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1343401: a collection of bts fanfiction ! ｡❀˖⋆ founded by amara ⋆𖦹 °.🐚˖° 19 𖦹 °she / her˖°𓇼

❀˖°status: working on captive desires chapter two

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[1343401]

captive desires - chapter three

pairing: hybrid bts x reader

status: ongoing

word count: 12.9 k

warnings: depictions of violence, death, family trauma, mentions of blood, yandere-ish, hybrids, animal abuse, implied murder, raw meat, animal attacks

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"is someone there?"

the voice comes again, soft, careful.

"who’s there?"

myah freezes.

her grip tightens around her phone, her breath locked in her throat.

it’s a man’s voice. low, smooth, too human.

too normal.

she expected something else. something that fit the unease coiling in her gut. a growl. a snarl. something scratching at the door, desperate to claw its way free.

but this?

this is something worse.

because there’s no panic. no aggression. just quiet, measured patience.

like whoever is on the other side already knows she’s standing there.

"please..."

a second voice now, softer, hesitant.

"please don’t hurt us."

chae-eun tenses beside her, fingers twitching like she wants to grab myah and drag her away.

"we don’t want trouble."

the way they speak, it’s too careful. too controlled.

too intentional.

the words aren't rushed or desperate, not the kind of thing said in a frantic bid for freedom. they're spoken like a warning. or maybe a test.

“myah,” chae-eun hisses, voice tight with warning.

but myah isn’t listening.

because something is wrong.

if they were dangerous, if they were monsters, why would they be pleading?

why would they sound like this, like they expected her hesitation?

she swallows hard, her mind racing.

"we need to go," chae-eun presses, barely above a whisper. her eyes flick toward the door like she expects it to burst open at any second. “now.”

myah shakes her head, her heart pounding. "no, chae-eun, think about it. they’re locked in.”

“for a reason.” chae-eun glares at her. "you don’t know what’s in there."

“exactly.” myah’s voice is sharp, more sure now. “i don’t know. and neither do you.”

“i know enough,” chae-eun snaps. “we found logs, myah. they were keeping something down here, documenting it like science experiments. you saw what they wrote.”

"which is why we can’t just walk away!" myah argues, her pulse hammering against her ribs. "they need help."

“exactly,” chae-eun bites out, frustration tightening her features. "which is why we need to call the Hybrid Protection Unit, not send in two twenty-year-old girls with no plan and no backup!”

"please..."

the voice is softer this time, more fragile, curling into the silence between them like a plea.

it doesn’t sound like something dangerous.

it doesn’t sound like a monster.

because what if they aren’t monsters?

what if they’re victims?

her grandparents had done terrible things. things she didn’t even know about until now.

what if this is just another part of their twisted legacy?

what if they locked them up, experimented on them, kept them in the dark for years.

myah swallows, realization crashing down on her.

it’s been days since her grandparents’ bodies were found. how long have they been trapped down here? without food, without answers, without knowing if anyone would ever come for them? they must be starving, confused, what if,

what if they’re hurt?

what if…

"we don’t want trouble."

her breath shudders.

chaos crashes through her thoughts, battling every instinct screaming at her to run.

but she can’t.

not until she knows the truth.

"we have to get in," she says.

chae-eun stares at her, eyes wide with disbelief. "are you insane?"

myah doesn’t answer. she steps closer instead, fingers grazing the edges of the door, feeling the cold metal beneath her touch.

she knows she shouldn’t.

but she has to.

"there has to be a way to open it," she mutters, eyes scanning the rusted locks, the worn edges of the frame.

"myah." chae-eun grabs her arm, forcing her to turn. her grip is tight, urgent. "this is stupid. even if they’re trapped, even if they sound harmless, we don’t know what they are."

"and if we leave, we never will," myah fires back. her pulse is a frantic rhythm against her ribs, her mind racing. "chae-eun, we don’t know how long they’ve been in there. it’s been days since my grandparents were found. what if no one’s fed them? what if they have no food, no water? they could die down here."

something flickers across chae-eun’s face. hesitation, doubt, the same war waging inside myah’s own head. she swallows hard, jaw clenching.

"this is a bad idea," chae-eun mutters.

