are you waiting for someone?
your eyes seem tired

Backstage was empty.

I inched closer to the stage, being as quiet as I could in the uncomfortable dress. Every step in the heels sounded like a gunshot in the silence, but thankfully, there was no one around to hear it.

I looked around, confused. The auction was supposed to start at any moment, and there seemed to be no one around to begin. The heavy velvet curtains were drawn at the front of the stage, a roughly semicircular wooden platform. I checked the wings, which turned out to be just as empty as the rest of the backstage. Upon trying the handles to the dressing rooms, I discovered that they were locked, and thought better of picking them. It might attract unwanted attention, and there was no sound emitting from the inside, so they were probably empty anyway.

Once I had exhausted all the searching points, I stepped onto the stage. I could still hear the noise from beyond, though the thick curtains had dulled the loud laughs to murmurs and the clinking glasses to the tinkling of wind chimes. It was helpful knowing that no one could hear me snooping around.

But what was I supposed to do now? Though Vernon was supposed to betray Jungkook, their plans had been the same up to this point. If Jungkook wanted me delivered into the hands of the Lees, he should have known where I was supposed to be, and this didn't seem to be it. Then where?

Or maybe there was no auction.

But no, that can't be it, I thought, recalling the placards and numbers I had seen some people carrying around. There was definitely a forward auction happening, but beyond that, I knew nothing. The fact that people were being sold as slaves reminded me of Roman customs of selling war slaves as spoils of war. I shivered in disgust, knowing that I was one of them.

There could be many sellers, or just one, but there was a higher chance that the clan was the only seller for the auction, being the host. There was also the chance that there were multiple suppliers within the clan, like branches. Ironic, how little I knew about the crime system despite having been caught in its depths for almost all of my life.

I walked around the stage slowly and alertly, keeping a close watch on the curtains in case they started parting. I went back to the stairs at the back of the stage, and halted as my feet hit an unsteady part of the stage. Eyes narrowing, I stepped back to survey the part, kneeling next to it as well as I could without accidentally ripping something. My fingers traced stage, looking for lines set into the wood, and were satisfied by the result.

A trapdoor, hidden by the pattern of the wood.

Casting a quick glance over my shoulder, I dug my fingers into the side of the line and pulled it up. No dust floated up, which meant that it had been used recently. It wasn't very deep, either—about six or seven feet, but I couldn't see any stairs to grant access. Sighing, I slipped of my heels, dropping them in before gathering up the skirt of the dress and jumping in after them.

I landed in a crouch, as hard as it was. The inside was dark, with a musty smell, but there was no dust, and the place was definitely used often. I turned around to inspect the wall joining the trapdoor to the floor, and sure enough, there were metal rungs leading up to the door. One could exit from inside, but not enter, which meant that there was a separate entrance somewhere—all I had to do was find it, and it would lead me to the heir.

One thought stopped me from going headfirst into the tunnel. It could be a whole labyrinth buried in there, which meant I could get lost. Who knew how deep this thing went? And I didn't have a lot of time either. It was only a few minutes to eleven.

I took a deep breath, and lifted the heels, deciding against wearing them. That was all I had to show myself the way back—not a trail of bread crumbs, but two platform heels. Not much, I thought, heading down the unlit corridor with the stealth of an overburdened cat, but it'll do.

The first turn came early, with no alternatives, so I kept both the heels. If I could make it back this far, I'd know which way to go. The hallways were becoming increasingly dark, and I had to keep to my left, touching the wall so I'd know where I was going. After a few hundred meters in, I saw light seeping in, and my hopes rose so suddenly that they were almost impossible to squash.

Eleven o'clock.

I dropped a heel at the threshold of a three-way corridor, and went the way the light showed. As much as I hated giving credit to my enemies, I couldn't help but admire the underground system of tunnels they had built—it seemed fairly new, maybe a decade or so old. Apparently, I had been mistaken thinking that I was in a city that the clan was completely unfamiliar with.

A sudden thought made me stop in my tracks. I wasn't the one who had chosen this city as my hideout, Baekhyun was. And the heir had mentioned him as a fateful coincidence the day he had made me the offer...

I shook my head, feeling my chest constrict in panic. No time to think about things like that. I couldn't afford distractions, not when I was so close to my destination.

But the idea had planted itself firmly in my brain, and stopping to think about it had forced me to take into account the circumstances I was in. I crouched next to a wall, painfully aware of the fact that there were layers of concrete above me, and that I did not have enough air in my lungs.

