wait, this is strange
it’s getting blurry

It was the wind that woke me up.

The breeze was too strong to be called just a breeze, a cold that was more than just chilly. I got up, groggy and sleep-deprived—I'd only been asleep for a few hours—and sat up on the edge of my bed. The bed next to me was empty, though Taeyong had been bone-tired when he'd given in to sleep after having stayed up for more than a day in fear of nightmares.

"Taeyong?" I called out, irrational worry gnawing at the inside of my stomach. Maybe he was downstairs; but the house was almost empty, and he should have heard me anyway. Jungkook and the rest of the racers—with the exception of three—had left the previous night. I went towards the open door, and called out again, louder this time. "Taeyong!"

Dead silence.

That was the first indication of danger.

Later I would realize that. Even if Taeyong hadn't heard me calling, someone else would have. Lucas was in the room just opposite mine, and he didn't take kindly to be disturbed during his rest hours.

My sleepiness faded abruptly, awareness taking its place.

It was still dark out, I noticed, the sky an ink blue that edged on the break of dawn. It was just before sunrise. That was the second sign.

I could see the sky, through the windows. The windows, which had been shut before I went to sleep.

The fear that seized me next came out of nowhere. I didn't stop to think that maybe Taeyong had opened them, or that someone else might have. My mind jumped to the nearest possibility, which was the fact that that something was wrong. There was no doubt in my mind about that, more a result of paranoia than logical thought.

Windows.

The memory occurred to me suddenly. That was what Ken, the informant, had told us when we had left his house, but I had assumed he meant the windows of the car that had been stolen. It was only then that I wondered if we had even let the windows of the car down in the first place.

Don't leave any windows open.

I stepped backwards slowly. The two circumstances couldn't be connected, could they? But from my experiences, I knew that everything should be taken into consideration. There was no one you could trust, not even yourself.

No, I hadn't left the windows open. Neither would have Taeyong, because of the wind and our wary minds. It could have been someone else, but that was very unlikely. I would have heard them, anyway.

I leaned against the cupboard, trying to think. Maybe I was just being paranoid, which was a more plausible option that what my brain had been cooking up, but I couldn't afford to make mistakes. A single wrong step could be fatal.

Lucas wasn't up yet, or he would have woken me up too. I couldn't hear anyone downstairs; even if the place was mostly unoccupied, people still sounded like something. The house was eerily quiet, like nobody lived in it but ghosts. I guessed I was ghost waiting to happen.

The door opened silently, and I peeked around before stepping out of my room. The hilt of the hunting knife Jungkook had given me felt comforting in my grip, though it was larger than the ones I usually wielded. I crossed the hallway and pushed open the door to Lucas's room, knowing that it wouldn't be locked. Sure enough, it gave way easily, and I advanced.

It was empty.

My breath caught in my throat. I edged around the bed, catching sight of something lying on the floor. Something long and heavy, with a streak of blood along its face.

"Oh, god, no," I whispered to myself, eyes widening in horror. My upraised hand holding the knife lowered as I bent closer to Lucas, squatting next to him to check his pulse. The wound on his head seemed deep, but his pulse was still there when I felt it. He was alive, and I hadn't heard any sounds of a scuffle, but it could have been because of my drug-induced sleep. Slowly, I dipped my fingertips into the shallow pool of blood blooming on the floor around his head.

It was still warm.

The next thing I felt was the cold tip of a knife pressed to my neck. I sucked in my breath, feeling my heart stop for a split second before accelerating.

"Get up," said a soft voice in my ear.

I complied, rising as slowly as possible so as to not give the knife an opportunity to dig into my flesh, but I felt the sting as it cut into my skin anyway. I couldn't see my attacker, but I knew who it was—of course I did—a Lee. There was a Lee in my house.

"Turn around." I did, slowly, coming face-to-face with the assailant. His hair was bleached white, close in shade to his pale skin, another common characteristic I had seen out of many on members of the Lee clan. Dyed hair. Pale skin. Butterfly.

His eyes were narrow, tapering at the outer corners in the manner of a cat's. The only visible weapon he had was the knife pressed to my throat, but I wasn't going to take my chances with him. Not yet, anyway.

"Walk," was the next command, and like all others, I obeyed without fuss. I was still confused about why I was still alive, but the Lees seemed to enjoy taking their time to kill a person. Maybe they were going to take me first, make a spectacle out of me, or an example. Every footstep sent a new vein of blood pounding in my head, and all my senses were blank.

The moment we were out of the room, I halted.

The bleached-blond stopped short, displeased, and I let out my breath so my chest caved. Then I threw my head back, making it collide with his solar plexus with a force hard enough to make his hand drop the knife in favor of more pressing issues.

