JIMIN POV: 

A nervousness settles in my stomach; accompanied with a churning sensation, unease and determination entangling in a dangerous mixture as I pull up outside an apartment complex; eyes flickering over the navigation. Verifying and reverifying the address was correct. 

That I was in the right place, eyes doing a cursory sweep of the surroundings; taking in the local park; still in use despite the increasingly cold weather, children bundled up and parents carefully watching... rushing close when one fell, ready to soothe the sting with warm words and even gentler nurturing touch. Lips curving upwards slightly at the sight. 

Take in the cars dotted around the street and the confusing mix of both emptiness and warmth the area seems to emanate; I knew it was one of the extensively positive hybrid housing areas, high on its list for both price and safety. It was a strong neighborhood, humans and hybrids got along seamlessly, little to no complaints filed with discriminatory purposes. 

All in all... a good place to live. 

But anxiousness gnaws at me as I step out the car, ears folding against the air,, tugging my scarf tighter around my throat; restless despite the settling bite Namjoon had given only the night before. 

Had taken one look at my pacing and fretting and bodily drawn me towards him, crowding me against the mattress and fangs sinking deep as his rich earthy scent washed over in heavy waves, pheromones sinking into my bones as I in turn sank against the mattress, the arch of my throat no longer needing to be pronounced or encouraged, falling back to welcome the scenting and gentle brushes of his tongue to my gland, soothing over the sting of his bite, body thrumming with the claim as it went limp and pliant under his. 

"You'll do good pup. You always do good... so stop working yourself into a panic." He'd murmured it against skin with slow brushes of his lips and he'd said it this morning, nose scrunching with the blatant lack of pack scents clinging to me, at the faintest layer of scent-blockers but voice warm and grounding. 

Even now the thin layer of scent-blockers felt like a weighted reminder, purposely avoiding pack scents because the last thing I wanted was to either overwhelm Jangmi with my scent or throw it in her face that I had a pack, and carried their scents proudly, whilst she'd been suffering and hurting for months on end without news of any sort. 

It takes a few moments of gathering myself, mentally running through details as I turn the car off, steps measured and deceptively at ease even whilst my insides churned. 

Hope and empathy clung to my skin, and I could already smell my mint, though dampened down, curling stronger and pulsing heavier. 

Fingers clenching and unclenching before pressing the button to reception, stepping into the warm interior; eyeing the insides, the desk, the exits. 

Mentally cataloguing everything, force of habit to eye the security, the ease of access in and out the building as I make my way to the elevator. 

It's a small relief to see that it's one where you have to key yourself in, flagging down one of the guards to authorize the lift, riding up alongside him. Good security system. 

So Lieutenant Fang being taken or rather someone unverified entering the building and accessing her apartment wasn't likely. 

The small ding echoes in my ears, flickering at the sound when I step out, nerves skyrocketing at the cheerful sound, footsteps measured as I will myself to move, to move closer down the hallways before coming to a stop. 

Nervous. Because so much could be gained from even finding out what Fang was upto before her disappearance, so much could unfold simply by talking to Jangmi. 

And the wait that stretches out after knocking on the door makes that unsettledness bubble, hand skimming across my badge and holster, unconsciously patting myself down to smoothen out my appearance. 

Not expecting when the door opens for it to threaten to shut just as promptly, and noiselessly once dark eyes scan me and fall at my waist. A sudden blur of movement that I almost miss the quiet opening of the door before I see it begin to shut already. 

Narrow at the badge. 

Feel alarm pulse when the door swings shut, and my voice tears out my throat in panic. 

"Wait!" 

See the door halt. 

"Please... I'm sorry for intruding like this. But I'd like to talk to you about Lieutenant Fang Amina." I begin, nerves settling as the naturalness of the role sets, voice soft as I eye the gap between the door and the apartment beyond it. 

"Jangmi-ssi, I'm aware your packmate is missing, for quite some time, and I'd like to discuss reopening an investigation to look into her disappearance." 

Silence. Stillness. 

The world seems to come to a standstill as the words leave my mouth, pausing and coming to a stop the moment my mouth closes, words hanging precariously on a fraying thread between us. But before it plummets and falls futilely onto the ground the door is drawn open, wider than before, and tired eyes peer at me, from behind rectangle-rimmed glasses, with flickering embers of hope. 

I take in the ears that flicker at my words, lips pressed tightly; whitening with pressure and the exhaustion that clings onto a frame that leans against the door, body hidden away under an oversized jumper. See the brush of her fingers against the rim of her glasses, nudging them up slightly, blinking slowly. 

The scent of honey; steeped with bitterness, a cloying heavy edge to it, seeps out, curls around me both from her and the apartment, stepping aside as she looks at me, head tilted in invitation. 

Weary and exhausted; a fatigue that lingers in bones and pulses weakly through blood, a fatigue that goes beyond the dark shadows lining her eyes and the slightly thinner appearance than the database files had come up with, that we'd scoured the web to find; it's such a small distinction but one that sticks, the slightly hollowed appearance to her cheeks. 

Unbidden the image of (Y/N) comes to mind; remembering her thinner cheeks after her heats, so much energy burnt that it began to visibly affect her. But that had been borne out of heat exhaustion and exertion, the sight of Jangmi; with clear evidence of many sleepless nights and a cloying bitterness to her scent gives away just how deeply she's been hurting and suffering without her packmate.  

Without Amina. 

The comparison, even mentally, isn't fair. It's a different weariness that melds to her frame as she watches me pass through into the hallway, eyes fixed onto me as I bend down to undo laces, carefully slipping shoes off. 

And when I straighten it's to find her eyes unflinchingly still trained on me, tracking my movement as I follow her into the apartment, eyes habitually roving, scanning the photos and art, heart aching at the photos of the two of them crowded close to the camera, smiles bright and stretched wide across their faces, laughter captured and frozen within that instance. There's countless frames dotted across the walls, traces and proofs of an apartment well loved, but the only scent that remains is aged honey, wilted and achingly pained pheromones lingering in every crevice, as if her pain has come to settle over every inch of their home. 

And there's almost something clinically clean about it; void of the usual scattering of belongings and knickknacks that give the lived-in feel that makes me remember, driven in forcefully, that this is an apartment lacking that liveliness and joy it should have. Eyes tracking the tired slow movements of Jangmi as she leads the way to the living room, feet coming to a halt. 

This. 

This is a room lived in. 

Her sanctuary it seems if the pile of blankets are any indication, a hollowed-out space where she must've slipped out of to answer the door, papers piling over the coffee table, laptop emitting a dull glow and a still full mug of tea resting nearby. There's no steam curling up from the mug, long since left to go cold. 

But this...  

This is where Jangmi has lived, has come to settle, watch as she sinks back onto the sofa, unconsciously drawing the blankets closer to her, absently smoothening the wrinkles in it before she startles, eyes widening, half-rising as she gestures to an opposite couch.  

Stark of the cushions and blankets piled onto hers. 

Nesting. 

If it wasn't such an instinctually driven gesture to make herself feel safe and protected, the sight of her layering the blankets around her would've drawn a smile to my face. 

"Sorry you were busy." I murmur, gesturing to the clustered table, something cold and empty about the couch I sink onto, as I look at her. 

Watch a tendril of hair curl against her cheek, pushed back impatiently, as she shakes her head. 

"It's fine Officer—" trailing off and staring pointedly, waiting for an introduction. 

Ears flickering, I dip my head, setting my badge and id down onto the table. 

"Officer Park Jimin. I'm the one who found your packmate's missing report—and I don't think enough was done to find her... full efforts weren't invested into it." Hedging carefully but the bitterness that sears across soft features is startling and unexpected. 

Voice level and hardened when she speaks. 

"I'm aware Officer." Slight disdain towards the title as she says it, eyes blazing with simmering pools of rage, an inferno waiting to be unleashed in her dark eyes. 

There'd been a numbness in them before but at the mention of the missing report, it fades away, replaced with a blaze that makes me silently wonder. 

