shaking, shaking
my heart beats

Getting into the casino was surprisingly easy.

The building wasn't well-guarded, and the back door removed the worry of a bouncer. I slipped in without having to hide—no, the main problem I faced after entering was finding my way around the place.

The Cirque Hotel & Casino was a tall building in a shady neighborhood cloaked in neon and shadow, and the interior was exactly like the exterior, if it had been squeezed to fit a building.

I stepped around raised tabletops and slot machines, collectively ignored by everyone in the casino. Young women walked around in lace and fishnets, some lounging on laps, some pushing themselves against poles. Pole dancers weren't a surprising sight in casinos, but this place was too flashy, too rich to be normal. This was a place where company was a commodity, and sex was something to be bought and sold.

The casino smelled like sweat and drunk people—the casino was filled with stimulus, and every corner I turned had a new sight or scent to offer. At first, my lack of concentration was due to the other, more worrying topic lingering in my thoughts like wisps of smoke, intangible and unfettered, but after the first few minutes, I stopped sending entirely. The place was an extravaganza, an overload to the senses, and I couldn't handle it while dealing with my own issues at the same time.

I tried my best not to be seen, though it seemed like a doomed prospect from the start. The outfit I wore didn't allow me to mingle with the general goers, the heavy boots and dark clothing that covered almost every inch of my skin too muted. If it had been just another 'neighborhood', it wouldn't have been such a big deal, but you couldn't hide a shadow in a drug-induced rainbow.

Even getting upstairs wasn't as hard as I would have thought. My lack of planning had been a major worry before I came in, but now I realized that all the concern was in vain. The workers treated me like the invisible man, the people in the casino tried their best to stay out of my way.

It was only after I reached the hotel rooms that I realized killers must be a regular sight in this place.

Not just killers, but all kinds of criminals. This place was infested by members of the Lee clan, maybe other petty criminals from lower rungs on the ladder of the underworld. Once, I thought I saw the same bleached-blond who had held a knife to my neck, but the stranger turned away without a second glance. He couldn't have been the killer if he was ignoring my presence.

I stopped short.

They weren't ignoring me because I looked like a contract killer. I was an easily recognizable face, as the 'Hwang girl' as I had been dubbed by many in the past. They were ignoring me because they expected me. Because the heir expected me.

A shiver crawled up my spine, but I powered through the emotion, suppressing it before it had enough power to cripple me again. I wasn't going to submit so soon. Not again, now that I knew the consequences that came with it.

The bleached-blond got up, and I stepped deeper down the hallway, following him through the sparsely lit hallway. He was dressed in a similar fashion to me, not in loose suits or satin, but more sober, darker shades. It wasn't much of a lead, but when I caught a glimpse of a dark stencil on the pale skin of his forearm, I made up my mind. He may not have led me to my destination, but a weak clue was better than none.

MAINTAINANCE, declared the sign hanging on the off-white door. I stared at it, then glanced quickly along the corridor. This was the room he had disappeared into—or maybe it was one of the other hotel rooms, but it seemed more plausible.

For a moment, I teetered between decisions, gun drawn. The moment felt compressed, as if all my tension had been drawn in like a single sheet of paper folded over and over. The walls were thin, and I could hear high-pitched moans from one of the rooms—at least I knew I wasn't going in there. Sweat had begun to gather under my armpits and my temples, and the musty, humid air didn't help.

I heard footsteps, and my gun was cocked and aimed at the source even before the person made an appearance. The door of the room made a freaking sound as it shut, and the boy who had walked through it froze. His eyes were wide with shock and fear, but I could see recognition in them. He didn't raise his arms, but stood there, not moving, and neither did I, the mouth of the gun still focused on its target.

His face was timeless, with features you could never truly tell the age of. He could have been anywhere between twenty and thirty, but there was a graveness in his eyes, a deep-set weariness that seemed to run into his very bones. The plain white dress shirt he was wearing was unbuttoned down to his mid-torso, and the tip of a black tattoo peaked out from the v of his abdomen. Revulsion rose in me at the sight of the beautifully deadly symbol of the Winged Clan.

He was probably an escort from the way he was dressed. His eyes were rimmed with red, so his messy hair wasn't from sleep. My disgust deepened, turning into something close to reluctant pity. Had he been picked up from the streets, or pushed into the business against his will? He was a man, but the because of the look in his eyes, I couldn't think of him as anything but a lost boy.

I had a lot to deal with as it was, and felt a stab of irritation as the thought rose. I couldn't help but be guilty that I didn't care, or that I tried not to. Even though I tried to reason, thinking that I had suffered too, but it was just a front.

From the other room, there was the sound of a weak bedframe squeaking, amplified by the silence in the corridor. When I glanced back at him, the boy's face was ashen.

