The steady beeping of the heart monitor was the only sound in the sterile hospital room. It echoed in the hollow space between Jimin's ribs, a rhythmic reminder that she was still here—that she was still breathing.

Maria lay motionless on the bed, her skin nearly as pale as the sheets wrapped around her. The soft glow of the IV line illuminated the tubes snaking from her arms, carrying fluids and medication into her weakened body. Her hand, small and fragile, was wrapped in fresh bandages, no longer marred by the dried blood he had found her in.

But she still hadn't woken up.

Jimin sat beside her, his fingers latched onto hers, gripping them just tight enough to anchor himself. His thumb brushed over the back of her hand in slow, absentminded strokes, his eyes never leaving her face. He could barely recognize her like this—silent, unmoving. She was always filled with a quiet fire, always pushing forward, even when she should have rested. But now? Now she looked like a ghost of herself.

His chest ached.

He had never hated silence more than he did at this moment.

Leaning forward, he rested his forehead against their joined hands, his grip tightening. "Maria..." His voice was barely a whisper, thick with something raw. "What happened to you?"

Jimin swallowed, lifting his head slightly, watching her face for any sign of movement. Nothing. His fingers squeezed hers as if trying to pass whatever strength he had left into her.

"Just wake up," he murmured, voice barely audible over the heart monitor. "Please." His fingers were still laced with Maria's, his thumb absently tracing the bandages wrapped around her frail hand.

Then his phone buzzed in his pocket, the screen flashing with a name that made his shoulders tense.

Taehyung.

With a quiet sigh, he let go of her hand and stood, taking slow steps toward the window before answering. He didn't want his voice to disturb her, even though she hadn't stirred once since he brought her here.

"Where the hell are you?" Taehyung's voice came through, a mix of amusement and suspicion. "I went by your place, but you're not there. Did you crash at work again?"

His gaze flickered back to the pale face, his jaw tightening. "Yeah," he lied smoothly, his voice devoid of any hesitation. "Late night. Just got caught up with things."

Taehyung scoffed. "Man, you really need to get a life outside of work. But anyway, listen—I've been grinding my ass off setting up the trap for Raven." His voice lowered slightly, his usual laid-back tone laced with something sharper. "If this really is what I think it is. This might be the time we come across that bitch in person "

Jimin's fingers twitched at his side, Taehyung's words dragging him back to that night—the stealth raid, the masked figure who teamed up with him to save their lives, whom he deceived at the end.

"Taehyung..." His voice was quiet, and thoughtful. "I think I might've already come across Raven."

There was silence on the other end before Taehyung let out a low laugh. "What?"

Jimin turned back toward the hospital bed, his eyes narrowing slightly. "I haven't told Joon but during the raid. There was another interested party—a woman, masked. She came for the deal too, very skilled, very precise. She didn't move like a hired gun or a bystander caught in the wrong place. She was in control of the situation, slipping through it like she owned it."

Taehyung was quiet for a moment before he exhaled, his voice taking on a sharper edge. "And you think that was?"

Jimin's grip on his phone tightened. "Raven... I don't think. I know. It's gotta be her"

Raven had been a faceless ghost, an untouchable figure that had eluded them time and time again. But now, for the first time, he had a lead—one that made his gut twist with something that felt dangerously like realization.

But what didn't cross his mind was that...

Lying in that hospital bed, weak and unconscious... Maria fit that masked figure's silhouette far too well.

Same body ratios, the same injuries, and—the same damn presence. But, it never crossed his mind.

His thoughts never lingered there, never dared to draw the line between the woman who had moved like a shadow in the chaos of that night and the girl lying lifeless in front of him.

Because it couldn't be.

Maria was just Maria. A girl he so happened to like he doesn't even know why or from when, but it just happened though he wasn't going to accept the fact just yet.

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair as he tried to shake the tension creeping into his muscles. Taehyung was still on the other end of the line, waiting.

"What's our next step?" Jimin asked, his voice lower now, laced with something unreadable.

"For now, I will set the booby trap with pretty flowers around it then we wait and watch the pretty bird wiggle its way in," Taehyung said. "I'll tighten the net. If we're right, then she's bound to make a move soon."

Jimin nodded to himself. "And when she does..."

"We take her down."

The call ended, but the weight in Jimin's chest remained. He slipped the phone back into his pocket and turned to Maria once more. Slowly he slid back into the seat and trapped her weak cold fingers in his warm ones. Her fingers twitched slightly in his hold, a barely-there movement, but it sent a jolt of something sharp through him.

His grip instinctively tightened, his breath catching.

Was she waking up?

His heart hammered as he leaned closer, eyes scanning her face for any sign of consciousness. But after a long moment, she stilled once more, sinking back into the depth of whatever held her under.

Jimin exhaled, slumping slightly as the tension drained from his shoulders.

It was fine. She was still here. She was still breathing.

And that was all that mattered.

For now.

Her face, so pale against the sheets, made something coil tight in his chest. He hated seeing her like this—so fragile, so unmoving. It didn't suit her. Maria wasn't someone who belonged in a hospital bed. She was stubborn, sharp-tongued, always carrying herself like she had something to prove to the world. And yet, here she was.

A voice in the back of his mind whispered, Why are you even here?

She wasn't family. She wasn't even a close friend. They barely knew each other beyond the occasional passing interaction, a handful of exchanged words. He had no reason to be here, no obligation to stay.

And yet, he hadn't left her side since the moment he'd found her.

