important. What does it matter when these terrifying powers evolved? The focus should be on the damage they wrought. Canyons carved into the earth and quakes on ocean floors that flooded whole continents. At the hands of the powerful, the Old World died. And only because the Marked now remain subdued does our current world continue to live."

- Excerpt from The Calamity, about the end of the Old World

_ _

It's snowing outside, soft flurries that look like they're going to melt as soon as they touch the pristine buildings of Sector 1. Nothing like the drifts that pile up in the hills of the outer sectors, shutting down buses and accumulating on apartment floors because of broken windows. It's strange, watching the snow while warm and safe indoors.

A lot of things about Sector 1 are strange to Taehyung.

This apartment feels both too big and too small, and he's afraid to touch anything because it all looks expensive and so clean. The temperature is always perfect and the fridge is full of so much food that he's opened the door twice to just stare in disbelief — rage sitting somewhere low in his stomach that the elite eat so well when hundreds are starving in Sector 10.

And then there are the others. In the last two days, Namjoon and Seokjin have hovered on the edges of every room they're in like restless ghosts. Yoongi and Hoseok are ships passing in the night, suddenly unsure of how to speak to each other — like they've become unmoored and are drifting further and further apart on a dark sea. Jimin watches everything like Jimin always does: eyes sharp and brain calculating. Assessing openings and weaknesses and escape routes and fault lines and shadows. Jimin has always been a bit of dark and seething creature in ways that Taehyung couldn't understand until they lost Jungkook and Yoongi. Now he thinks that same darkness has coiled up inside of him, too, just waiting to strike.

It's here now, watching Jimin pace the length of Seokjin's guest bedroom — snow still falling picturesque beyond the large window. Jungkook stands with his back to the window and his arms crossed over his chest. Taehyung traces the tense curve of his jaw and the furrow of his brow — old, familiar anger that Taehyung wasn't sure he'd see again.

"I don't like this," Jungkook says in his whispery voice. It's still laced with fire.

"I know you don't." Jimin turns on his heel near the wardrobe and starts back towards the bed in his continuous line. "But it's the best option, Kook."

"No it isn't," Jungkook snaps. "You don't know what you're getting into."

"I do," Jimin says stubbornly, stopping to frown at Jungkook.

"You don't." Jungkook is practically trembling.

Taehyung bites his lip, trying to decide if he should intervene and whose side he needs to be on. He shares Jungkook's anger. When Jimin told them that he wanted to become a companion in order to gather intel at parties, Taehyung wanted to grab him and shake sense into both him and Yoongi for encouraging this idea. But he can also see the practicality of it. Why Yoongi agreed and why Jimin suggested it in the first place. He's good at this, in a way no one else except maybe Yoongi is, and he could be invaluable to this little revolution of theirs.

But he could also be so terribly, horribly hurt.

"I-" Jimin starts.

"You don't," Jungkook repeats, voice rising. He coughs immediately after, massaging his throat. Jimin's stubborn expression collapses towards concern, but Jungkook just takes a deep breath and continues talking, softer than before. "A man choked me, at a party. Held me down while he was fucking me and choked me until I started to pass out. I-" another cough, another slow breath. "I fought back and I was punished for it. That's how Seokjin found me. But do you want more? At another party they drugged me so I could barely move, tied me up in a room, and let guests come in and do whatever they wanted. They liked ... liked making me scream. Or another party, I was given to one elite all night and he was so rough with me I could barely walk when he was done. He made me bleed. They had to get a doctor because I had internal damage and..."

Jungkook wheezes, voice starting to fail. Taehyung rushes to his side, focusing on wrapping a soothing arm around his shoulders instead of the horrific mental images playing in his head. Jimin's face is ashen, a study in rage and grief and heartbreak.

"You don't know," Jungkook whispers, leaning into Taehyung's side. "You don't."

"I'm sorry," Jimin whispers back. He takes a careful step closer, then another until he can rock up on his tiptoes and cup Jungkook's face. "You're right, but I still have to do this. It's the best way."

Jungkook shakes his head. "It should be me-"

"No," Taehyung blurts, cutting Jungkook off.

Jungkook frowns at him. "I've lived in this world. I know it — like Yoongi-hyung said this wouldn't be anything that I haven't dealt with before."

"You shouldn't have to deal with it again," Taehyung insists, fingers digging instinctively into the fabric of Jungkook's shirt.

"And it isn't about being a companion," Jimin adds. "It's about being a spy. And I'm sorry, Jungkookie, but we both know I'm the better spy."

His lips twitch, aiming for levity, but it's fleeting. Jungkook blows out a long breath and puts a hand on Jimin's shoulder, squeezing tight.

"Just promise me," he says soft, "that you'll be careful, hyung."

"I promise," Jimin replies immediately and shifts to hug Jungkook — arms wrapping around Taehyung, as well, drawing them all into a close tangle of limbs.

"I don't want anything to happen to either of you," Jungkook whispers, voice a tired croak. Taehyung takes a gamble and kisses him on the temple while Jimin hugs him tighter.