Slowly, he pointed at one of the rooms. My brow twitched into a frown. The first thought that came to me was Taeyong, but there was no way the boy knew what I had come for. Or maybe he did, and was leading me to him. My frown deepened into a scowl as I studied his expression, looking for any signs of trickery, but hoping it was true, because I was willing to walk into a trap if it meant finding him.

I walked in the direction of the room with slow, deliberate steps, keeping the gun aimed at him as I did. He didn't move, not turning as my hand found the doorknob, not as I pushed it open, not as I lowered my gun and pushed into the room.

The sight that greeted me pushed all the air out of my lungs.

All the furniture except the bed had been cleared out, and Taeyong was on his knees in front of it, bruised and bloodied, his hands tied to the bedposts. The rope seemed weak, and I wondered, at first, why he hadn't broken free, but I realized that there was no point. Even if he had no restraints, he had nowhere to go.

I stepped towards him carefully—or maybe staggered was the correct word—and when he looked up at the sound, a choked sound escaped my throat. I pressed my hand to my mouth, and fell to my knees in front of him, muscles tense and eyes stinging, trying to hold myself back from doing something I didn't quite understand.

"Y..." he started, looking like speaking the syllable was costing him. His voice sounded like it was coming from a throat scraped raw with a knife. "What are you..."

The front of his shirt was ripped, and I could see dark bruises blooming over his abdomen and side, gashes open over his chest. The corner of his lip was torn, and dried blood clung to his skin, making his bloodred hair look more like blood, matting it to his skin. I lifted my hand weakly, wanting to touch him but wondering if it would hurt him too much, and he strained, as if trying to reach me.

"Who..." I trailed off, choking and gasping. All the half-baked plans and on-the-spot ideas that I had formed on the way here were whisked away by the stormy wind of my emotions, tumbling and chaotic, and suddenly, I was three years younger and a thousand years older. "Why?"

Taeyong didn't answer. His eyes were still flickering, trying to focus on me, taking me in. I wondered what I must have seemed like to him. Maybe a phantom, or a product of his imagination.

Ultimately, that was the thought that motivated me to move. I got to my feet, freeing him and pulling him to his feet. Taeyong was lighter than I had expected him to be, and when I lifted him up, it was as if some life came back to him. The injuries looked old, so maybe they had healed somewhat. Who knew how long I had been sleeping, and how long he had been trapped in here?

"How did you get here?" he asked, wincing as he limped, and I glanced over my shoulder every few seconds to make sure there was no one coming in. "How did they—"

"No time," I hissed, noticing a bloody baseball bat lying on the floor close to the entrance, which I had missed earlier. I let go of Taeyong with a purse of my lips, lifting the bat up. "Not my style, but it'll do."

His face was ashen as I pulled open the door. "You have a style now?"

The hallway was clear. Taeyong was hard to support, and my burst of confidence was fading. Despite his best efforts at stealth, it was hard with his injuries, and the noise we were making was enough to attract unwanted attention even over the moaning. Upon seeing that the boy I had seen earlier was gone, I felt a mixture of relief and guilt, but pushed on.

"Do you even know where we're going?" Taeyong asked in a hushed tone, a risk in the deathly quiet of the hotel.

"Just—" I broke off as the elevator doors slid open, hand immediately on the gun. Thankfully, it was empty. "Come on."

I dragged him into the elevator, and punching in the button, bringing us to the first floor. Taeyong didn't say anything, but from the look on his face it was clear that he disapproved.

The few random turns I took brought us to a dead end. It seemed like a sitting area of sorts, with a lavish couches and a few small tables. One wall was completely glass, looking out into the street.

"Not much of a view," Taeyong muttered under his breath, looking around the place. He was breathing hard, and fresh blood stained a cut on his cheek. "What do you propose we do now?"

"Do you think that glass is strong?"

"What?"

Ignoring the cons, I grabbed one of the tables, and swung it at the glass wall with as much strength I had. It produced just a small crack. I could hear footsteps, and this time, they sounded urgent.

My heartbeat quickened, and I swung it again. New cracks snaked out from it, and I kept swinging, the reaction sending tiny shockwaves through my body. I clenched my teeth, and swung again—this time, the damage was much more, little spiderweb cracks that spread out over the glass like the crystalline pattern at the centre of ice.

"Jump," I said, turning to Taeyong. My blood felt electrified in my veins, and I knew my arms were going to hurt from the impact, but the adrenaline made the pain seem inconsequential.

He stared at me. "I—"

"If you throw your body all at once, it should be enough to break it," I said, breathing heavily. "There's not enough time, Taeyong, jump!"

The footsteps were getting heavier. I turned away from him, willing myself not to think of his injuries, and how much the impact might affect them.

He had paled, glaring. "It's a long fall."

"A few broken bones are better than death," I said, almost spat. "Taeyong, please. Just jump."

He shook his head, pulling his foot back. "This is your worst idea yet."

The first person entered the room just as he started running. I hefted the baseball bat, and the man shouted. "Jump," I said, just as the man opened his mouth. "Jump!"

He jumped.