"maybe," myah says, voice steady. "but leaving them could be worse."

chaos flickers through chae-eun’s expression. fear, frustration, something desperate, before she curses under her breath.

but she doesn’t stop her.

instead, she exhales sharply, eyes flicking toward the rusted tools scattered across the room.

“if we’re doing this, we’re doing it carefully.”

myah nods.

chae-eun exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over her face. “this is the dumbest thing we’ve ever done.”

myah doesn’t argue. because yeah, maybe it is. maybe this is the point where she finally loses it, where she stops making rational choices and starts making reckless ones.

but something deep in her gut tells her this isn’t just about curiosity anymore.

it’s about guilt.

about the blood on her grandparents’ hands.

about the weight of whatever was done in this house, in this basement.

about the quiet, too careful voices behind the door.

"thank you."

the whisper is barely audible. just a breath of sound curling into the air between them.

chae-eun flinches.

"we haven’t done anything yet," myah mutters, but her fingers are already tracing the edges of the door, searching.

there’s no obvious handle, no visible keyhole. just thick, bolted steel and the weight of something waiting on the other side.

"there has to be a mechanism," chae-eun murmurs, glancing around the room. "some kind of release. if your grandparents were keeping them down here, they had to have a way to access it."

she moves toward the far wall, scanning the rusted filing cabinets, the shelves stacked with dust coated objects.

myah keeps her focus on the door.

"how long have you been here?" she asks, her voice low.

"awhile."

the answer is careful. measured.

not desperate.

not frantic.

just… patient.

like they knew someone would come eventually.

like they’ve been waiting.

myah swallows. “how many of you are there?”

a pause.

"seven."

her pulse stutters.

seven.

seven.

the weight of it sinks deep into her bones.

"myah," chae-eun calls, voice tight. "i think i found something."

she turns.

chae-eun is standing beside an old, rusted panel on the wall, half-hidden behind a shelf. the metal is corroded, the edges barely visible beneath years of dust and grime.

but it’s there.

a switch.

a release.

"i don’t know if it still works," chae-eun mutters, fingers hovering over it, uncertain.

myah takes a slow breath.

her heartbeat thunders against her ribs.

"only one way to find out," she says.

chae-eun looks at her.

"are you sure?"

no.

she’s not sure.

but she nods anyway.

because there’s no turning back now.

chae-eun exhales sharply as she reaches out, pressing her fingers against the rusted switch.

and pulls.

the basement shudders.

the air shifts.

and behind them they hear heavy locks beginning to turn.

the sound of metal groaning echoes through the basement, vibrating through the stone walls, rattling through myah’s chest.

she should run.

she should turn, grab chae-eun, and leave.

but she doesn’t.

because the door,

it’s opening.

the heavy locks shift, one after another, the deep clunk of metal sliding free making her pulse roar in her ears. dust rains down from the ceiling as the old mechanism grinds into motion, the steel groaning as it begins to inch open.

the air changes immediately.

the cold that seeps through the widening gap is different, thicker, weighted, carrying something alive. something watching.

chae-eun steps back, tense, her breath quick and sharp. "myah," she hisses, panic edging her voice. "i don’t know—"

but it’s too late.

the moment the door fully swings open, myah’s breath locks in her throat.

the room is massive, stretching far beyond what she expected. the dim light from her phone flickers against thick iron bars, cages lining both sides of the basement, the scent of rusted metal and something wild thick in the air.

cha-eun grabs her wrist, grip like iron. "you sure about this?" her voice is low, urgent, barely above a whisper.

myah doesn’t answer. can’t.

because now that the door is open, she can feel it. the weight of unseen eyes pressing into her skin, the silence heavy enough to suffocate.

a shape shifts in the darkness. slow. deliberate.

myah swallows hard. "we need to know."

chae-eun exhales sharply, her hesitation a tangible thing between them. but after a beat, she steps forward, shoulders tense, muscles coiled like she’s ready to bolt at any second.

together, they cross the threshold.

golden eyes gleam in the darkness, reflecting the light like fire catching on glass. shadows shift, slow and watchful, movement rippling through the space like something caged but not yet tamed.