"Nothing will," he says and it's a blind declaration, even a foolish one, considering everything that's already happened to them. But Taehyung understand Jimin's desire to protect Jungkook. He's still their youngest, in spite of how much they've changed in the last year, and they will always try to shield him from the crush of the future — from the worst of their lives, as silly as that is.

Instincts are hard to change.

Jungkook straightens, determination pushing aside the fear but not the hints of grief. "Then we need to get you ready."

Taehyung lets go of him, swallowing down his protests. He'd been hoping to talk to Jungkook — clear some of the air between them before they commit themselves wholly to this coup — but it can wait, he decides.

For now, he'll talk to Namjoon and Yoongi.

They're easy enough to locate: seated together in the living room, talking in low voices. Hoseok has been forced back into bed by Yoongi's worry and paranoia over his injuries. And after Seokjin gave him tea laced with a sleeping agent and painkillers, he sunk into blissful sleep and hasn't woken in the last few hours. According to Seokjin, he'll sleep for a few more. Taehyung still checks on him before continuing on his mission — his fear impossible to shake even now that they're in a safe environment with a semi-medical professional. He's spent days checking Hoseok's breathing every handful of minutes, so terrified that he wouldn't find a heartbeat and Hoseok had slipped away without him realizing it.

But Hoseok's chest is rising and falling softly now — his face turned into the pillow and his messy hair in his eyes. He looks peaceful, which he hasn't been since Yoongi and Jungkook were taken. Taehyung pets his head gently then creeps back out of the room, closing the door softly behind him.

Yoongi and Namjoon are still talking, but they stop when Taehyung takes a seat on the sofa next to Yoongi. He can tell that Namjoon doesn't know what to make of him, and there's some satisfaction in that: watching this poised elite fidget like a nervous child in the orphanages, blinking at Taehyung like he's trying to solve a challenging puzzle.

He won't succeed — not unless Taehyung wants him to. He's never really considered himself that complicated or puzzling, especially with his heart so close to the surface of him, ready to project emotions all over his face at any given moment. But he knows how to wear masks, just like any Marked in the Outer Sectors, and right now he keeps his impassive one firmly fixed into place.

"I need a computer," he says to Namjoon. "With a network connection and encryption software. Also, the name of the contact who gets you fake papers."

Namjoon blinks. "I'm sorry?"

Taehyung taps his fingers against his leg, impatience rising. "A computer," he repeats. "Encryption software. And your contact."

"Why?"

The weight of Yoongi's questioning gaze is heavy, but Taehyung ignores it. He doesn't want to explain this to Yoongi until he's certain. Right now, he's just chasing rumors and whispers he's picked up through his various channels in the Outer Sectors — that there are secrets about the Old World at the heart of Sector 1 if you know where to look for them, and the best place to start is the Seoul Institute. It used to exist in the Old World, the rumors go, and it survived the Cataclysm, coming under the jurisdiction of the the new monarchy in the immediate aftermath. Though it claims to be invested in professional research to "improve the quality of life in Seoul," there is more lurking under the surface that it keeps hidden from the public. It was a branch of the Institute that developed the suppression of Marked powers and the nanotechnology in seals for companions. And if the whispers are true, they're also sitting on a treasure trove of Old World secrets — things the monarchy doesn't want the public to know.

Taehyung's wanted to go digging for years, to find answers to the mystery of his existence and this unknown power sleeping inside of him, and now he's finally close enough for a chance.

"I'll tell you if I find anything," he says to Namjoon, glancing at Yoongi too. "Trust me."

Yoongi frowns, but he doesn't argue. Just looks at Namjoon and nods.

And apparently that's enough for Namjoon, who returns the nod and says, "okay, Taehyung-ssi. I'll have a computer for you in a few days and I'll reach out to my contact about papers for whatever you need."

"Thank you," Taehyung says — wheels already turning in his mind.

_ _

"Absolutely not," Seokjin says and Jungkook feels a strange sense of deja vu, watching Jimin jut out his chin defiantly and straighten his spine to make himself seem taller. Seokjin is him only a few hours ago and now he's Taehyung, playing the role of observer to a verbal sparring match.

"You know it's a good idea," Jimin snaps. "And you said yourself that we need to get closer to the king's inner circle. You're not going to do that without a companion to help quell all the unsavory rumors about you."

"It won't stop them," Seokjin says, crossing his arms over his chest. "People will just start asking when I'm planning on killing you."

"Having a companion will still help."

"I've gotten this far without one."

"Because you haven't actually tried to make any social connections."

"Plenty of people know who I am."

"Because they think you murder people in this apartment."

Seokjin blows out a frustrated breath — his usually poised facade cracking, just a little. Jimin seems to have that effect on him and Jungkook isn't quite sure what to make of it. But he knows that Seokjin trusts his opinion, perhaps more than any else hear. So he forces words out past the ache in his throat.

"I agree with Jimin."