Wonder what provoked such a reaction. 

"I'm the one who filed it after Amina never returned home after a recon, I waited the customary time period before filing it, chased it up every day until they abandoned it, but well--- I know no effort was made to truly find her." Scathing and pained. 

There's such an assuredness in how she says it, such firmly rooted belief, body tilting closer as I look at her, see hands fist into the blanket and draw it closer to her. But she doesn't wrap it around herself, she doesn't cover herself away. Perhaps a vulnerability or need she can't bring herself to show in front of a stranger. 

As if steeling herself against the urge, for now, to hide away and burrow deep from this nightmare, to fall into a sleep and awaken only when her packmate has returned. 

Wonder for an instance whether the barrier exists to keep me... as an officer away. It was clear she harbored anger and resentment towards the police, for costing her her packmate, for not finding her or doing enough to find any leads on her disappearance. 

"What was her recon on? I didn't find any details of an assignment the day she went missing."

There'd been no mention of any details of that and as I stare at Jangmi, it's to see pain, raw and tangible sear across her face. 

"Because it wasn't when she was on duty, she told me she was going to check something out, but it was as if she knew... that there was some sort of danger. She didn't take her badge, but she did take her gun." 

My brows rise. 

A recon mission off duty, without uniform and badge but with her gun. 

She was aware of the threat, she was aware of danger either enough so that the uniform and identification would endanger her or where she was infiltrating or scouting—she would be safer off, more likely to get information without the blatant blaring sign of her uniform giving her away. 

"Do you know where to? Any name, any location... any street or any shop, anything that can identify a starting point." Desperation and optimism melding together as I look at her eagerly. 

"None. Amina didn't tell me, and I trusted her to know to let her follow her instinct. That and some answers were too dangerous to hear."  

Eyes fixing on me, piercing and penetrative despite their soft brown.  

Something calculating and meaningful in them.  

The glasses do nothing to hide the shadows that bruise her skin, dark circles that scream of exhaustion and weariness that she can't escape from. But all the same... more alert as she examines me. 

It feels like endless answers beseech to be taken from her eyes, implored to be understood but there's a guardedness in them that truly lets her sit comfortably, to speak openly and confidently just what it is she knows... 

Perhaps unsure what she can divulge and how much she can share. 

This hesitation makes that anxiousness bloom, wondering just how many insiders we had at the station, how many there were spread across regions and districts. 

Because Amina hadn't been Lieutenant at our office, at our district's station. 

But she'd clearly been wary and withheld information from someone. 

"Jangmi-ssi, how blunt can you be with me then regarding Lt. Fang? What can I say to assure you that I'm not from the same circle of officers who you believe are involved?" 

Seeing her face flicker, lips trembling before pressing together, hands habitually smoothening over the blanket as she stares back resolutely. 

"How can I believe you?" 

I stare back, unwavering. 

Her voice is shaky and wavers but the strength in her eyes steel herself against me. 

"How can I trust you? And not be sure I'm not handing information over to an insider, to a mole?" 

And I know no matter what I say, words fall short when undoubtedly she's heard countless lies, and I know names nor information that'll truly help, will be divulged until she has that trust, that certainty that I'm not one of them. 

The ones who took her pack from her. 

"Jangmi-ssi... I know it's hard to trust anyone, I know that so well—I walk into the station not knowing who's going to drive a knife into my back. I know you can't and won't trust an officer so easily... so may I ask for a chance? A chance to show you and prove to you otherwise—that I'm not one of the people who took Amina away from you." I ask earnestly. 

I needed a chance. 

A chance to show her. 

Because this wasn't going to go anywhere otherwise. We would be stuck in this endless loop. 

And sometimes were words fell short, actions and physical proof didn't. 

Stare at the shadowed eyes, lined with grief and pain and wariness, see the tentativeness morph into something resolute. 

It felt like I'm being scanned. Silently observed and scrutinized and slowly she nods. 

"Prove to me you're on Amina's side and—and I'll do everything I can, share everything I know... to get her back." She says firmly. 

Rising when I do, an alarming stumbling sway to her body before her hand steadies her against the couch, slowly drawing herself upright. Leg colliding with the side of the table, jolting the precariously balanced pages and laptop, a pile fluttering to the carpeted ground. 

Waving off the slight jolt my body had given as she straightens up, blinking slowly before she kneels, moving to gather the fallen sheets. 

I hurry to her side, kneeling beside her as I help her gather them up. 

Closer to her, the scent of her pain is clearer. 

Sharper. 

Honey turned sharp, its sweetness receding and morphing into something cloying and heavy that sat on the tongue and lingered. 

Unable to wash away the taste. 

Heavy and dense. 

Saturated and steeped in the bitter agony of loss. 

My eyes drift over her papers, catching sight of the typed content, the handwritten notes jotted in the margins, a map of edits and notes sprawling over in ink across them. 

Eyes fixating onto them as I draw them off the carpet, try to sort them out in order for her, handing them back. 

"Your next book?" 

Knowing fully now that the reason her name had struck out as vaguely familiar was because both Joon and I had heard her name... had heard it mumbled or mentioned by Hobi during studying. 

She was his Seong... the textbooks and hybrid writer Seong. 

She nods as she takes the proffered manuscript back, watching the dark waves of her long hair fall forward, watch how her hand is almost limp and fatigued as she pushes them off her shoulder, away from the slightly sharper tilt to her jaw. 

The photos didn't have that. 

She'd had round cheeks curving up with laughter, Amina's face tucked close to hers, eyes brimming with contentment. 

"What's it about?" I ask once she stands, my eyes scanning for the dangerous tilt to her body, awareness strung up, taut and alert as I look at her. 

Her smile is twisted into a painful grimace. 

Peering at the title when she can't seem to muster the words to say. 

Veins chilling. 

Loss: How A Broken Pack Heals. 

Flinching violently at it. 

Jangmi might not say.  She might openly refuse to accept it...

But deep down, deep inside, she was mentally trying to brace herself for it. For the worst. 

And when she stands at the door, leaning against it, I realize just how much of the posture is a physical need and reliance on something for support. Because her world was crumbling in front of her eyes and the grounder under her feet had long since gone unsteady and turbulent. That if she won't hold onto something, she'll fall apart. 

And her book... her writing is a way for that. 

Trying to find comfort in sharing ways of healing, in trying to find some sort of support in the outlet. 

"I will do everything in my power to find her Jangmi-ssi." I vow as I turn back, mind seared with the memory of her standing like that. 

See the faintest flicker of hope as she looks at me, a nod as her throat bobs, fingers curling into the sleeve to draw it over her hand, body half-shielded behind the door, ears flickering and drooping. 

Wilting. 

"And I will wait until the day she comes back, or you bring back her dead body... until then Amina is out there. And she needs help." 

Hoping for Amina's sake, for her own, that I can bring her proof. That I can make myself trustworthy. 

Because until then, the small slither of the door that had been opened would remain painstakingly shut on the full picture beyond it. 

Loss: How A Broken Pack Heals. 

The title sears through my mind as the door shuts, resonating with the soft click and the quiet tread of footsteps retreating. 

I hope she'd never need that book for herself. 

------ 

The barn is... in good shape. 

A deceptive image of pastoral richness, surrounded by greenery that crackled and stiffened with slowly freezing droplets of water. It made me that much more restless to enter, knowing dull well just how deep deceptions ran, how beguiling and misleading appearances could be. 

It'd rained last night, rained and thundered down as I'd tugged clothes off and curled beside Joon, murmuring how the day had gone, what Jangmi had said and how once the raid was over—I intended to show her the center, show her that we were doing good and trying to help. 

The same rain clung to the soil now, saturated it with both a chill and dampness that made the mud cling to our boots, was a small tell we'd have to avoid, noiseless as the officers surround the perimeter, eyes tracking my signal and the other sides covered by smaller units. 

This. 

This had to be it. 