The feeling had become so alien that I almost didn't recognize it when I first felt it.

I was having an anxiety attack.

Come on, come on, come on, I screamed internally, feeling frustrated tears gather like a growing pressure behind my eyes. When I was so close to finding a clue, too. Seconds ago, I had been as steady and clear-headed as a hunter, and it had taken only a single thought like a mislaid land mine to blow that clear-headedness to bits. Fuck this.

I was clearly not as okay as I had thought.

Slowly and deliberately, I counted to four and back, trying not to think about my luck. I had no idea why I was having an attack now, when the opportunity to break down had presented itself so many times over the past couple of weeks. I had faced ten men with guns, the threat of being turned into a jack-o-lantern, and the news that I was being sold like a commodity without having to count to four. Count to fucking four and back. I hated counting to four.

Lifting my remaining heel like a weapon, I inched along the corridor as fast as I dared, which wasn't very fast. My breathing was still like that of a panting dog, but it was getting better, and I didn't want to waste time.

Ten minutes past eleven.

When I finally reached the door, I had to give myself a minute to get a hold on myself before I could proceed. My feet and fingertips were cold, and though I wasn't shaking physically, every action felt like my brain was vibrating at a high frequency. Like the needle of a tattoo machine rapidly punching into skin. I was off-beat and shaky, alternating between listlessness and bone-breaking forcefulness.

I pushed the door open with one hand, keeping one hand on the slit of my dress in case I needed to get to the knife strapped to my thigh. After such a long time in the dark, it took a few moments for my eyes to adjust to the light, even as I blinked rapidly to accommodate myself to it. When I finally looked up, the room was empty save for a couple of mercs.

"What the..." I trailed off, realizing no one had even noticed me. There seemed to be no one else around, which meant the skins—the word left a bad taste in my mouth—were being kept in another room. Or, said a dry voice in my head, they could be up there already.

The mercenaries had spared me not more than a single glance, probably thinking I was one of those. There were makeup tables lining one side of the room, and it smelled powerfully of perfume. The tunnels weren't a part of the clan's plan, the trapdoor simply led to the actual dressing rooms, which had been built underground. Which meant that the locked rooms backstage hadn't been dressing rooms at all.

I stood at the door in muted confusion, too stunned to move. Then one of the men—a man with flaming orange hair—looked up, and his eyes narrowed. He opened his mouth—what he wanted to say, I never got to know, because I stepped backwards and pulled the door shut.

I winced when I heard the first shout from inside, backtracking quickly and taking the first turn I came across. I chose against dropping the remaining heel, thinking that the noise from the door I had just closed would lead me back. Even if it didn't, someone would find me, and take me to the heir—which wasn't a great option, I supposed, but better than being left by myself in this labyrinth. At least I could try escaping upstairs.

The first footprints sounded in the tunnel the moment I broke into a run. The hallways changed to tiles, and I swore under my breath, distractedly wondering where the tunnels ultimately led. I had to enter the first door I came across. Who knew where those men might take me? All I had was a knife and one good heel.

I almost smiled in relief when I spotted the first door, since the footfalls had been getting closer. Sounds of conversation were coming from the inside, but it was too muted to make out what was being said. My hand rested on the handle, but before I could push down, the door swung open on its own.

And out stepped the blonde escort.

The escort stared at me, expression mirroring all the shock and uncertainty that my own face betrayed. The door hadn't stayed open for more than a few seconds, but it had been enough for me to see the people thronging it. Mostly girls, all young, a painful pattern of glitter and powder and fear. This was where they were being kept.

We stared at each other—his face was a spinning wheel, changing quickly from confusion to shock to disbelief and back. For a few seconds, I didn't move, hesitating between my options. I could go in, or I could keep running. This man could sell you out, a voice in my head hissed, but I knew I didn't believe that. He had helped me find Taeyong—and that wasn't the only reason. There was an unnerving familiarity about him, his expression, his gestures, but I couldn't tell from where. I felt like I knew him, or had known him once.

"There!"

His head cocked to the side when he heard the voice, eyes widening. Just as quickly, he glanced back, and a thousand thoughts flitted across his face too fast to read, before he extended his hand.

I stared at it.

He let out a breath, then reached forward and grabbed my hand. His palm was warm and dry. He only looked at me once, giving me a single nod, relaying a strange emotion I understood, but couldn't quite put into words. Then he turned—away from where I had just come, towards the unknown—and began to run.