It's only half the truth. He would still rather it be him making this sacrifice — he can't handle the thought of Jimin hurt in the ways that he's been — but he also knows that Seokjin would approve of that idea even less and Yoongi might actually lock him in a room to prevent it from happening. And Jimin is right. He's the better spy and he always has been. It's why Yoongi chose him as a second-in-command even though Jungkook had been a part of Yoongi's family longer, and Jungkook never begrudged Yoongi for that decision. He prefers a fight to all of Jimin's illusions and deceptions.

Seokjin looks pained. "We would have to put seals on you. Real ones. Create records of sale. Tattoo initials. Dress you up like a doll. Do you understand what that means?"

"I'm not a child," Jimin says. "Of course I do, and I accept that if it means eventually getting to slit the king's throat."

"Fine," Seokjin says, relenting. "Fine, I'll call in some favors at an auction house. JK..." he pauses, frowning. "I mean, Jungkook."

"JK is fine," Jungkook interjects. He didn't mind being JK with Seokjin, or tokki — not when Seokjin managed to make him feel so loved.

A smile flits across Seokjin's mouth as he nods. "JK-yah, I don't want to ask this of you, but..."

"I'll help," Jungkook agrees. He understands why Seokjin doesn't want to be the person making these decisions.

"Thank you," Seokjin says and reaches out — eyes darting briefly to Jimin before he puts a hand on Jungkook's shoulder and rubs his thumb along the blade, simple and comforting. Something in Jungkook's chest pulls tight like a bowstring, but he brushes it aside, focusing instead of Jimin.

"What do I need to do?" Jimin asks.

Jungkook reaches out and touches the black bangs that Jimin's swept off his forehead. "We should dye your hair. To start."

Jimin doesn't protest, just nods, and Jungkook ignores the weight in his stomach, making him sick.

_ _

They choose silver, after some deliberation and quiet input from Yoongi, and Jungkook spends the following afternoon bleaching Jimin's hair in Seokjin's bathtub.

"Normally we get taken to a stylist for this," he explains in a whisper. He's talked too much today and his throat aches, but less than it did even a week ago. The pain, he thinks, is mostly psychological at this point, but he doesn't know how to change it — if there is ever going to be a way to fix these fractures inside of him. "But we can't do that right now. Not until we get the seals done."

Someone is coming tomorrow, Seokjin said a few hours ago, and Jungkook watched Yoongi's jaw clench at the announcement, felt his own wrists ache.

He tips Jimin's head forward, watching bleach-laced water run down the drain.

"Did you get your hair dyed?" Jimin asks, tentative.

"Once," Jungkook replies, a little amused at Jimin's hesitation. Though he supposes he's a walking minefield now — maybe Jimin and Taehyung are going to be cautious about everything. "My second owner wanted it red. Like ... cherry pink? But my third dyed it back to black. Said he preferred it that way. It, um, made me look younger."

Jimin's eyes squeeze shut but he doesn't say anything, just leans further forward so Jungkook can get the hairs at the back of his neck.

It takes several hours, several rounds of bleach and toner, and two rounds of dye, but at the end of the ordeal, Jimin's hair is a stormy silver. It suits him, Jungkook thinks, as Jimin examines himself in the mirror. It accents his features, making him look older and more refined — a little bit ethereal. He'll be the talk of the parties, an object of desire, all according to plan.

"I don't look like me anymore," Jimin says, an unidentifiable emotion lacing his voice.

"That's the point," Jungkook replies. "We don't get to keep anything of ourselves."

Jimin meets his eyes in the mirror. "But you still do. You have, Jungkook-ah. You're still you, and I'm still me."

"No." Jungkook shakes his head. He feels like an amalgamation — an assortment of broken pieces wearing the face of someone that is never coming back. He barely remembers being the Jungkook that went up against a knife for Taehyung, or drove illegal goods across sector lines, or ran messages in forbidden territory, dodging patrols in Sector 3 and 4 like he was made of shadows. And what are they going to be, at the end of all of this? He doesn't know, and that scares him too.

"We can't go back," is all he says to Jimin. This world is going to change him in ways he can't anticipate and perhaps won't even be able to see, but that's something he will have to discover for himself.

"No," Jimin agrees, gaze flicking back to his own face. "We can't."

A knock on the door breaks the strange hush that's fallen over the bathroom and Jungkook steps aside to let Yoongi in. He's carrying a bundle of clothes and he sets them on the counter, pausing to take in Jimin's new hair.

"We're the same size," he says. "These should fit you, to start. I had Namjoon bring them over."

Jimin takes the clothes with a nod and pulls his loose-fitting shirt over his head. Jungkook averts his eyes, as absurd as it feels to do so when he's spent years living in a tiny apartment with Jimin and sharing showers because there was never enough water. Yoongi doesn't, he notices, just leans against the sink and waits for Jimin to finish changing.

The clothes are simple, but elegant — a black shirt with floral embroidery on the collar and across the back of the shoulders, and black pants that accent Jimin's narrow waist and strong legs — and contrast well with Jimin's new hair. Yoongi even included a pair of intricate silver earrings that Jimin replaces his old, worn ones with. They sway as he turns his head back and forth, examining his outfit in the mirror.