The other barns had procured nothing... had brought no evidence, no hide nor hair of anyone forward. 

This. 

This was it. 

I could feel the resonance of that belief settle deep into bones, worm under the heavy layers of clothes and the bulletproof vest strapped tight across my torso. 

Felt it thrum with the quiet steady beat of my heart, ears perked and registering every quiet intake of breath and the distant murmurs of other officers. 

I knew beyond sight, beyond the immediate perimeter of officers surrounding all angles and exits of the barn, that a tactical team of shifted officers were ready for a signal too, ready to infiltrate alongside us and guard should anyone escape. 

Raise my hand in signal, gesturing to the cluster of officers around the door and the ones who'd charge in first. 

Brute strength didn't mean anything if it didn't come with the knowledge of how to wield it and the physically towering and large men waiting to head the charge nodded with direction when their eyes meet mine, hands curled around guns, steady hands, and broad stances. 

"On my three." I murmur, knowing the earpiece is transmitting it across, body thrumming with the beginning rush of adrenaline pulsing through, instincts coiled up, fiercely ready to defend and attack and take by whatever means necessary. 

Counting down with my fingers for the officers in my sight and murmuring it lowly into the air, atmosphere throbbing thick with pheromones and the sharp tang of alertness. 

Razor sharp focuses. 

And on one... the air shatters. 

Crumples and cracks under the weight of the explosive rush of movement when the doors are thrown open and officers head in, my eyes scanning them all passing before standing. 

The air shatters despite how numbing the silence is. With how carefully and noiselessly the barn if infiltrated... capitalizing for as long as we could on that hidden element, of catching them unaware. 

Gaze sweeping across before ducking through, nose assaulted with the immediate flux of so many entangled scents; fresh and stale, watching as the scene inside comes to a screeching halt. 

If it wasn't so grotesque I would've laughed at the sight of shock on so many faces when they find themselves faced with an opposing force, bodies melting from statues to harried cowardice, pushing and shoving past to escape. 

Watch as they're taken down, fighting and thrashing and snarling as their bodies buck against fierce grips, see the others spread across the wide pan of it and quickly subdue the people that try futilely to scatter. 

But no... this isn't it. 

There's not enough people for what we'd presumed this place to be. There isn't enough people to amount for the cloying weight of scents that cling to every particle of air. There's perhaps hundreds of scents and pheromones that saturate the air, a nauseating sense to inhale simply because of how weighted it is. With how much it shocks the senses, instincts working in overdrive, wishing I could numb the heaviness, to dampen the intensity of just how much it threatens to make my head pound. 

This isn't all... and silently I weave through officers to do a scan of the back areas, the interior is far too small for what the exterior looks like, m hand skimming across the walls, searching for a small blip, a small discrepancy, knuckles brushing against it. 

Ears impossibly stiff when it rings hollow, fingers hooking into a small divot in the wall, a seemingly small bump or notch in the wall. 

"Officers Jun, Han and Lee, direct the shifted patrol closer... and reconvene towards the left backside of the barn with your own patrols... I've found something." 

I knew I had. I was so sure of it. 

I knew with a certainty that something lay beyond a fake wall. Knew that my senses sharpened and honed in on it, eyes sweeping the scene; contained and under control. Knew that the true chaos was yet to be narrowed down on. 

My words have barely transmitted, cut off with the sound of gunfire opening in the back, body instinctively ducking and whirling to scan, eyeing the parameter quickly, body torn between rushing into the fray and pushing forward into this, into what I knew was deeper. Hands already steadying my gun, the weight of it familiar, pressed tight to skin, safety clicked off. 

Guarding the side wall I'd ended up against, eyes drifting over the officers that quickly assess the scene and move forward, the assembled patrols standing in front of me. 

"The true chaos, what we're here to end is beyond this door... subdue anyone on the offensive, use your bullets and ammo wisely. Our main priority is ensuring civilian safety. Comms onto channel 5, work together and work quick." I say, body thrumming as I look at them. 

Humans and hybrids alike. All bearing their badges and steadying their guns, fingers wedging into the small dent and drawing it aside. 

Almost weightless. 

But the scene beyond my eyes sends my body almost plummeting to the deepest darkest depths of anger and rage and pure primal animal instinct. 

The growl that tears past my lips is agonized and raw, pained when it instinctively... conditions the fragile expressions turn blank and submissive, napes arched, and bodies pushed to presenting. 

Nausea curls heavy and fierce around my gut. 

Gums aching as I feel my fangs itch to sink into a throat and tear it open. 

For every face melted into blankness, for every life conditioned for a role it was never meant to fit, for every, for the flooding wave of scents turning docile... tamed. But tart with pure, unadulterated crippling fear. 

The next growl that shudders past my lips is at the first grunt of a body trying to slam with mine, hand gripping his nape, knee driving up to slam against the head I force down, a sickening crack I relish in when he crumples at my feet  

Stepping through into a hell that hid behind a false wall in a barn. 

Eyes raking over the nudity, the marks of abuse and the dull blank glazed look of souls too weary and sore to go on. 

Breeding benches, ropes, discarded injections, this horrifying sight of hybrids kneeling, forced to kneel... forced to push themselves down and submitting to the power wielded abusively.... Forcing my mind into a blankness, a narrow minded need to get them out. Get them safe. 

Feel the rush of officers hurrying forward, a cacophony of yells and commands shuddering with ringing shots, body ducking past to begin shepherding the nearest hybrids to me to the tactical team... voices of countless officers hurrying frozen bodies into motion. Feel my veins sear with an indescribable rage to snap the hands that scruff a girl of barely 15 up, her body shaking and dragged upwards, clothes torn and eyes fearfully blank, a ragdoll manipulated to the large man's force, bodily drawn up; submission forced onto her. 

It takes nothing but pure rage to level the gun at him, fangs bared as I look at him shielding himself with her, trying to draw her limp body as a shield. 

Pathetic. 

Cowardly. 

I should tear out his throat. 

"First and final chance to let the girl go."  

A wicked grin that's inhumane and sin and filth colliding messily. 

"And leave our prized whore—" dragging her bodily against him. 

Keep your head ducked.... I wish even as my finger tightens on the trigger, ears jolting with the ring, watching her limp figure sway as it hits its mark. Arm shuddering with the force, bullet embedded deep into his throat. 

Blood splashing against her, the two of them crumpling down. Crushed under his hulking weight as his body convulses, hands futilely clawing at his throat, movement weak and jerking. 

Body rushing forward, hands rolling his weight off, head ducking at the warning yelled out, a ricocheting bullet whizzing past ears that fold and duck... embedding itself into a wall behind me as I draw the painfully unresponsive girl up, hands brushing at the blood staining her skin, peering at unfocused pupils. 

"Get the medics we have on standby waiting on entrance with a patrol.... Teenage girl in shock, weak vitals and unresponsive. Likely forced pheromone high, gland abuse and tag in her ear." Switching channels as I steady her, body instinctively curving over to shield... gun raised to shoot at a man who tries to escape, body heading towards the entrance. 

Watch the way he crumples with a cry of pain, eyes narrowed, and hand still steadied. Focused on him. 

Smell the levelled scent of the medic before I see her, ducking down to quickly draw the girl towards her. Ducking out just as quickly and efficiently as the medic had entered. 

My own movements already propelling me further into the fray, feeling the weight of blood staining skin and the weight of a too-light body. 

Gums aching as my fangs grow slightly, elongating and pushing past my lips, bared in a snarl when a chair comes whizzing into my line of vision, arms curled around three children, ducking back to avoid the brute force of it slamming against my jaw. 

Eyes meeting gleaming ones, maddened with greed and anger. 

Eye the gun trained onto me the second the chair goes clattering to the ground, a hand unfurling to level mine back. 

Watching the steady hand holding hers as I place myself in front of the children, the scent of pure terror sharpening in their scents, yanking at every instinct to protect them and eliminate any safety to that. 

"Hand them back." 

