fire, shoot out the words
'it’s over'

I ran as fast as I could, stumbling blindly through doors and across rooms, trying to escape an enemy I didn't even recognize.

All I could hear were gunshots, yelling, and heavy bodies crashing through glass. Maybe if I had known what the threat was, I would have been more scared, but all I felt was confusion.

I cursed mentally as I remembered that the last gun I'd been given had been lost the time I had encountered Lay in that alleyway. The place where it was supposed to be hurt, like a phantom pain, and I felt unevenly balanced without it. Like something important was missing.

Somewhere along my weak attempts to get away, Taehyung had materialized next to me, a gun wrapped up in his long fingers, a look of pure hatred on his face. He grabbed the back of my jacket and forced me flat behind a wall next to the door we had just entered through, as a couple of masked figures came through it.

By this time, my mind had arrived at the conclusion that our attackers were probably the bikers. My chief concern was still Taeyong's presence, but as I watched Taehyung raise his gun and take a few shots at the leather-clad men, my heart closed in on itself.

"Stop fucking shooting!" I yelled, fingers digging into his wrist as we ran again, feeling muscle and hot skin and the feeling of being condemned.

He fixed one of his dark glares on my face, slapping away my hand and baring his teeth in a sneer, so unlike the wild but chivalrous boy I had once been attracted to. In some twisted way, I knew this was the lesson I'd learnt, that I couldn't trust anyone, ever.

"If I wanted to kill them, they'd be dead," he said, looking venomous. I was hit with the memory of the tiger tattoo on his back, and almost asked him why—but it was obvious, wasn't it?

"That doesn't help." I hated how fragile and brittle and weak my voice sounded. "Killing someone you don't—"

"Know?" He grinned, looking feral, his long fingers closing around mine. The gesture would have looked protective to an onlooker, but his grip cut into my skin like a knife. "Don't talk about shit you don't understand."

I wanted to open my mouth, to bie back with a reply just as scathing, but there was no time as we tore up the stairs connecting the next hallway to the room. By the time we were on the first floor, I was panting, sucking in breaths that felt dry and sharp in my lungs. Taehyung gave me a last look and told me to get myself somewhere safe, and left.

The sounds were getting louder, but I didn't think anyone was up here yet. Even though I had been here multiple times, I had never explored the building beyond the ground floor, and was utterly lost by the time I took my third turn.

If I concentrated hard enough, I could hear people downstairs, but the only thing I could do was shut up and pray that everyone I wanted to be safe was safe. Minhyuk had been quiet throughout the entire discussion, and I hadn't stayed long enough to see where he'd gone, but I hoped that he hadn't been shot and bled while by now.

I couldn't help but wonder if any of the bikers who were shooting at us was someone I had once known or trusted. Lay's bullet had been hard enough to accept, but every time I thought about my death, I could see down the chamber of his gun, pointing straight at my heart.

How many people had to die before this could end? I felt hopeless. This was the day I had been supposed to leave Seoul, but after Baekhyun's death, that seemed impossible. I realized that I couldn't even bring myself to trust Taeyong, and I didn't know if that was a side effect of all the betrayals I had faced or a reflex thought because of his own suspicious actions.

He hadn't been present, and that was the one moment that the bikers had decided to utilize to attack us.

I couldn't shake the thought that someone was going to die tonight.

I pushed through an open door into empty room, the layout reminding me of the dilapidated building in the back roads where I had first seen Baekhyun as an informant. The thought made me sick, and I shut the door behind me as quietly as possible before sinking to the floor.

It was unbelievable how the overwhelming fear for my own safety had converted to terror for someone else. If that hadn't been enough, the people I now wanted to be unhurt were the ones who were probably the reason I was this scared.

Somewhere, somehow, I wanted him to be okay, no matter how much he had put me through.

My heart was still racing, and I was filled with the unimpeded urge to throw up. Every breath felt like a thousand knives stabbing outwards from inside my lungs, and it was all I could do to keep from crying out.

Breath, Hwang, breathe, I told myself, fingernails scraping against the denim that covered my knees. I sunk my head into my crossed arms, pressing my eyes against my forearms and willing myself not to cry. There was a sharp pain in the arc of my spine where the wall dug into it, but it was nothing compared to the ache in my chest.

Though the danger wasn't even in the same floor, I had the terrifying feeling that I was going to die.

It wasn't long before someone hit the floor running, and though I wanted to get up, I couldn't seem to. I was gasping by then, trying to calm myself down but being unable to. Thankfully, it was only Jinyoung, as I soon found out, who found me on the tiles, trying not to suffocate.