"There," Yoongi says, a sad smile on his face. "Just add some makeup and you'll be ready."

Jimin turns to face them both and reaches for their hands. "I'll be okay," he promises. "You need to trust me."

Jungkook swallows and looks at Yoongi, taking in the tired expression and the storm raging underneath. "We might be at the same parties," Yoongi says. "Whatever you see ... you can't interfere, okay? And they might ... sometimes they ask companions to do things with each other. Sex —though Seokjin and Namjoon won't let that happen — or touching and kissing. You need to be okay with that too. Being ... close. Even if ... even if it's me."

Jungkook flashes back to the auction house — to Yoongi above him, moving in him, and kissing along his neck, whispering tender reassurances in his ear — and then to all the parties that followed where it was his turn to murmur it'll be okay just stay with me it'll be over soon, low enough that the audience couldn't hear. He imagines Jimin and Yoongi in that situation and shudders, squeezing Jimin's hand tight.

Jimin rocks forward to hook his chin on Yoongi's shoulder, still clutching Jungkook's hand. "I'll be okay," he repeats gently. "And I'll still love you."

Yoongi blinks at the wall over Jimin's head, eyes wet. He doesn't cry, though, or offer any more protests. Just kisses Jimin's hair and reaches up with his free hand to cup the back of Jungkook's neck, fingers stretching to rub over his tattoo in slow, soothing strokes.

_ _

The next morning, Taehyung, Yoongi, and Namjoon all hide in the guest bedroom with Hoseok and Jungkook watches nervously as Seokjin double-checks that the door is locked before ushering in two representatives from the auction house — both women and different from the ones who changed over Jungkook's seals. Neither are in uniform, and they look just as nervous as Jungkook feels.

In contrast, Seokjin and Jimin are calm. Jimin's seated in one of the dining room chairs, dragged away from the table while Seokjin hovers close by. "You remember what we discussed?" he asks the taller one, whose long blonde hair is piled on her head, making her look regal in spite of her simple dress.

She nods, gesturing to her lavender-haired companion, and together they begin laying various tools out on the dining room table: a tattoo gun, a vial full of dark blue fluid, two large syringes. A shiver runs down Jungkook's spine and for a moment he's back at his first auction house, handcuffed to the table while they prepped him for his first owners and he tried not to cry at the force of the terror gnawing through his stomach.

Seokjin's hand lands on his shoulder, anchoring, and Jungkook shoots him a grateful look. Jimin is also eyeing the instruments, but his impassive mask remains free of cracks.

"How many initials do you want?" the blonde woman asks. "And should we sedate him?"

"Three before mine." Seokjin's voice remains light and airy, contrasting the subtle clench of his jaw. "And no need."

Both women nod, almost in sync, and begin to prep Jimin, instructing him to roll up his sleeve and place both arms on the table. Once he's obeyed, they pin him down to the polished stone surface with several weighted bands. Those, too, are familiar and Jungkook takes a steadying breath. Seokjin's fingers dig in deeper through the fabric of Jungkook's sweater.

Time goes elastic as the tattoo gun whirs and the women work. The initials are invented, to correspond with the records of sale that the auctioneers will be faking. An uncommon practice, folding an illegally sanctioned companion in with the usual records, but always available for those willing to pay the right price. Jungkook can't imagine how much money Seokjin must have offered, but steadily three sets of initials appear on Jimin's arm, mirroring Jungkook's own. After each one, the women draw a line through them, until they've reached the fourth and final set: Seokjin's

At this point, as they trace out KSJ, Jungkook notices that Seokjin finally looks away.

Jimin remains stoic and silent — only a subtle twitch near his eye giving away the pain he must be feeling. Once, only a few months after coming to live with them, Jimin got slashed across the ribs by a would-be mugger and they only found out when he couldn't hide the bleeding anymore. Yoongi was livid, but Jimin only apologized for worrying them, not trying to conceal the injury.

In this, he's always been strong.

"We're done," the blonde woman announces while Lavender wraps plastic and gauze around the tattoos. "Now for the seals."

The worst part, that makes the tattoos seem like a pleasant stroll through a riverside park. Jungkook reminds himself not to be sick as Lavender fills one syringe and Blonde takes the other. They double-check Jimin's restraints and then simultaneously inject him, pressing the needles into the veins near his wrists. Jimin shudders and gasps, hunching in on himself as his skin begins to darken and ripple. Jungkook closes his eyes when the first scream pours out of Jimin's mouth, feeling Seokjin's fingers gripping him hard enough to bruise.

Another scream and the bang of the chair against the tile as Jimin thrashes. The women shout to each other — instructions to hold him down and a third scream rakes bloody against Jungkook's ears before Jimin finally settles, wheezing brokenly.

"There," Blonde says, still clipped and professional. "We're ready for you to test it, Seokjin-nim."