"You're surrounded. Surrender." 

Laugh derisive and ringing. 

Gun moving to target the small pair of legs and torso that my body can't entirely hide, the cluster of three that try make themselves impossibly smaller. 

But she wants them? She gets past my dead body and every single officer's. 

I was done waiting. I was done feeling hopeless and scrambling for straws. 

An instance within a moment, a split-moment where the rushing pace of my mind slows slightly, ear buzzing with a comm, the approaching officer with a gun trained to the woman's back. 

Snapping back into focus, a sharpness to the quick, efficiency my mind keeps operating at, taking in the surroundings, for any approaching threat. 

"I'll skin your carcass fox." 

My lips curl, eyes flashing with derision and disgust as I look at her. 

"I'd burn your rotten hide." I hiss back, watch her finger release the trigger. 

See it in small motion almost as a hand clamps over her wrist within the same moment and yanks it upwards, his own gun pressed to her temple, a second shot ringing out and the spray of blood tinged with sharp, sharp salt. The scent cloying and clinging to every pore of exposed skin as the three children's pheromones thicken with horror. 

Her body tossed to the floor, discarded, and a blood-stained face nodding before gathering the gun and hurrying away, hysterical screams ringing out. Small sobs that can't quite be muffled. 

See the small sway of a body, my hand catching the 7-year-old boy before gathering them closer, hands stained with blood and scent sharp. 

Watch tears spill over onto dirt-stained cheeks and crouch protectively, waiting for them to be taken before scouting the area. 

Hell is in this barn. 

Hell is in the screams ringing out and the gunshots that ring back out in response. 

Hell is in this barn. 

And yet I wouldn't be satisfied until I felt my hands ignite the flames that would burn this all to the ground. 

I wouldn't be satisfied till hell burned and turned to ashes. 

And when everyone was out and safe, I'd enjoy watching the flames destroy everything this barn had been. 

JANGMI POV: 

The scent of mint invades the dulled heaviness of my own scent, sharp and sweet and piercing through the fog and weighted clouds of my pheromones pressing in on me from every angle, making me realize just how deep and physically tangible isolation has made me. 

There's no sweetness that lingers anymore in the honeyed scent, there's no warmth, its cloying and darkened and stale. Honey gone old. Aged and turned hardened with time. 

The mint makes my eyes sting, its strong intensity, a jolt, a strong sharp scent that burns in my lungs long after the door has closed behind him and I've tracked back to the living room. Eyes traitorously stinging at the emptiness, at how bare and lonely it seems; glaringly so with the fresh absence of another person leaving, the scent pervading and reminding me of just how barren the apartment had grown to be. 

An isolating cage, a loneliness for my packmate that couldn't be fulfilled or satisfied no matter how many blankets I piled on to mimic the warmth of her pressed close during the colder months, the weight of the blankets cocooning me nothing like the physical grounding touch of an embrace. 

The apartment felt cold no matter how warm the heater made it and staring at the piles of pages crowding the coffee table makes my heart ache, no amount of research, no amount of mental preparation could ever prepare anyone, any pack for loss, for grief or for pain. 

And here I was desperately trying anyways. 

Desperately trying to find some sort of medium, some channel to pour the long, stretching days and restless nights into, something to fill that aching cavern, that restless, denied, touch starved biology that just wished and yearned for her. 

Mind always buzzing, consumed with endless thoughts on some days; keening and thrashing at horrible, horrible thoughts and a despairing finality that this was it. 

Amina wasn't coming back. 

She'd left me. 

And those days my mind filtered through that last moment, that last conversation I had, wishing I'd held on a while longer, wishing I'd said something more, done something more, given her a final scent, given her something more. 

Wishing I'd known that her walking out that door meant she wouldn't be coming back that night, hours waiting on the couch, anxiously pacing, her blanket drawn close around me, nosing at the fabric and eyes watching the clock, watching it tick away. A damning sound and every tick grated on my senses, frayed my nerves because night bled into dawn and dawn into day and Amina never came home. 

Wish that I'd known and put my foot down, that she wasn't going, that she wasn't leaving. 

Wished that I'd had foresight and today I wouldn't be packless. 

Wished that time could be undone. 

And with the weight of mint, foreign but the glaring reminder of another person other than myself holed away in the apartment, hated how unnervingly distracting it had been simply to feel warmth that was real. Hated that the sight of a fox officer reminded me of my own missing packmate. 

Lieutenant. 

She'd been so proud. So deserving and so worthy of that title, rising the ranks because she earned and paved her way there. 

And yet her age, her status as a high-ranking officer, all these advantages had fallen short because she'd gone missing. 

Six months. 

Six months was a lifetime of having gone without her. Without my pack. Which rested entirely with her, my sole packmate. 

And the glaring absence of her voice ringing through the apartment, the lack of heat pressed against me during the winter months, the scentless apartment that made my biology thrash and yearn for something long lost. 

The title glares painfully at me as I sink back onto the sofa, staring at it, unable to tear my eyes away. 

Loss: How a Broken Pack Heals. 

Would I ever find an answer in my own research? Would I ever find a way to heal? Would I even be able to grow from this when my pack broke and faded away and vanished with Amina? 

I doubted more and more as I wrote that this book wouldn't do anything for me, no matter how much I hoped that it did, but this book was for a pack losing a packmate. 

This wasn't a book on how to help someone overcome the pain of losing everything in one swoop. 

I don't know how long I stare at the title; don't know how long I sit encased in blankets that do nothing to chip at the numbness that continues to spread throughout my body. 

Not realizing when the words blur not because of exhaustion, but tears that trickle down my cheeks silently, soaked against the blanket as a broken sound slips past my throat, heart crumpling as I realize countless other days will pass like this. 

Stuck in this loop of restlessness, this weary tiredness that leeches away at my energy, a chill sunk so deep into bones that no matter how tighter I wrap the blankets around me, no matter how many times I check the thermostat—the heat never seems to penetrate skin. 

Feel grief spill over onto my cheeks, head ducking lower to hide the proof of weakness and pain against the soft material, small shaky sniffles muffled, fingers sinking into hair to tug, the dull throb rearing back in full force, head pounding, and the faint trail of mint slowly getting lost under the salty tang to honey, turning heavier and weighted. Thick and cloying with pain. 

It makes my throat burn to feel the ghost of Amina's scent taunt cruelly as tears seep into fabric, fingers trembling as I try to burrow myself away from the conversation, from the pitiful flicker of hope it'd ignited. 

But I couldn't trust him. 

Couldn't trust the officer to be said who he was. 

Couldn't trust his words as being anything beyond empty and hollow. 

Meaningless but sincere intentions at best. 

Danger at worst. 

"Don't trust anyone Mi... don't answer questions from anyone who comes sniffing around, anyone threatens you, you remember the pressure points I've taught you..." 

"Do not under any circumstances give out the files Mi... you wait until my dead body is dragged back or you wait for me—but never hand them over otherwise...." 

Stomach tightening into knots and hand whacking her side, scent souring at the sight of her face so void of worry, eyes sharp and earnest and big fluffy ears brushing against my stilled fingertips, tilting back to try chase the touch until her own fingers drag my wrist forward, trying to encourage the previous rubs to continue. 

"Mi it's just a precaution... you know the line of work I'm in." 

I let my hand go limp, fingers curling away from her ears. Shrinking back with bile stinging my throat and eyes prickling as I stare at her. 

"But why would you say that? Mina you... if you ever leave me, I won't forgive you, I'd... I don't think there'd be any surviving if I had to wake up and you weren't there anymore." Voice shaking, ducking my head away when the thought and her words ring in my ears, flickering, lips trembling and turning my face to the side. 

Feel her head leave my lap, an alarmed sound at the back of her throat, her hand tugging at my wrist, trying to duck her head to peer at me, trying to get me to look at her. 

"Mi I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you... don't say that. Don't ever say that you'd not survive." Voice soft. 

I tug my wrist free, hastily rubbing at my eyes. 