she barely has time to process before a voice calls out again,

"please..."

her flashlight sweeps across the first cage, and her breath catches.

a massive lion hybrid sits against the bars, his golden mane wild, tangled, his amber eyes locked directly onto her. his ears flick at the sound of her footsteps, but he doesn’t move, just watches. waiting. his thick tail curls around his paws, the tuft at the end flicking once, betraying the tension in his frame.

in the next cage, sprawled in the darkness, what looks to be a black panther lifts his head just enough for her to catch the sharp glint of his slit pupiled eyes. his inky fur blends into the surrounding shadows, only the faintest twitch of his whiskers giving him away. he doesn't make a sound. doesn’t blink. just tracks her with a slow, deliberate intensity.

"who are you?"

the voice is softer, coming from further down.

her flashlight flickers over a second pair of golden eyes, no, two.

one belongs to a cheetah hybrid, its lean frame curled against the bars, shoulders hunched like its trying to make itself smaller. They’re fully shifted, spotted fur sleek beneath the dim light, its tail flicking anxiously against the floor. honey-gold eyes dart between her and chae-eun, wide and uncertain, like the cheetah is unsure whether to be relieved or terrified.

the other, is human, well mostly.

a tiger hybrid, perched in the corner of his cage, bare feet planted firmly against the cold concrete floor. his thick tail curls lazily around him, but his shoulders are too tense, his expression too carefully blank. golden brown eyes hold hers, unwavering, unreadable.

she grips the flashlight tighter.

they look scared. but not fully.

but something in her gut twists.

because it doesn’t make sense.

her grandparents had locked them in here. that much was obvious.

but why?

and if they were truly just scared, just victims, then why did the air feel so thick with something she couldn't name?

why did their golden eyes gleam too much in the dark?

"please," the soft voice comes again, breaking through her thoughts. "we don’t want trouble."

it comes from the farthest cage, the hybrid curled against the bars, his hazel eyes wide, flickering with something fragile, something aching. his wispy silver-brown hair falls in soft waves around his face, his delicate ears twitching, tail swaying in slow, rhythmic motions behind him.

"are you here to help us?"

myah hesitates.

her pulse thunders in her ears.

"i—" she starts, then stops. because is she?

"we’ve been here for so long," the clouded leopard hybrid murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. "we don’t even know how long it’s been."

her chest tightens.

the plea in his voice feels real.

but chae-eun isn't buying it.

"myah," she murmurs, voice low, sharp. "this isn't right."

myah swallows. "they’re locked up, chae-eun."

"and why do you think that is?" chae-eun hisses, taking a step closer, keeping her voice low. "you know your grandparents myah, do you really they just threw them in here for no reason?"

the words sting.

because no, myah doesn’t trust her grandparents. not anymore.

but something doesn’t add up.

her flashlight shifts again,

and that’s when she notices the scars.

not deep, not fresh, but there.

along the lion hybrid’s arms, faint and barely visible against his warm, tawny skin. a slash across the leopard’s hybrid’s collarbone. claw marks raked along the black panther’s ribs.

her stomach turns.

"who did this to you?" myah asks, voice tight, her grip on the flashlight unsteady.

a pause.

the silver haired hybrid’s gaze flickers, something unreadable passing through his hazel eyes before he finally speaks.

"the man who put us here."

the words settle like ice in her spine.

"the man who—" she swallows hard, her pulse roaring in her ears, dots being connected.

no one says responds immediately, but the lion hybrid, broad, golden, imposing even in confinement, lifts his head just enough to meet her gaze.

his amber eyes flicker.

he doesn’t nod. doesn’t confirm.

but he doesn’t deny it either.

myah’s stomach twists.

the silence is enough.

"myah," chae-eun mutters, sharp and urgent. "we need to go." but myah can’t move. because this, this is real. this isn’t just a locked door. this isn’t just another one of her family’s secrets. her grandfather did this.

"how long have you been down here?" she whispers.

"too long."

her chest tightens.

she turns to chae-eun, her breath shallow. "we have to get them out."

"myah," chae-eun hisses, "we don’t even know what they are."

"they’re hybrids," myah snaps back. "they’re prisoners."