Seokjin takes a quiet, steeling breath — only audible to Jungkook — and crosses over to Jimin's side. Jimin doesn't look up when Seokjin' presses his fingers against the seal and the first one shifts from black to angry red as the nanotechnology responds. This time, Jimin doesn't scream but Jungkook can see his grimace, his gritted teeth. The other wrist produces the same result and the women nod in satisfaction.

"I have one more request," Seokjin says before they can pack away their tools. "I'm willing to pay more for it. Whatever's necessary."

Blonde and Lavender exchange a wary look.

"What ... kind of request?" Blonde asks.

"I want you to deactivate his seals," Seokjin says, gesturing to Jungkook.

Jungkook sucks in a surprised breath. They never discussed this.

Lavender's eyes blow wide while Blonde struggles to maintain her composure. "Seokjin-nim ... that is a very unusual request."

"Unheard of," Lavender blurts.

Seokjin hums contemplatively. "You'll add a companion to your books, what's so different about removing one? Name your price."

The women continue to hesitate.

"Three hundred thousand?" Seokjin offers and Jungkook chokes on air. "Five hundred thousand? Ah, you're considering now."

And the women are — trying to have a silent conversation with just twitches of their mouths and furrowed brows. After a moment, Blonde turns back to Seokjin and squares her shoulders. "One million won," she announces, though her voice wavers slightly.

Seokjin's mouth curves into a smirk. "Not so hard after all, is it?"

Lavender looks a little guilty, shifting her weight from one heeled foot to the other, but Blonde merely purses her lips and gestures for Jungkook to sit in a chair next to Jimin. Jungkook obeys, heart in his throat, and steals a glance at Jimin as Lavender cuffs his arms to the table. He has his eyes closed, head still bent and hair in his face, but his breathing is evening out and the tight lines of pain have faded from his expression.

At least, Jungkook thinks to comfort himself, Jimin will only have to go through this once.

Blonde appears at his side, holding a strange little device in her hands. It almost looks like some kind of scanner, but there are two prongs at the end that Jungkook has a feeling are going in his arm. "We cannot remove the seals themselves, but we'll be able to deactivate the nanotechnology inside."

"Do it," Seokjin says, light but commanding.

Blonde punctures his skin with the device and he breathes out against the sudden flare of pain. It builds as the seal turns red — the nanotech flaring to life one last time before it's shut down — and Jungkook clenches his teeth against the scream clawing its way up his throat from the pit of his stomach. His nerves feel like they're on fire, spreading up his arm and across his sternum, but then it's over. Blonde removes the device and swipes away the small dots of blood with a strip of gauze. Jungkook blinks reflexive tears out of his eyes as Blonde moves to his other arm and Lavender starts bandaging the puncture wounds.

The process repeats and this time Jungkook tips his head back to stare at the ceiling, panting through the burn of the dying tech as his feels tears drip down his temples from his watering eyes.

"There," Blonde says — in the same tone she used when speaking about Jimin, though her voice wobbles now. "Please test them."

Seokjin's fingers press against Jungkook's wrist but there is no pain this time, no fire. The seals are dormant and Jungkook shudders in amazed relief.

"His tracking chip too," Seokjin says. "And I want proof you've erased him from the database."

"Of course, Seokjin-nim," Blonde agrees pleasantly. Jungkook supposes that one million won will get you all kinds of courtesy and acquiescence. Jungkook cannot fathom that kind of money, though he has vague memories of Seokjin purchasing him for eight times that amount.

Lavender presses a different device against the side of his neck, opposite his mark, and a loud beep echoes through the room — the tracker deactivating. He looks over at Blonde, who taps on a portable tablet with perfectly manicured nails. It only takes thirty seconds, then she presents it to Seokjin.

"He's been cleared from our central database, Seokjin-nim. No auction house will have any records of him."

Seokjin takes the tablet to examine it and nods. "Perfect." His own fingers move, typing out a new series of commands. "And I've transferred the funds, as requested. I'm sure you'll share them equally between the two of you."

Blonde and Lavender look at each other again, more charged than before, but when they bow it's in perfect, practiced unison and they pack up their tools with quicky efficiency — releasing both Jimin and Jungkook from their restraints, throwing away syringes, and stowing the tattoo equipment and other devices in their inconspicuous leather cases.

Jungkook rubs his sore wrists, marveling at how faded the seals look now that the nanotech is no longer active, and isn't sure if he wants to laugh or weep at how easy this was. Just one million won, two devices, and a few clicks on a tablet and he's as close to free as he's been in a year.

"A pleasure doing business with both of you," Seokjin says, ushering the women out the front door and closing it firmly behind them. As soon as the lock clicks into place, the door to the guest bedroom wrenches open and Taehyung stumbles out, rushing to Jimin and Jungkook with a wild-eyed expression.

"I'm fine," Jimin croaks as Taehyung wraps an arm around his shoulders. "I'm okay, Taehyungie."

"I heard screaming," Taehyung says, staring down at the fresh tattoos and seals on Jimin's skin. "You screamed."

"It hurt," Jimin says. "But it's over."

"And you, Kook?" Taehyung asks, clearly searching Jungkook's face for any sign of distress.