"But I wouldn't. You've always had my back." 

Feel her scent soften with both guilt and love, curling close as she wraps herself around me, clinging on as she noses at my cheek apologetically. 

Eyes sorrowful and pained, fangs gnawing at her bottom lip. 

"I'm sorry Mi--- it was stupid, I shouldn't have..." apologetic but trailing off when she finally leans over far enough, peering at me, I see through a slight blur that she's resolute. 

Even if she's stopped speaking, she still means whatever she said. 

Never to divulge anything unless she's dead. 

Never. 

And this time she's the one who curls behind me, fingers gentle and brushing over the back of my ears, soft murmured apologies until the salt of her scent overtakes the tearstains on my cheeks and the pillow, drawing a blanket over and settling behind me, nosing at my nape in a scent-mark. 

"I'll fight tooth and nail if that ever happens. I'll never leave you Mi." a whispered promise, my hand snaking back to reach for hers, fingers entangled as we fall asleep, her scent another blanket that cocoons and protects. 

My own scent curls closer, sweet, light honey that brushes against her skin, and when I wake it's to find her plastered against my back, wormed close, nose burrowed against my nape, scenting unconsciously, fingers still entangled with mine and her tail draped across my leg. 

I'd pay any price to make sure that never happens Amina. 

Head ducked down, body worming into the blankets to try hide from the overwhelming scent of salt, throat burning, the lump in it steadily growing until it threatens to constrict breathing. Every breath ragged and shaky, broken sounds I try to muffle, fingers winding tighter around my hair, clutching tightly at my head, vision blurred and body feeling like it was caving and collapsing around itself, a weighted heaviness that tries to drag me deeper, trying to fight the urge to crumple and fold entirely. 

To lose myself to the crippling weight of grief that slams back in heavy waves that want to drown me in the sensation. Render me helpless to do anything but to succumb to them. 

"Mina you liar... you promised... and you left." I sob, apartment empty, words ringing out in an air tainted with pain that stifles and suffocates me, that fills every particle, winds around me and fills my lungs until they cave, buckling under the aching plea for Amina to come back, for her to still be safe and alive. For her to come back. 

I'll fight tooth and nail if that ever happens. 

Which only meant that she was caught in something she couldn't get out of. 

Amina was.... 

Amina was at risk, at danger... and she'd never made it back. 

And just like she'd been torn out of my orbit, my life, my entire being that revolted and thrashed at the painful cold reality of being packless... I knew wherever she was, however, 3she was, she was suffering on a level beyond comprehension, beyond the most agonizing nightmares that woke me in cold sweat. 

Amina come back to me. 

Come back to me and replace the salt of tears with your natural scent. 

------- 

It takes far too long to learn how to will my limbs into movement, legs slowly straightening, hand curled around the arm to steady the slight tilt to my vision as I stand, stomach working itself into twists and knots, nausea and slightly disoriented, head pounding with the headache that's come back in full force. 

Its weary, aching limbs that drag themselves upright, a numbing chill seeped so deep into my bones that when the blanket falls away, my body shuddering involuntarily at the loss of heat. Comfort more than anything because the apartment runs warm, the thermostat steadily being inched up since the first chill sat. 

Sluggishly moving away from the pile of papers, away from the long-gone cold mug of tea and from the faint scent of mint that still pervades the living room, worms into small crevices, sweet and sharp and melding with the warmth. The fox officer's scent laced through the heating that keeps the apartment toasty makes me think of a winter chill curling around warmth. Move towards the doorway, feet padding slowly across thick plush carpet, down towards my bedroom. It's unconscious habit to let my fingers drift over countless jumpers and sweaters, grazing against the softer materials, chasing the false sense of comfort I'd had to associate with them.  

Dither outside the door to her bedroom, kept closed for months because I couldn't bring myself to linger in her room anymore where the first month I'd spent unable to leave it, desperately wishing that if I pleaded long enough, if I clutched at her pillow that soon she'd appear and tug it out of my grasp and sprawl over instead. 

Fleeing her room only when my scent threatened to overtake hers, to cloud it with my hurt and grief, escaping to try keep the bare threads of the salty tang there. And not as a figment of my imagination. 

Move past the door to head to the bathroom, feeling the unbearable tug to nest there, to stay within the safety of her four walls, to protect her safe space, her bedroom. But I know the pain of going inside will be far greater than any comfort or temporary soothing. 

And under hot water try to scour away the tears from my skin but though I want to scrub the sensation away from skin viciously, to wash away today and forget it, the tears, the thinking, everything seems to constantly chip away, and the exhausted weariness of loneliness bears down with an overbearing sensation. 

Trying to coax my body to shut down, trying to coax me to let my eyes clench shut under the hot downpour of water beating down on my body, tears washed away but sinking into skin and making the lead feeling grow. 

Movements slow and sluggish and leaden as I dry myself off, fingers curling around the knob, body tilting forward to rest my head against the wood, breathing slow. 

Forcing the ever-present sting to my eyes. 

Stop thinking. 

Just shut it off. 

Turn your mind off. 

Stop thinking... stop feeling. 

And shutting off is so much easier, so much better when words ring in my head, a promise I don't dare to believe in and yet keep hearing. 

It should be alarming... should raise a red flag in the back of my mind... but it doesn't.  

Voice soft and low, scent almost held back as if afraid of intruding or pushing too close. 

Focus on the resigned, dismayed instincts... long since at war with a sense of despaired finality and muted pleas. 

Biology slowly overtaking the overflowing, layered streams of words and memories that hurt too much to linger on. Bringing respite and a numbness that quietens it, quietens the broken sobbed pleas for Amina to come back. 

Washing over my body, sluggishly toweling myself off, before it shifts, a small discontent rumble as paws stretch to open the door and nudge it open, slowly padding forward, paws sinking against the carpet as I nose at my door, bumped open and clambering onto the mattress. 

Paws dissatisfied as I continue to fix the pile of blankets, silent, noiseless as I shift them around, paws sinking into the mattress, nosing at the pillows and a small grunt of dissatisfaction at the staled honey scent, heavy and bitter. 

Paw at the blankets until a circle of space is formed, body curling up in it, head drooping onto folded paws, trying to burrow away. 

The weariness tugs at me to draw my eyes shut, to let go of the constant cycle of thinking and thinking and succumbing to the endless train of them. 

It was better to turn off, switch off by letting the tiredness lull my eyes shut, an anchoring weight on them that stopped them from blinking aimlessly at the room, nosing at blankets and tucking away from them. 

Didn't want them. 

Didn't want them when they brought no comfort, curling tighter around myself. 

Easier to sleep than to think. 

Easier to let go than to hold on. 

'A healing pack may find several ways to heal, several outlets and several coping mechanisms. Not all are healthy. Rising pack aggressions is very common when dealing with grief because often it is better to feel angry, to feel enraged than to feel anything but the numbness of grief sinking into every inch of skin, of every layer and every surface of your nest.'

My eyes clench shut, paws brushing against the sheets, head ducking away from the thin streams of sunlight that try infiltrate past shut curtains. It's warm in here, trying to stave off the cold that comes with autumn deepening into winter. 

'Healing is easier when you have someone to confide to, someone to share every ugly emotion, someone to lay yourself bare to because the bad doesn't fester inside and poison your very fiber of being. Letting out the pain can be hard, can leave you feeling raw and exposed... but when a pack hurts, it hurts together. When a pack heals, it heals together. And sharing the weakest part of yourself is the hardest thing to do but it allows your pack to be your backbone.'

My stomach growls, rumbling with hunger, with deep aching pangs, shifting uncomfortably on the bed, ignoring the gnawing feeling, willing myself to sleep. 

To shut the world off for a bit. 

To shut off the pitiful flickers of hope slowly getting lost in misery even if I spent every day with the faith and will that Amina would come back. If not today then tomorrow. 

Amina would come back. 

I lived and let every day pass with the hope of the next being better. 

Tomorrow. 