"and they were kept here for a reason," chae-eun argues, eyes sharp, voice low. "your grandfather wouldn’t have kept them down here without one."

myah wants to fight her on that.

but she can’t.

because she doesn’t know if chae-eun is wrong.

but she does know one thing.

"we’re not leaving yet," she says firmly. "not until I understand what happened here."

chae-eun exhales sharply, muttering a curse under her breath, but she doesn’t argue further.

instead, she moves toward the shelves, scanning the walls for something, anything that could explain why this place exists. behind the bars however the hybrids stay still.

watching.

waiting.

and myah swears,

just for a moment,

she sees the panther smirk.

as she turns back toward the cages, swallowing against the tightness in her throat. her fingers twitch at her sides, the weight of their gazes pressing into her like something tangible.

she doesn’t know what the hell she’s doing.

but she can’t walk away.

"why did he keep you here?" she asks, voice steadier than she feels. "why not just… get rid of you?"

the lion hybrid’s ears twitch, his thick tail flicking once behind him. he’s watching her closely, those deep amber eyes calculating, slow and deliberate.

but it’s the tiger hybrid who finally speaks.

"maybe he liked having pets," he murmurs, voice smooth as silk, golden-amber eyes gleaming in the dark. "or maybe he just liked knowing we couldn’t leave."

the way he says it sends a shiver down her spine.

"how long has it been?" another hybrid hums, tilting his head. "do you know what year it is?”

"of course i do," myah mutters. "it’s—"

she stops. because the way he’s looking at her,

the way the tiger hybrid shifts slightly beside him, the cheetah’s ears flicking, and the jaguars rolling his shoulders like they’re all waiting for something,

her stomach twists.

"you don’t know," she breathes.

none of them confirm it.

but none of them deny it, either.

chaos crashes through her thoughts, her grip on her phone tightening.

"we need to get them food," she says suddenly, turning to chae-eun. "they’re hybrids, not machines. if they’ve been trapped down here—"

"absolutely not," chae-eun snaps. "no way in hell am I leaving you down here alone with them."

"i’ll be fine," myah insists. "just check the fridge—"

"no." chae-eun’s voice is sharp, her jaw tight. "myah, listen to me. we don’t know what they’re capable of. we don’t know anything about them. i’m not leaving you down here like some kind of—"

"bait?"

the voice is too smooth, slipping through the air like a knife.

both of them freeze.

the raven haired hybrid is watching them with lazy amusement, his sleek tail curling around his wrist, golden-amber eyes half-lidded.

"if it makes you feel better," he purrs, "we can promise not to eat her while you’re gone."

chaos erupts.

"nope," chae-eun snaps, grabbing myah’s wrist. "we’re leaving. now."

but myah digs her heels in. "they’re starving, chae-eun."

"and we are not their goddamn saviors," chae-eun hisses. "whatever your grandfather did, it’s not our problem to fix—"

"so you’d just leave them here?" myah cuts in, her voice rising. "leave them to rot?"

"they’re still alive," chae-eun points out. "which means they’ve survived this long without our help. we can’t do this on our own."

silence stretches between them, thick and tense.

behind the bars, the hybrids watch.

assessing. waiting.

"fine," myah mutters. "then we’ll both go."

chae-eun’s eyes flick toward the cages one last time before she exhales sharply. "fine."

she doesn’t look at them as they turn toward the stairs.

but myah can feel their eyes on her.

heavy.

lingering.

like they already know,

she’s coming back.

chae-eun’s car is as neat as she is. clean, organized, everything tucked away exactly where it should be.

except for the backseat.

myah stares at the mess of medical supplies crammed into the space behind them. bandages, antiseptic wipes, surgical scissors still in their sterile packaging. a neatly packed emergency trauma kit sits half-zipped on the floor, a few vials of painkillers barely peeking out. the interior smells faintly of rubbing alcohol and lemon-scented wipes. it should feel sterile. safe.

but now it just feels clinical. like a place built to respond to the aftermath of violence.

it’s not the first time she’s noticed it. she’s ridden in chae-eun’s car more times than she can count. on grocery runs, late-night drives to clear their heads, weekend trips to nowhere in particular. she’s seen the supplies. but she’s never really seen them.

this time, after everything that just happened in the basement, it feels different.