"I'm okay too," Jungkook says, pushing himself to his feet. "I ... my seals..." He turns to Seokjin, who is standing off to the side, looking uncomfortable — hands shoved deep in the pockets of his pressed pants. " Thank you. "

"It was the least I could do," Seokjin insists and Jungkook shakes his head, moving to pull Seokjin into a hug.

"It wasn't."

"It was only money, JK-yah," Seokjin insists, but his arms encircle Jungkook, hugging him back. "It was nothing . "

"Not to me."

"What did you?" Yoongi's voice, coming to join them. When Jungkook looks up, he sees Namjoon crossing into the kitchen and Hoseok leaning on the bedroom door frame — pale but on his feet.

"Deactivated his seals," Seokjin says, and Yoongi makes a startled sound. "And erased his records. He should be able to move around the city now, as long as he keeps the Mark hidden."

Jungkook squeezes Seokjin's waist in a final, silent thanks before letting him go. Seokjin's attention turns to Jimin. "And let me get you some water."

"I'm fine," Jimin insists, standing. He sways, slightly, and Taehyung puts a hand against his back to steady him. "I don't need your pity."

Seokjin shakes his head, stalking over to the sink. He fills a large glass with water and holds it out to Jimin. "It isn't pity. Just drink the damn water."

Jimin makes no move to take the glass, staring at Seokjin with open defiance. It's almost hilarious — Jungkook wants to laugh at their stubborn ridiculousness and he sees Yoongi's mouth twitch in a faint smile, because they both know who the victor is going to be here. And as predicted, Seokjin finally sighs and puts the glass in Taehyung's hand instead.

"Please give him water," he says, voice clipped, and vanishes into his study.

Taehyung shakes his head and holds the glass up to Jimin's lips. "Here, Chim."

This time, Jimin drinks.

_ _

"We're going to need to separate soon." Namjoon's been expecting Seokjin's announcement and he hums in agreement as he watches Yoongi help Hoseok down onto the sofa. "It's too conspicuous to have so many people in my apartment."

Namjoon's already thought about this, mapping out plans in the back of his head ever since it seemed like it was going to be the seven of them in this together. Yoongi needs to stay with him, and Hoseok will undoubtedly insist on coming with Yoongi. Jimin will need to stay with Seokjin now, and he imagines Jungkook would be more comfortable remaining here, as well. Taehyung ... seems to have plans of his own that he hasn't let anyone else in on yet, which means he could choose either option.

He outlines this for Seokjin, who sighs and rubs the back of his neck. "That's what I was thinking. I'll still pass Jungkook and Jimin off as my companions — that won't arouse any suspicion. Taehyung's a different story."

"So is Hoseok."

"Hmm, Hoseok can be a sick relative, perhaps. That you've agreed to take care of."

"And Taehyung?"

Seokjin looks off to the side and Namjoon follows his gaze to where Taehyung is rubbing cream on Jimin's fresh tattoos, the two of them murmuring softly to each other while Jungkook stands close by — one hand on Jimin's back and one on Taehyung's.

"Somehow," Seokjin says, tired amusement lacing his voice, "I think he'll tell us when he wants to."

Namjoon thinks back to Taehyung's request. He's already put the order in for the laptop and the necessary encryption software, but a meeting with Jackson? That's more difficult. Namjoon can't even remember the last time they've seen each other in person, operating on the mutual agreement that as little contact as possible was necessary in their current line of work. The less people can connect them, the better. Would Jackson agree to meet with an unknown person? Expose himself like that? Namjoon pays him, but he's never been driven by money — not like almost everyone else in this Sector. Sometimes, Namjoon thinks Jackson makes forgeries just for the hell of it.

But whatever Taehyung is planning, Yoongi trusts him, and that has to be good enough for Namjoon. As far as he knows, the people in this room are the only ones Yoongi trusts in the whole world.

"Fine," he says to Seokjin. "I'll make arrangements to get Hoseok back to my apartment." His driver is good at being discreet. With enough won lining his pockets, he'll pretend the injured man in the back of his car is completely invisible if Namjoon wants him to.

"You should probably go tonight," Seokjin says. "You know how nosy my neighbors get."

Namjoon sighs. So many eyes in this city, all waiting for you to slip up. Even in glittering towers, someone is always watching. "I'll let them know, I think Hoseok should be strong enough for the trip."

He sends a quick text to his driver, asking to be picked up in twenty minutes to half an hour. Yoongi's clothes should fit Hoseok for now, until they can order more, and he assumes the two of them will be fine sharing the guest bedroom. If not, Yoongi can have Namjoon's bed — it's not like Namjoon has any secrets left that need to be kept behind his locked door.

Once he receives confirmation from his driver, he touches Yoongi's shoulder gently. "Can we talk?"

Yoongi nods and stands and Namjoon tries to ignore the weight of Hoseok's gaze — still afraid of what Hoseok might see buried beneath the thin mask Namjoon is still trying desperately to keep in place. What would Hoseok do, if he learned of the traitorous love that keeps trying to take root in Namjoon's chest? Namjoon can't imagine the reaction would be a positive one. But Hoseok doesn't protest, merely sinks back against the cushions and lets Yoongi climb to his feet.