I'd wake up tomorrow and Amina would come back. 

And when restless sleep clings to me, weighted and heavy and dark. 

I let myself fall into it. 

Because I've got nowhere and no-one else to turn to to hide from the pain. 

So sleep would do. 

It had to do. 

----- 

When my eyes open, it's with a weighted heaviness that tries to coax them shut again, lashes fluttering against skin, head swimming with disorientation, palm rubbing against them to ease the throb that pounds more painful and louder, a muffled whimper of discomfort. Body bare and dragging a blanket over me, curling tighter under it, head ducking under to hide away. 

Limbs heavy and uncooperative, lungs thick of stale thick honey, mind treading through treacle with how slowly it pieces together awareness. 

I must've shifted during sleep at some point and though the radiator's' heat brings warm waves of it in the enclosed room, my body still shivers, curling tighter in on myself, body cooperating slowly, lethargically. Trying to maneuver myself into a tighter curl as I clutch the weighted blanket to me, nosing at it for a scent that's long since gone. 

Thoughts wading through a heavy numbing fog that makes it hard to distinguish how much time has passed, how long I've been curled up in a nest that brings not one moment of comfort to me, peering over the edge to gauge by the light, or lack of, whether day has morphed into night or not. 

See thin streams of dawn, sunlight weak and trying to break through the lingering remnants of night. 

Another day gone. 

I tuck myself in smaller, instincts quietened with grief and pain. 

Easier to switch off. 

So I let the weights on my eyes drag them shut again and I let myself be lost to the sourness of my scent once more, falling asleep huddled under the blanket with heat pressing close. 

And still unable to chase the goosebumps that pebble flesh. 

Willing for another day to pass me by.

JOON POV: 

The sight of the officers leaving the barn fills me with a restlessness, eyes scanning for Jimin, tail whipping back and forth, paws sinking into damp earth and pawing at grass restlessly. 

Where is he? 

Why have the others come out and he hasn't? 

I'd left with a lot of the shifted officers, leading my patrol out to retake positions of guarding the parameters. Most of the unshifted officers had come out too. 

So where was he? 

Why are the others already beginning to do a headcount of the fatalities and injuries? 

Why were the ambulances with the hybrids rescued and retrieved from the inside of the barn being driven off to the center's hospital and yet Jimin hadn't come out? 

Him and a handful of other officers, my eyes scanning over the shifted patrol, muzzles stained red with blood, eyes sharp gleaming with alertness, tails, and ears stiff. 

A mixture of fur and hair colors but all the same, all alert and sharply assessing the area, prowling and patrolling the perimeters; senses operating at their biological maximum, guarding the parameters until the mission was complete. Until it was completely emptied. 

The shifted pack had retreated with most of the officers, my howl shuddering through the air; pheromones clinging to the air, mingling with the patrol's as they moved close to me, maws equally stained and the thick heavy metallic tang of blood nauseatingly cloying on my tongue. 

Watch them all scatter and go to patrol the other officers, consciously shepherding them, nosing for injuries, and checking for any changes in their scents that indicate they need medical attention or to be grounded; rooted back after the horrific scene that had unfolded inside. 

Four walls and yet it contained all the levels of hell within it. 

My eyes still flashed with the image of the barn, with the thin blankets piled on the stony ground; a poor, despicable excuse for bedding if that, at the clustered huddles of hybrids of all species and ages, fear and confusion in eyes too dazed to be actively able to drag themselves away when gunshots began being fired at the officers; retaliation shots ringing out with a fierce clarity. 

Our main priority were the hybrids, and the shots were to maim and injure but not kill but that didn't stop me from feeling vindictive pleasure at the howled scream of pain when my fangs sank into flesh and tore, blood staining my tongue and fur, eyes flashing at the mix of fear and pain.  

Fangs bared and jowls stretched as I growled, gun clutched in the bloodied hold of my mouth before tossing it away, body tensing as I crouch, muscles and limbs coiling up before pouncing, jumping into the fray, fangs snapping at one of the people who was currently wrestling for control of a knife, ears perking at the sound of bones crunching, stretching onto my hindlegs, bloodied fingers and a torn wrist letting go of the blade as she stumbles back. 

Eyes venomous. 

And mine meet hers unflinchingly, growling as I circle her until she's restrained and taken away. 

My nose still stung from the burn of scents, clustered together, and entangled with a heavy mixture of fear, terror, and exhaustion. Subdued grief, melancholia, and resignation. The tang of blood, sweat and tears and as I guard the exterior parameter, a circle of officers prowling and hidden behind trees and the small path taken to the clearing, it still lingers. Burned into memory. 

Hidden in case any one tried to escape even though the order of the barn being cleared out had long since been sounded. 

So where was Jimin? 

Why wasn't he here? 

Feel the worry begin to pulse stronger than the prowling wolf instincts that were still shepherding the other officers, that were still scanning and alert themselves, scent broadcasting heavy and strong; overwhelming the smell of wet grass and the scents burned into my nose with rich earthy tones. 

Reach a decision myself as I step forward, approaching a bear hybrid, growling softly and nose tilting to point to the spot I'd vacated, watch as she prowls forward with a softer rumble of assent, eyes meeting mine when she fills the position; head moving in a small nod. 

My nose tracks out the person I'm seeking, paws quickening in haste, damp and dirtied with mud, teeth clutching at the hem of his sleeve and tugging, see eyes turn down to me, dog ears perking and eyes narrowing. 

"Is there something wrong Namjoon?" Jinyoung asks, crouching down, eyes running over me with a careful scrutiny, trying to discern if the blood staining my fur is my own and apart from a dull throb I feel in my stomach; knots tightening with the growing time passing without Jimin reappearing, shaking my head when his fingers carefully brush against the fur at my chin. 

Grunting and pawing impatiently at the hand, a softer keening sound slipping past my lips, tail thumping anxiously as I peer at the barn entrance. 

"Jimin? He and a few others are doing final examinations... checking for concrete evidence and clues and photographs. He's fine." He promises, voice soothing and reassuring. 

I stare at the entrance of the barn before making the decision, pushing away to quickly scamper towards it, rushing past the thrown open doors to chase out the scent of sharp mint that pervades my senses, easily distinguished despite the nauseating fog of scents that threaten to stagger my pace. 

Chase out the trail of mint that overlaps and entangles on so many routes and directions; eyeing the other officers and following the empty space it leads, the parameter he must've decided to recheck before leaving. 

Smell his scent, growing stronger, as I approach; nosing at the back of his legs from where he's peering into a small nook, snapping a photo with bloodied hands; knuckles split. 

See his eyes drift to me, pinched expression smoothening with relief, fingers carding over my ears gently before turning back, peering further in before retreating. 

"Nothing in this corner, nearly done Namjoon." A soft murmur, voice already petering off as he silently slips over to the other end, quiet and extremely precise in every movement. 

Ears fully perked and flickering as he tries to catch even the slightest of sounds, moving towards what looks like an utterly abandoned corner, tucked out of sight, cobwebs stretched across it, empty boxes that must've transported supplies. 

Any addresses or postmarks would help. 

Nudging at the box for him to take photos of, pawing until I find a slip of paper with a delivery receipt, growling proudly when he pauses, mint blooming thicker. 

And then just as quickly as it strengthens, it plummets. 

My body going stiff at how abruptly still he goes, eyes narrowing and ears curving, turning to chase the slightest of sounds. 

And then I hear it, past the rumble in my throat, hear the muffled sound of meows, silent almost noiseless shuffles, as if trying to hide. 

Head turning in direction to behind the boxes, pawing at the pile until it falls, stretching up to peer, over my hindlegs when a hand rubs my nape. 

"Namjoon move back now." A soft quiet order laced with wariness. 

"Can I get some scent-scrubbing wipes?" he calls into his earpiece, hurriedly toweling off the blood staining skin, tries to get rid of the thick metallic tang of it that clings to skin. 