He gasped, taking a ragged breath, and instead of staying to fight, I ran. I bounded down the stairs with no care for my recently healed ankle, no thought in my head except to get away. I would gather up anyone who was still alive and conscious, and then the GT86, and drive to wherever the scouting party was. If they were still safe.

Jimin was in the kitchen, which was surprising since I could have sworn there was no one downstairs. The toaster pinged just as I rushed in, and he looked up, mildly confused by the outburst.

"They're here," I rasped between gasping breaths, doubling over to rest my hands on my knees. There was no need to specify who 'they' referred to. I was severely out of air from the short sprint, eyes blown wide open, adrenaline still singing in my veins. "We need to go." The thought of Lucas arose, but I smothered it. No time to save everyone. "Now."

Jimin just raised his eyebrows. "Where's Taeyong?" he asked as he leaned against the counter casually, not making any move to hurry.

The question made me stop short. I drew myself up, my head buzzing with a flurry of questions and worries and choices, still breathing hard to get enough oxygen to my brain. Could I leave Taeyong? Would I have, if I had the choice? Who else would I be so ready to forget in my haste to save myself?

It hit me like a bullet to the forehead, cutting off any other thought mid-statement. "Dad," I breathed.

I tried to think through the fog, but panic had grasped my power of reasoning. Limp, I leaned against the counter, feeling my knees turn to jelly. There was already the paralyzing terror of a killer catching up, and my own house didn't feel safe anymore. My eyes stung, and I felt lost—torn between options I didn't want to consider. Even if I left the people I loved behind, would I make it? If I got caught, what would be worse for them? Knowing that I had abandoned them, or being killed before they even realized it?

I looked up at Jimin pleadingly, but he didn't look affected by my plight. Dully, I realized that he was looking not at me, but past me, at someone else. "You're late," he said, conversationally.

The way he had spoken made my shackled hopes rise again, though it was hard through the haze of uncertainty. He sounded untroubled, even careless, as if there was no danger. Then the person he was looking at stepped forward, and I looked up—blonde again, though this time it was a shade darker. The stranger glanced at me, then up at Jimin. "You can't always keep your appointments. It's only been a few minutes, anyway."

He cocked his head to the side, and I caught a glimpse of something dark at the side of his neck, hidden by his hair and the upturned collar of his jacket. The tip of a wing. The swirl of a tattoo.

Unexpectedly, I felt at peace. There was nothing reassuring about the butterfly tattoo, rather the opposite, but I didn't freak out. It was as if I had reached the limit of my panic and my brain was telling me that it had had enough of worrying. There was no point in it. It wasn't as if getting worked up was going to solve anything.

The blond looked unhurried and unafraid, which meant that the Lees had either dispatched the rest of the racers or that they weren't much of a threat. I already looked weak, which was exactly how I felt, despite the hunting knife clenched in my fist. The graceful movements of the man told me I wasn't a match for someone of his skill level—he was probably another contract killer—and anyway, it was two against one, since Jimin didn't seem very protective of me. He had chosen his side a long time ago, when no one had known of what they were coming up against. Traitor. I wasn't even angry.

The end had come too soon—if I had been the same person as three years ago, maybe I would have tried. Lashed out, tried to escape, looked for help. It just seemed like a formality now, fighting back. There were two highly skilled people here who could kill me—three, if you counted the one upstairs. He couldn't stay out of action forever. I was just one, inexperienced and crippled by my mental disability, and no one was coming to help. All I could think of was that if I died, at least I wouldn't have to keep worrying about it.

There was no hope. No reason to even try. The thought made me feel almost calm. At least I wouldn't have to choose.

It was almost an easy way out.

"Just be fast," I whispered. No tears, no pride, nothing. I had no armor, no reason to protect myself. Everyone else would be safe. Maybe the racers would find out, and they'd stay away. Maybe if I died, someone I loved would live.

I didn't resist, simply staying put against the doorframe as the blond looked at me with a gaze filled with an emotion that seemed almost like pity. He didn't move, hands empty of weapons, but someone else did. I heard the chink of a weapon being drawn somewhere behind me, and closed my eyes.

A sharp pain bloomed at the back of my head, and everything turned black.

──────

I'M SO EXCITED FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER, THIS IS WHERE THE REAL SHIT BEGINS

also she's not dead don't worry, we still have a long way to go before the end

who do think the blonde men are? where is taeyong, or her dad? how exactly do you want to murder jimin?

i'm kinda upset seventeen didn't win best dance at mama but mnet's a snake so i guess it's not that surprising—i missed cheol too, i hope my boys get enough rest :(

also may i interrupt this with something i need to vent about? i absolutely MUST talk about how h*t sol (and also shua) looks in these pictures:

thank you, Elle magazine, for this hair and styling, and thank you, sol, for existing and making me a happier person every day. i love you.

and i love you guys too <3
love,
Manx.