Namjoon leads Yoongi into the vacant bathroom and closes the door. "We need to move Hoseok. Back to my apartment."

Yoongi displays no surprise at this announcement, merely nods like he was expecting this, like he's five steps ahead of Namjoon, as always. "He should be fine if we're careful. Your driver won't get nosy?"

"No," Namjoon promises.

"I don't like leaving the kids," Yoongi admits, wiping a hand over his face. There are bruised circles under his eyes that Namjoon sympathizes with. It feels like they've barely slept in days, since Jimin came crashing into the apartment and upended everything.

"Seokjin will take care of them," Namjoon tries to assure him. "And if he doesn't, I have a feeling Jimin will gut him."

That gets a tiny smile from Yoongi. "Yeah, Jimin's always been both an indestructible force and an immovable object when he wants to be."

"So they'll be okay." Tentatively, Namjoon reaches out and rubs a thumb across Yoongi's upper arm, attempting to soothe further. To his mild surprise, Yoongi relaxes into the touch with another tired sigh. He wants to stay here like this — maybe coax Yoongi further into his arms — but the driver will be arriving soon and he's trying to remember what he is and isn't allowed.

"We'll need to take Hoseok down the service elevator," he says and Yoongi hums. "I can carry him."

"He won't like that," Yoongi says.

"Can he walk on his own?"

"No," Yoongi huffs.

"Then I'll carry him and I'm sure he can get revenge later." He pauses. Slides his hand slowly up to cradle the side of Yoongi's neck, knuckles against Yoongi's mark. "Are you okay?"

"I'm better than I have been," Yoongi says and Namjoon supposes that's enough of an answer, especially for a question as silly as the one he just asked.

He nods and drops his hand. His phone buzzes in the pocket, probably his driver informing him that he's getting close. "We should go."

"I'll talk to Hoseok," Yoongi agrees, turning to open the door again. "He'll take the news better if it comes from me."

And Yoongi's right. Hoseok still isn't happy about leaving the kids or being carried out of the building, but whatever Yoongi says convinces him not to put up too much of a fight. Seokjin packs them some food and makes Namjoon promise to let him know when they've arrived safely. Taehyung decides that he's going to stay with Jungkook and Jimin for the time being, though he pulls Namjoon aside and says, "please let me know when I can meet with your contact, Namjoon-ssi. If it helps, tell him Ghost is asking."

"Ghost?" Namjoon asks. The codename sounds vaguely familiar.

Taehyung nods and doesn't offer any more information, just turns to wrap Yoongi up in a parting hug.

After additional hugs from Jungkook and Jimin, Hoseok and Yoongi are ready to go and Namjoon carefully lifts Hoseok onto his back, working hard not to strain his wounds and shocked at how light Hoseok is. He feels delicate in Namjoon's arms, terrifyingly breakable, even as his grip on Namjoon's shoulders carries a surprising amount of strength.

"Let's get this over with," he says, tense with pain or discomfort or both.

Yoongi opens the door for them and Namjoon walks as quickly as he can through the winding corridors to the service elevator. It's agonizingly slow to arrive and even slower to descend, floors ticking by in what feels like slow motion. Hoseok's breath is hot against his neck and he's still tense, even as he rests his head against Namjoon's shoulder, clearly exhausted.

"Just a little longer," Namjoon assures him as the indicator creeps towards the second floor and then finally the first.

"I'm fine," Hoseok rasps insistently, every bit as stubborn as Yoongi and Jimin. Namjoon swallows back a retort and adjusts his grip.

The doors open with an ominous groan and Namjoon spots his car parked exactly where he instructed, idling with its lights off in the alley. His driver steps out as they approach, a question on his face.

"You'll be compensated for the extra cargo," Namjoon assures him and the man bows, opening the back door so that Namjoon can lower Hoseok inside.

Hoseok slumps against the window with a faint wheeze and Yoongi slides in after, taking Hoseok's hand. Namjoon climbs in last, allowing the driver to shut the door behind him. The partition is already raised, granting them privacy, but Namjoon wishes he didn't feel so off-balance.

"So," Hoseok says into the oppressive quiet, surprising him, "is your apartment as nice as Seokjin's?"

"Nicer," he says before he can stop himself and Hoseok snorts, but it sounds amused.

"He has a piano," Yoongi adds. Namjoon flushes. He'd bought it in a moment of vanity, thinking he could learn how to play, but abandoned lessons after only a few weeks and now it sits gathering dust, even though he pays someone to come tune it every few months. He didn't think Yoongi would have cared about it, but Hoseok is staring up at him with a soft expression.

"You'll have to play me something," he says.

"You play?" Namjoon asks, thrown once again.

Yoongi shrugs, and the gesture would be dismissive if not for the tension in his back and shoulders. "I used to. In another life."

"He was really good." Hoseok's eyes slip closed and the passing lights cast shadows on his wan face. "Used to sneak away to play in the shops, when he could."