“you never told me how bad it got,” myah says, voice quieter than before, eyes still fixed on the mess of gauze and blood-stained tape peeking from beneath a box of gloves.

chae-eun doesn’t look at her as she starts the car. “i didn’t think i needed to.”

the engine hums low as they pull out of the driveway, the headlights casting long, pale streaks across the empty street. her hands are tight on the steering wheel, knuckles white. the kind of white that comes from trying not to let your hands shake.

myah shifts slightly in her seat, unsettled by the silence, by the weight of what they’d just seen. the hybrids. the cages. the way one of them, unshifted, bleeding had flinched when chae-eun so much as moved.

“you work with hybrids,” she says finally, almost accusingly. “why are you so—”

“those hybrids aren’t the same.”

the words land like a slap. sharp. cold. not cruel, but close.

cha-eun exhales through her nose, gaze flicking to the rearview mirror before settling back on the road. the city lights are beginning to blur past them, red and blue and green glowing against the windshield like reflections from a dream.

“i work in sector four,” she continues, voice clipped, tightly measured. “mostly human and female hybrids. the ones who get hurt the most. the ones who end up on my table covered in bruises, missing teeth, stitched up from some feral hybrid attack or worse.”

myah swallows hard, her throat suddenly dry. she’s heard stories. seen the news reports that play like clockwork every time a hybrid-related crime occurs. not all hybrids are victims. not all of them want help. some of them hunt.

some of them kill.

and chae-eun has seen the worst of it.

“you think they’re different because they looked at you like that,” chae-eun says quietly, her voice flattening into something tired, something brittle. “but scared doesn’t mean safe. it just means desperate. and desperation makes things dangerous.”

myah doesn’t respond. her stomach is twisted too tightly, thoughts tangled too thickly.

the silence stretches between them, thick with everything they’re not saying.

and then chae-eun adds, more quietly this time, almost like she’s afraid to say it out loud: “your grandparents died in a hybrid attack.”

myah turns sharply, staring at her. “what?”

“the reports, they said they were mauled. claws, bite marks. there were signs of struggle all over the kitchen. your grandfather had a shotgun. it didn’t help.”

the blood drains from myah’s face. she feels it leave her fingertips, cold creeping up her spine.

“and in that basement?” chae-eun’s voice is quieter now. measured. grim. “there are seven hybrids in eight cages.”

myah’s breath catches.

“you do the math.”

a cold sweat breaks across her back. she grips the edge of her seat, the world tilting slightly, the basement reassembling itself in her mind, seven sets of eyes, seven shadows behind bars. but she hadn’t counted the cages. hadn’t even thought to.

what if one had gotten out? what if that’s how they died?

what if it’s still out there?

“and you want to help them,” chae-eun continues, voice low, almost pained. “you want to free them. play savior. what if the one that escaped is the one that killed your family? what if the others knew and didn’t stop it?”

myah’s hands tremble. her chest aches.

but her mind,

her mind flashes again with soft eyes and silver hair, the gentle tilt of his head, the way he’d spoken to her like he saw her.

she should be running from this. from all of it.

but she can’t.

because something about him, about them, won’t let her go.

“so forgive me,” chae-eun says tightly, “if i’m not exactly in the mood to play savior to seven unregistered hybrids your grandfather locked in his basement.”

the car goes quiet.

outside, the neon of the city pulses like a heartbeat, flickering in the windows—restaurants, strip malls, pawn shops, each glowing with artificial warmth. it doesn’t reach her. nothing does.

myah turns back toward the windshield, her reflection faint in the glass. she stares through it, but she doesn’t really see.

because all she can think about is  the soft voice that asked her to come back. the way he’d looked at her like she was something safe. Something he knew.

and that’s the part that scares her most.

chae-eun exhales sharply, fingers tapping a restless rhythm against the steering wheel, the sound too fast, too tight. “and what exactly are we supposed to tell jisun when we get back?”

myah drags a hand down her face, the weight of the night starting to catch up to her. her head aches, tight and persistent like her thoughts. “i don’t know. that we went out for a drive?”

chae-eun lets out a humorless snort. “right. because that’s gonna fly. we both probably still reek of that place.”

myah goes still.

the basement.

she can feel it clinging to her now that chae-eun’s said it, the stale scent of dust and rust, old blood and sweat and something sharper beneath it all. something animal.

and not just that.

them.

the scent of fear. of power barely restrained. of too many eyes watching her through bars like they already knew her bones.