"Your scent would alert whoever's hiding." He murmurs, although that alone must've been caught by the way the soft yowls get quieter as if hidden, muffled somehow. 

Is there another hybrid there? 

Eyes staring intently at the spot and watch Jimin round it carefully, peering carefully and approaching with bated breath. 

It's a massive testament to his instincts that he never even considered a threat, gun left in its holster, scent trying to soften and peering past the boxes when he spots a discrepancy. 

A much older box tucked out of sight that he has to worm past a cluster of broken furniture to get to, tail swishing silently behind him. 

I hear the sharp intake of breath, the pained gasp that has me growling quietly, trying to pad closer when he retreats, slowly unfurling with a box encased in his hands. 

Staring at the contents with a look of indescribable grief and anger. 

"...." 

Words evading him, lips opening and then shutting, body tilting as far as it can away from the box as if whatever's inside. 

Protective instincts flare at the uncertainty and myriad of expressions flickering across his face, paws silently treading forward to peer over his arm, threatening growl swallowed whole, stuck in my throat at what I find. 

Peering at a small, small circle curled up inside. 

Matted with dirt and blood, fur dirtied, and ears flared and spread wide. Head burrowed out of sight and yet... the meows can't have come from a fox. 

Lean back in a show of conceding when two sharp beady eyes stare from the little circle of fur, peering intently at the two of us, a low threatening rumbled chirp that makes Jimin's ears droop even as his face twists with understanding. 

"We're not going to hurt you. You're safe. It's all over." He murmurs and a low rumble sounds at the back of my throat in echo, in assent, peering at the sharp eyes when they snap away, head ducking to nose and silence the yowls that seem to be coming from... within it. 

Under it when their head rises slightly, revealing a blur of mixed fur, a tiny kitten cocooned within the circle of the fox's body, nestled, and tucked against its stomach, nosing at fluffy ears, chirping softer. 

But there's no mistaking the hostility and discomfort and prickliness that stares at us in beady eyes that narrow in threat and warning, body curling tighter to protect the small kit tucked under its protective paw. 

Slow rumbling chirps even as the huddle around the small kitten tightens, bloodied fur pressing close to try hide away the small yowling baby away from us. 

Threatened by us. 

Jimin reaches the same understanding too. 

"We're going to get you out of here... you can leave now. It's over." Voice soft, not expecting the large ears to flap, as if straining to catch sound or detect a lie in his words, shuffling to peer over the rim of the box with a mixture of trepidation, fear, and hesitance. 

Shuffling restlessly in the box and a paw reaching to peer over the rim of the box, tail swishing anxiously. 

The smell of salt and blood and dirt is thick and I let my teeth tug at Jimin's elbow to draw him back, sensing that the fox is trying to assess the situation itself, trying to ascertain whether or not Jimin and I are threats. 

Feel the hesitance and tension in his arm, insistently tugging at his arm with a low rumbled growl. 

Jimin let go. 

Let the fox reassure itself. 

It wasn't a mystery why it was so antsy and wound up, we had no idea how long the fox had been hiding away with the kit, with how much survival had cost them, clearly weak and undernourished, fir dirtied and eyes far too alert, fur almost standing on edge; bristly and defensive. 

Slowly his hands unfurl from the box, setting it down carefully and retreating a few steps, even if his  eyes are giving away just how much it wars with his instincts to set the two down. 

I watch as fangs gently scoop the small kitten, weakly scrabbling to clamber out the box, body slightly uncoordinated; perhaps with disuse, stumbling slightly without a single sound, ears perked to attention and alertness. 

And it's when the hindlegs slip out the box, a yelp muffled around fur that gives away that the blood clinging to fur; dirtying it to a dark red is from some sort of leg injury, a wobbling leg that jolts and shakes as its set down. 

Trying to steady itself. 

Determinedly limping forward a few weak steps, fur on edge and eyes narrowed with threat, tail swishing as it moves one step forward. 

Then another. 

I notice the steps aren't near to either of us, skirting us to move forward. 

My fangs close around Jimin's trouser, tugging him back to let the fox pass without having to hobble further out to avoid the much taller and more imposing figure Jimin made as the only unshifted form. 

Without realizing Jimin was the one the fox was most afraid of but still I felt beady eyes scrutinize me regardless, limping staggering steps made insistently on an injured leg, the hindleg dragging slightly against the dirty stoned floor, pheromones broadcasting pain and discomfort. 

But stubborn, stubborn insistence colors every movement, the small kitten a tiny ball clutched carefully with each dragging step. 

And watch as the small fox's form trembles, violently jolting, crumpling when one more step makes the injured leg give out, bending and body slumping to the ground. 

A keening whine slipping out around the fur, tail swishing and covering the injured leg to protect the vulnerability. 

Jimin's scent blooms, thick and heavy but also gentle. A large layer of mint that brushes against fur as he crouches, body folding to peer at the fox, hands raised placatingly to reveal his intentions, slowly inching forward when the small, injured fox doesn't move. 

Doesn't yip in warning, head drooping resignedly when his hands carefully move forward, crouching to carefully scoop the curled circle, hands carefully avoiding touching the kitten and spooking the fox into aggressively trying to recoil away and shirk his touch. 

See how tighter the fox curls on itself and the kitten, burrowing deep, eyes tracking the path out of the barn, my tail thumping agitatedly as I rush after him, steps both measured and quick, warning low growls to ward off the officers who approach with alarm, staring at the bundle in his arms. 

"I'll get them to the center myself, after I find something warm for them. The urgent cases will go to the center's hospital, the others to the ones we've preselected and had prepped." He orders, voice rapping out orders even as his hands remain a protective cocoon for the fox and kitten. 

I watch the large ears flicker, folding slightly from what seems to be an overstimulation to its hearing and eyes, ducking lower and hiding out of sight and awareness from the scene still unfolding. 

I nose at the back of his legs, watch him turn and crouch slightly, body stretching onto my hindlegs to nose at his cheek, a scrape of fangs, tongue brushing over his jaw in promise. 

I'll be there as soon as I can. I'll sort things here and be right there beside you. 

And he's barely begun to retreat from sight when I'm hurrying to the large police vans to shift back. 

There was too much to do, so many to help. 

And I'd be more helpful back in my skin, directing where we went from here. 

------ 

My body pulses with urgency, heartbeat loud in my ears and everything seeming hypersensitive on a body that throbs, feeling the effects of the scuffles and furious kicks and swings made at me in the barn. But all I can hear is the harsh ragged sound of my breathing in my ears, can hear the hushed murmurs of nurses and doctors clustered in the wing we'd had prepared for this reason. Emergency cases transferred over to the hybrid center's hospital and others taken to nearby hospitals for general treatments. 

But Jimin. Jimin had come to the center. With the only two shifted hybrid forms we'd found at the center. That alone spoke about an entirely different case, something more, something deeper about the two of them. A fox guarding a weak tiny kitten. 

Gums aching with the itch of my fangs to extend longer, larger than the slightly pointed, sharp curves they held when unshifted, to sink into the throats of the people we'd caught at the barn and tear the sight of greed and lust till the last moment. 

Remembered the aching rage that roared through my veins at the memory of a body pinned helplessly under the hulking large frame of a man well in his thirties, hunched over and rutting against a child. A child. Blood bubbling with a venomous rage that had a growl threatening to ripple in the calm, contained atmosphere of the hospital hallways. 

Screams and sobs and thrashing cries hidden behind doors shut away but mind seared with the tang of blood and the frantic swing of a rifle around my head, the whip of metal clanging against my side, only fueling and pouring more into that angry restless urge to annihilate the threat, fangs sinking into his leg, blood spurting over my tongue as he thrashed and writhed with desperation and anger. 

Remember the child sobbing and screeching, his own cat ears folding and a hissed plea to be left alone as his fingers clawed at the stone, body curving over, broken, and bruised. Clothes torn and trousers pooled around his ankles, even then assuming a presenting position, my paw gently nudging him down. 