"Get up," he hissed, pulling me up with hard jerks of his muscular arms, but I felt like a limp doll. "Get up."

I didn't know how much time had passed since I'd gotten hit with the panic attack, but it couldn't have been more than fifteen minutes, though it had felt like five. Jinyoung's face and t-shirt were spattered with blood, ruby-red flecks decorating the hollow of his throat. I felt sick to think of whose blood it could have been.

A biker, or a racer, either option felt just as painful.

"They're going to find you out soon enough if you don't leave here now," he said as he pulled my half-conscious self to my feet. I almost tripped over my own legs, clutching his arm to support myself. "You have to get out of here."

Up close, I could smell the slightly metallic, rusty scent of blood on him. Even through the material of his sleeve, his skin was hot to the touch, and there was a bitter anticipation in his eyes, like the expression he had donned when they had used me as bait.

The memory felt like a dream, something that had never actually happened despite the events that had unfolded after it. Still holding on to him for support, I walked out of the room, trembling all over.

Everything seemed like I was looking at it through a thin film of plastic, hazy and blurry, some parts in focus if I looked closely enough. Jinyoung was warm, and I leaned into him, out of fear rather than support.

The floor was still empty, but we were standing inside a corridor that turned on either side. It was like waiting for a jumpscare, and I eyed the revolver Jinyoung held in his free, wondering whether the blood on him was from someone he had shot to kill.

"Where is Lay?" My voice sounded raspy, like I hadn't used it for a long time. At that moment, I didn't even care that he might not have known who I was talking about or if the name held any significance to him, I just wanted an answer. A reassurance.

When his eyes met mine, the fire in them had dimmed. Despite most of my weight hanging on to him, he was as sturdy as a rock. "Do you care about him?"

The only thing that kept me from laughing was that I had no energy to. My mind was still buzzing, and I felt jittery and off-balance. "Does it matter?"

"Yes." His eyes were a kaleidoscope, earth-brown, rust-red, fire-gold. "To me, it does."

Before I could answer, he let go of me, leaving me to support myself by leaning against a wall. "Stay here," he commanded, not making eye contact as he squinted in the direction of the mouth of the hallway. "I'll be right back with someone to take you to a safe house."

I wanted to argue that it wasn't the best idea, because for all we knew, the bikers already had a location on all our safe houses. But then, it wasn't like we had a choice, I thought, trying to catch my breath as he disappeared after a turn.

I was sick and tired, and my brain was rattling around inside my skull like a few loose coins in a box. For a few minutes, I stayed in my spot, trying to get my bearings back and all my senses working again.

It wasn't long before I heard close footfalls, though, which sent my flying back to the room. No luck—the wall was smeared with blood, a thing horizontal line running almost the entire length of the wall. I tried to concentrate and think back to Jinyoung, and if I had seen any wounds at his side, but I couldn't remember.

He would be able to find me easily. That wasn't a problem. The problem was the sound I had just heard. Was it a biker, here to kill me? Or was it someone from the racers, the person Jinyoung was supposed to send up to take me away from the shoot-out?

I doubled over, feeling sweat drip down from the side of my jaw to my chin. It was cold, like my skin, but my cheeks felt unnaturally hot because of the running bursts. My healed shoulder ached.

"Hold on," I whispered to myself, brushing my fingers against my side, where it felt like someone had stabbed me and then twisted the knife in my skin. I wanted to stop. To lay down and fall asleep.

Not a choice.

Slowly and quietly, I made my way down the hallway, circling back around the side and checking the doors to every room in case any of them was occupied. It wasn't long before I reached the end of the line, the staircase finally in sight.

The door I had come out of was open just a crack, enough just to peek through. Sighing, I entered the room, repositioning the door and watching the top stair, waiting for Jinyoung to show up. I was out of sight of anyone who might be crossing over from the hallway that was perpendicular to this.

The door pushed in, and I turned, wondering if Jinyoung had ended up deciding to give me the keys to drive myself. Not that I was in any condition to drive.

The tip of a hunting boot peeked out first.

And my mind went, that's not Jinyoung.

I backed away as the person walked in, leather jeans and leather jacket. My back hit the side of the chair before I could reach the window, straight with shock, and I thought, not now, please, not when I don't even have a gun.

"Hey." He smiled, the lines of his body wicked and sharp as he played with the trigger of his gun. "Long time, no see."