“i’ll shower before she gets too close,” she mutters.

chae-eun’s jaw ticks. “you could shower in bleach and she’d still know. myah, she’s obsessed with you.”

“she’s not—”

“don’t even try.” chae-eun cuts in, voice flat. “you know exactly what she’s like. the moment you walk through that door with a weird look on your face and half a story, she’s gonna dig.”

myah doesn’t deny it.

she can’t.

because jisun is smart. terrifyingly so. and worse, she’s protective. of myah, specifically. her moods turn fast. sweet like sugar one second, sharp like a snapped snare the next. and if she so much as suspects that myah’s hiding something,

"then we don’t give her anything to suspect,” myah says finally, her voice low. “we keep it surface. vague. just enough to make sense.”

“so we lie.” chae-eun doesn’t say it like a question. more like a dare.

myah glances out the window. the city’s creeping closer now, closer than she wants it to be. neon signs blinking against the dark like slow, mechanical winks. streetlights bending through the windshield, casting soft gold over the dash.

“we don’t tell her about the basement,” she says after a long pause. “not yet.”

“not ever,” chae-eun mutters, hands tightening around the wheel again. “jesus, myah, do you know what she’d do if she found out? she’d drag you out of bed, chain you to the damn radiator, and torch the house herself.”

the image is uncomfortably believable.

they both fall quiet for a beat, the air in the car growing thicker by the second.

“so,” myah says finally, voice barely above a whisper, “we agree, then. we figure it out.”

it’s not a real plan. it’s a compromise born out of exhaustion and panic and a shared instinct not to poke the sleeping bear that is jisun. it’s flimsy. reckless.

but it’s all they have.

“yeah,” chae-eun says after a long moment, the word more like an exhale than a commitment. “we figure it out.”

neither of them says anything else for a while. the car hums forward down the quiet road, the lights growing closer, brighter, sharper. they’re almost back now.

and myah can feel it in her chest—that tight pull, that creeping dread curling around her ribs. the apartment is safe. normal. filled with warmth and noise and the scent of jasmine tea. the kind of place that’s supposed to ground her.

but tonight, it feels too far away.

because the only thing she can hear, beneath the rumble of the tires, beneath the rush of blood in her ears, is that soft voice echoing in her head.

“thank you for not giving up on us”

and she knows, she’s not going to.

no matter what it costs.

they don’t speak again until chae-eun’s pulling into the lot.

the hum of the car engine fills the silence, low and steady, but it’s not enough to drown out the noise in myah’s head.

she watches the familiar curve of the building come into view—the warm orange glow of the hallway lights in their apartment complex, the too-small parking spots, the dented railing someone’s been complaining about fixing for months. it’s home. safe. normal.

and it feels so far away.

cha-eun shifts into park but doesn’t kill the engine.

her hands stay tight on the wheel.

“you’re already planning to go back, aren’t you.”

myah doesn’t answer.

not out of guilt, or because she’s trying to be clever, but because yes. she is. she’s been planning it since the moment she walked away. since she saw silver eyes in the dark and heard a voice that made something inside her sit up and listen.

cha-eun exhales through her nose, her knuckles pale. “of course you are.”

“i’m not going tonight,” myah says after a beat. she tries to keep her voice light. it doesn’t work. “besides, you’re working a double tomorrow. you need sleep.”

cha-eun’s head jerks toward her, sharp. “that’s your reason for waiting?”

myah doesn’t answer.

cha-eun exhales hard. “are you planning to go alone?”

“no,” myah says. and then, after a beat too long: “i’ll bring someone.”

“who?” she says, though she already knows.

“…kai.”

cha-eun stares at her for a second like she’s trying to figure out if she misheard before letting out a sharp, breathy sound that isn’t quite a laugh, too horrified for humor.