"It made me feel more human," Yoongi whispers and Namjoon's chest pulls tight and aching.

"You can play whenever you want," he says, reaching over to rest his hand on Yoongi's knee. "I don't know how so it's yours, hyung."

Hoseok's eyes open again at the honorific, a little startled, and Namjoon quickly looks away.

"Thank you," Yoongi says, putting his on top of Namjoon's — a warm weight.

Outside, the city lights blur as the car continues to glide through the night.

_ _

Taehyung can't stop staring at the marks on Jimin's arm and wrists, even as Jimin has sunk into sleep, curled up in a ball in the middle of this too-big bed. The sight of them is wrong, in a visceral, gut-churning way that Taehyung suspects will never dissipate. It's the same punch he weathers whenever he sees Jungkook's exposed arms too. Ownership , written in black ink.

"Taehyung," Jungkook murmurs from the bedroom doorway, backlit by the light from the living room. "Can we ... can we talk?"

Ah , Taehyung thinks, ruefully, all this time and Jungkook is still making the first move.

"Of course," he says, checking one last time that Jimin is still peacefully asleep. Jungkook steps aside to let him through the door, closing it behind them with a soft click.

The living room is quiet — bathed in golden, dim light from several lamps artfully arranged on side tables and in corners, each boasting an ornate shade that looks hand-painted. Seokjin is missing, probably retired to bed, and it's the first time Taehyung's been alone with Jungkook in what might be over a year. He reminds himself not to touch as he joins Jungkook on the couch, to keep his hands to himself in spite of the yearning inside of him, hollowing him out.

Jungkook licks his lips, taps his fingers against his knee in an anxious rhythm. "I'm sorry," he says, still in a raspy whisper. He's stretched his voice too much today, but Taehyung knows better than to point it out. "That I haven't — that I've been — I'm sorry that I didn't kiss you."

Well. That wasn't what he was expecting.

He absorbs it — the shock, the ache — and pushes forward. "You don't have to apologize."

Jungkook shakes his head. "I still — I think I still want to be with you? But I'm not ... me. Anymore. There's been so much. Buy maybe — is that a good thing? If we were to — I'd be — I'm experienced now. I'd make it good ... for you."

"Jungkook," Taehyung says helplessly, unable to keep the devastation out of his voice.

Jungkook keeps his eyes on his lap, refusing to raise his head. His fingers have shifted to wringing the hem of his shirt between his hands, twitching and nervous. "I just — wanted to let you know that. To ... offer. Because I know we were — we would have been..."

"Jungkook," Taehyung repeats, leaning forward but stopping himself just shy of putting a hand on Jungkook's coiled back. "Jungkook, do you think I — I don't — I love you. Then and now. And tomorrow. No matter what happens."

Finally Jungkook looks up, and the disbelief on his face is heartbreaking.

Do you think so little of me? Taehyung wants to ask, but knows it isn't that simple. Nothing is simple anymore

"I wanted us to be more," Taehyung continues. "But maybe that's over now and that's okay. Guess what? I still love you."

"You do?" Jungkook whispers.

"Always," Taehyung says. "Always, Kook, okay?"

He dares to scoot closer, until their knees are pressing together and to his surprise and relief, Jungkook instantly leans in, curling around him like he used to in Sector 10, tangling up together until Taehyung couldn't define where his body ended and Jungkook's began.

"Okay, then," Jungkook says, though he doesn't sound like he quite believes it yet. "Always."

Taehyung kisses his cheek, pushing the plans he wanted to share with Jungkook to the back of his mind. They can keep waiting.

"There's more I need to tell you," Jungkook continues. "But I don't know how."

"That's okay," Taehyung assures him in spite of the prick of fear down his spine. "I'll listen whenever you're ready."

Jungkook nods and pulls away, getting to his feet. Taehyung watches him walk to the expansive windows and push back the curtains, letting in the city light and framing him in dark silhouette. "Taehyung ... do you think we can do this?"

"I don't know," Taehyung answers honestly. Statistically, the odds are terrible — every algorithm he runs would probably end in a failed result — but he has never wanted to believe in those. "But we have to try."

Otherwise, what will this all mean? Jungkook's wounds and Yoongi's grief and Jimin's determination and Hoseok's heartbreak and his own rage. And beyond the four of them — the secrets, the police raids, the Marks, the strikes, the auction houses, countless deaths ... he wants it all to matter, and the only way it can is to shred everything apart. Tear it down, burn it, and rebuild without forgetting or erasing.

He wants a new world that remembers this one and never lets it happen again.

"Yeah," Jungkook says, though it's more of a sigh. "And besides, what can they do? Kill us? I don't think I'm afraid of that anymore."

Taehyung isn't sure what to say in response to that, so he stands and joins Jungkook in front of the window, taking Jungkook's hand and lacing their fingers together. Below them, the pristine city carries on — never slowing or stopping, hurling forward in an endless rush as the lights glimmer and the shadows stretch and lengthen, consuming everything in their path.