His grip on her hand tightened.

What the hell are you doing, Jimin?

He could've called someone else—dropped her off and walked away. But the thought had never even crossed his mind. From the moment he saw her collapsed on that floor, something inside him had refused to let go.

You care.

The realization settled uncomfortably in his chest.

No. That wasn't it. That couldn't be it.

But then why did the sight of her like this make his stomach twist? Why did his pulse stutter every time her fingers twitched, as if he was afraid she'd slip away?

He exhaled, dragging a hand down his face.

Maybe he was just tired. Maybe it was just guilt, or concern, or something else he didn't have the patience to name.

But then, his gaze fell back to her face, to the way her lashes cast soft shadows over her cheeks, the way her lips were slightly parted, and the way she looked—vulnerable, small, nothing like the woman who had met his sharp words with sharper ones.

And suddenly, maybe didn't feel like enough of a denial anymore.

He swallowed hard, leaning back in the chair, but his fingers refused to let go of Maria's. His head tilted slightly as he studied her features—soft, delicate even in the harsh white glow of the hospital lights.

He had seen her angry. He had seen her cold. He had seen that sharp, calculating glint in her eyes when she spoke. But he had never seen her like this—defenseless.

What the hell is she doing to me?

He wasn't the type to stick around for people. He didn't let himself get attached, not anymore. There was no space for sentiment in his world—it made people reckless, made them vulnerable. And yet, here he was, keeping watch like a fool.

A bitter chuckle slipped past his lips. Is that what this is?

Because if it wasn't... then why did the thought of leaving her here alone make his chest ache?

You're falling, Jimin.

No. That was ridiculous. He barely knew her. Look at all this, all these things that he never knew. What he did was just... concern. A natural response to seeing someone in pain.

But even as he tried to reason with himself, the warmth of her hand beneath his palm, the faint rise and fall of her chest—it all felt like something more. Something he wasn't ready to name.

Jimin exhaled, slow and shaky, his fingers tightening around hers.

It was stupid.

Completely, utterly, recklessly stupid how drawn he felt to her.

His eyes trailed over the delicate curve of her face—the way her lashes fanned against her cheeks, the soft part of her lips, the way her bandaged hand rested so trustingly in his. There was no logic behind it, no reasoning that could justify why his heart was stuttering in his chest.

Looking at her like this only made him want to hide her in his arms, hold her close, and tell her he was there for her- What an idiot!

She isn't yours to protect! Why couldn't he pull himself away?

His free hand moved before he could stop it, his fingertips brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. It was soft—too soft for someone who had bled out in his arms.

His fingers lingered at the curve of her cheek, tracing the delicate skin before pulling back as if burned. This wasn't right. He wasn't supposed to care like this or feel so drawn, not this much.

Yet, his body betrayed him.

He leaned in.

Closer.

Her face was still, untouched by awareness, and for a fleeting second, it almost felt like he was frozen in time with her—stuck in this unspoken space between them.

Before he could stop himself, before his mind could catch up with his actions, his lips brushed against her cheek.

A whisper of a touch.

Soft. Warm. Dangerous.

Jimin stilled. The realization crashed into him like a tidal wave, but it was already too late.

He had crossed a line.

He pulled back quickly, eyes dark with something unreadable as he stared at her, waiting—dreading—for a reaction that never came. His pulse hammering in his ears.

He should leave.

He needed to leave.

But his fingers never let go of hers.

A soft groan broke the stillness.

Jimin's breath hitched.

His body went rigid, muscles locking in place as his gaze snapped to her face.

Her brows furrowed, her lips parting slightly as she let out another weak sound, her fingers twitching against his own.

His heart slammed against his ribs.

Shit.

She was waking up.

Jimin should've let go of her hand. Should've stepped back. Should've prepared himself. But all he could do was sit there, frozen, his pulse roaring in his ears.

Then, slowly, hazy eyes fluttered open. Jimin's breath stalled.

Blood red.

His fingers twitched against hers, a cold weight settling in his stomach as her dazed gaze met his. Her irises, once dark and unreadable, were now a deep, unnatural crimson, swirling like embers in dying flames.

His pulse roared louder.

"Maria..." His voice barely scraped past his lips, unsure, cautious.

She blinked sluggishly, brows drawing together as if even that small movement sent a fresh wave of pain through her body. Her lips parted slightly, but no words came out—just a shaky exhale, like she was struggling to even breathe.

Jimin's throat felt dry.

This wasn't normal. This wasn't human.

He had seen bloodied eyes before. Eyes filled with rage, fear, pain—but never like this. Never like hers. It was as if something else was staring back at him from behind them.

Something wrong.

His grip on her hand faltered. She let out another soft sound, barely above a whimper, her body twitching slightly beneath the hospital sheets. The movement snapped him out of it, instinct kicking in as he leaned closer.

"Hey," he murmured, fingers tightening around hers again, grounding himself in the warmth of her skin. "It's okay. You're safe."

But then her body tensed, pain flickering across her face as her hand weakly tried to move.

"Hey, don't—" His other hand shot forward instinctively, hovering over her as if unsure whether to touch her or not. "Don't move too much. You're in the hospital."

She let out a soft exhale, her gaze finally finding his.

A beat of silence passed. Jimin's lungs squeezed painfully.

Because for the first time since he found her bleeding on that floor—since he carried her here, sat by her bedside, kissed her cheek—Maria was looking at him.

And he had no idea what to do with the way it made him feel.