Watching as he collapsed in a heap, curling in on himself and eyes drowning in grief and horrors peering past the barrier of thin arms, shakily trying to push away the careful hands scooping him away, more desperate in that moment to reach for my blood-matted fur than human touch. 

Because humans had deceived, had tortured, had brought endless pain. 

Every child or adult hybrid brought here were the worst, most severe cases assessed at the scene. Needed the extra medical attention. 

And Jimin had brought them straight here because they were the only shifted hybrids we'd found at the scene, something dangerously nauseating about how tiny they were—which only indicated and led me to believe we'd found a pup and kitten.  

Eyes searching for the familiar bright burn of orange hair and fur, eyes tracking over the other officers and finally, finally being told he was in a private ward. 

Hurry down hallways to a private section, the air full of neutral light scents; no doubt to keep anyone who visited, or anyone staying at ease. Something inexplicably comforting about the gentle scents. 

Hover at the door when I nudge it open slightly rather than heading closer, watching the pain and anguish on Jimin's face as he sets down the small blanket nest he must've made, the two of them settled and huddled in the middle of it. 

Voice hushed and eyes sharply alert and trained on the doctor that approaches carefully. 

"We don't know anything about what they might've been through, but they were hidden away... they must've hidden shifted but the pup's injured so we know that they couldn't escape. And the kit looks too young, barely weaning age." 

The fox chirps, a low rumbled sound shattering the almost precarious silence that teeters over an edge. 

Watches how cautious and careful the doctor is, avoiding brushing close towards the small kitten carefully held protectively under a paw, drawn closer when the doctor examines for fresh or recent injuries. 

Pausing entirely at the sight of the wound on her leg, not healed fully, the barest touches triggering a loud threatened yip, tail swishing and trying to scrabble away, weakly, from the touch, ears perking and scent blooming thick with distress and agitation. 

"The injury seems much older than the fox's defensiveness and reaction... I don't think it healed fully and there's a high chance of infection with the dirt and living conditions. Both are slightly malnourished and will need some sort of light hybrid supplements to sustain them, we don't know how much food their stomachs will be able to handle. First priority is getting them both measured and checked and that injury tended to." The doctor examines carefully, her hands drawing back. 

Eyes scrutinizing us, her scent naturally gentle and soft. Too light to rile up the fox, contained and measured. 

Someone with immense self-control. But the furrow to her brow and the glinting anger in her eyes is indication enough of how much the sight of the two babies affect her. 

"I think right now—the two of them need time. We don't know how long they were hidden but they're terrified right now. Let them calm down, let them get used to the new surroundings. And I think you two should go get checked up too." She says, fluffy ears twitching and peering at us with thinly veiled concern and worry. 

I wonder for the first time the sight the two of us must make, straight from a crime scene, now sealed and shut up with guards placed on. 

There was often a time where being an officer and being a mate blurred. 

And today both of us had gone in with mate instincts pushed back and forcefully quietened—we wouldn't be able to work with the constant antsy worry of the other, we wouldn't function as officers if we let the two entangle messily. 

And right now, I watch as my mate dithers. 

Hesitating, eyes lingering on the small blanket nest, at the two of them curled up inside and sharp eyes still watching us, despite the fold of their ears and the slower, drained swish of their tail. 

Watch his lips part in protest, despite how strong his scent still smells of blood and sweat, a sharp salty, metallic tang to his mint. 

"Officer get checked up. Rest. Then come back tomorrow." I murmur, fingers looping around his wrist and slowly drawing him back. 

Feeling the agitation thrum in his body, pressed against mine, feel the tension in every limb and the sharpness hidden under the scent of blood and dirt and sweat. 

Smell how frustrated he is to have to leave. 

"But they—" he begins, ears flickering and folding with dejection. 

"Will be looked after like every hybrid we brought here. They'll be safe. No-one's getting to them." I promise. 

Knowing just how much of the surveillance we'd set up was silently done. 

Secretly done so whoever the insider was, clearly rooted in a major department, wouldn't catch even a whisper about the extra added layers of hidden security at each hospital being used. 

"Rest Jimin. Get cleaned off so I can see if you're injured." I coax, drawing him away from the frightened bundle the doctor watches with sadness pooling in her eyes. 

"Dr. Soo, no-one but us enters this room aside from you." I call as I draw Jimin to the door with me, instincts making my stomach tighten into knots at how vulnerable and small the two hybrids look in the large private ward.  

How the wrongness of this all has my body pulsing with the need to hide them, protect them. 

She nods, lips pressed thin. 

"Until either of you return, I'll be here with them." She promises. 

And though the door closes behind the two of us as we leave, the tang of blood somehow sharper in the closer proximity, in the way Jimin's eyes tear slowly away from the shut door to peer at me, fingers skimming slowly over me, thin scratches lined with red at his throat, bruises beginning to bloom over skin, form fitting uniform hiding perhaps countless injuries underneath. 

It snaps me out of that single minded concern for the hybrids beyond the door as I let my fingers gently tilt his jaw up to examine the scratches at his throat, the sight of the red blurring slightly. 

"Let's get you cleaned up pup." 

But his grip is just as tight and fiercely protective and gentle and tender all at once as he presses his fingers to the side of my face where I've been ignoring the ache I feel in my jaw, grinding down on the pained keen. 

Watch his eyes darken. 

"Somehow... somehow tearing their throats out with my fangs doesn't seem like enough for whoever hurt my mate." 

Our bodies tilt close, slow gulps of breath, shared, and shuddered with a relief we hadn't let sink in, profound and deep—melding with blood and bones with the overwhelming gratitude of seeing each other on the other side of the mission. 

Of making it out to each other. 

Noses brushing against each other, gentle and soft, thumb brushing over the cut at the corner of his lip, brushing over dried blood, the cut still fresh, thumb stained with the fresh beads of red that bubble out. 

"I could tear them limb from limb and leave nothing but bones... but nothing seems enough for the monsters who did all this. For who hurt every child and adult in there. I could burn down that barn today and be angry that its ashes remained." 

Nothing seemed enough. 

Nothing seemed enough to avenge what every hybrid involved in this had gone through. 

Nothing. 

And I chased the comfort of feeling the same helplessness, of the anger and rage that welled up in large cresting waves, a small, pained sound choked and low in my throat as I draw Jimin closer, tasting blood and tears against his lips and the shuddered promise to each other. 

We'll make it better. 

We'll fight till the end. 

We'll see each other at the end of this case. 

After this nightmare.. we'll be there together. 

(AND THERE WE GO! THE BARN CHAPTER. THE LONG AWAITED CHAPTER I WAS PHYSICALLY DYING TO WRITE. IS FINALLY HERE. AND I HOPE AS ENJOYABLE AND INTENSE AS IT WAS FOR ME TO WRITE- OT WAS TO READ!! LEMME KNOW EVERTHING. EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS CHAPTER! @Midiiplier~ PLEASE, PLEASE LET ME KNOW... I HOPE I DID ALL OUR PLANS AND NIGHT TALKS... DAY TALKS... ALL DAY AND LIFE LONG TALKS FOR THIS JUSTICE! AND WE HAVE A NEW POV! WE HAD JANGMI... AMINA'S PACKMATE! AND?? I AM JUST SO CURIOUS AND EXCITED AND IMPATIENT TO SEE WHAT EVERYONE MADE OF THIS—LIKE... PERHAPS MY MOST ANTICIPATED CHAPTER BY ME AND MIDI LOVE. AND IT'S HERE AND GAHHHHHHHHHHH! I HOPE YOU ENJOY!! HOPE IT'S INTENSE AND I DID THE RAID SCENE JUSTICE!! GONNA GO SCREECH IN GIDDINESS! TAKE CARE LOVELIES!) 

QUESTION...  ARE YOU READY FOR WHAT'S TO COME? 

Answer.... TRICK QUESTION. NO-ONE'S READY. 

Borahae! 💜💜💜

PurpleQueenie <3