 “kai. okay. great.”

“he’s a hybrid,” myah says, starting to defend it, already hearing how weak it sounds.

“exactly,” chae-eun snaps. “and do you honestly think that makes him qualified?”

“he understands how things like this work—”

“no, he understands what it means to survive,” chae-eun cuts in, voice sharp. “and the second you drag him into that basement and he sees what’s waiting down there? he’s not going to help you, myah. he’s going to shut it down.”

myah’s mouth opens. then closes.

“you think he’s just going to stand there and smile while you get cozy with a bunch of unregistered, starved, male hybrids?” chae-eun’s voice keeps climbing. “you think he’s going to just let that panther keep looking at you like that?”

myah’s stomach twists.

“kai’s not like that,” she says, too quickly.

cha-eun slams her hand against the steering wheel, voice cracking. “kai would rip him apart. rip all of them apartthe second he felt you were being threatened. and it won’t matter if you don’t feel threatened, because he will.”

the car is thick with silence again. this time heavier. uglier.

“he’s not going to let you go back,” chae-eun says finally, quieter now. “not once he knows what’s actually going on. not once he sees what they want.”

myah looks away, but that hits. hard.

because she knows what it looked like.

and she knows what it would look like to kai.

and he wouldn’t understand, not the way she needs him to. not without exploding. not without violence.

“then what,” myah says, voice tight. “just call it in? let some half-interested social worker show up and ‘assess the risk’? let the hybrids get drugged and shoved in a van and carted off to some overrun shelter in the middle of nowhere?”

“yes,” chae-eun says, like it’s obvious. “that’s exactly what needs to happen.”

“you can’t be serious—”

“i am. dead serious.” she leans forward, eyes flashing. “you’re not trained for this. you don’t know what you’re doing. this isn’t your responsibility, myah. it never was. this is government-level, containment-level shit, and you dragging in another hybrid, especially one who’s already attached to you, isn’t going to make it better.”

that lands harder than anything else.

and it hurts, because part of her knows she’s right. she is. but still, something in myah recoils.

“i need to know what they were doing,” she says finally, voice low. “my grandparents. the house, the cages, all of it.” she shakes her head. “it doesn’t make sense. none of it fits. and nobody else is going to care enough to look.”

“you think you’ll find some neat little explanation down there?” chae-eun snaps. “a confession letter taped to the underside of the freezer? myah, you could dig for months and still end up with more questions than answers.”

“maybe,” myah admits, “but at least i’d know i tried. i can’t pretend it didn’t happen. that basement is real. they’re real. and if it’s connected to my family, then i need to understand how.”

cha-eun exhales, eyes dropping to the dash.

“i’m not saying forget it,” she says, softer now. “i’m saying let it go before it swallows you.”

myah swallows hard.

and for a second, she almost says okay.

almost.

but when she closes her eyes, she still sees the silver-haired one, how he’d looked at her like he knew something. like the answers she was chasing weren’t in the paperwork, or the lawyer’s files, or the old photographs in her grandparents’ bedroom.

they were down there.

in the silence.

in them.

and it’s reckless. she knows it’s reckless.

but that doesn’t mean it’s wrong.

“…i just need time,” she says quietly.

“you don’t have time,” chae-eun whispers back.

but neither of them says anything more after that.

neither of them move. not yet.

the hum of the engine is steady beneath them, but everything else is cracking. shifting. realigning into something neither of them asked for.

chae-eun finally leans forward and turns the key in the ignition.

the car goes silent.

myah had barely registered the motion of getting out of the car. her feet felt like they were dragging, her mind too clouded to focus on anything other than the feeling of dread that had settled deep in her chest. as they made their way inside, the building’s lobby seemed colder than usual, and the air hung heavy with the kind of stillness that always felt like something was about to break.

she had barely gotten her keys out when the door to the apartment swung open. there, standing in the doorway, was jisun, eyes wide with concern.

“where were you two?” she asked, her voice soft but demanding, like she knew something was wrong, like she could already feel the shift in myah’s energy.

myah hesitated for a moment, then gave a small shrug, trying to brush it off. “oh, we just went to grab a bite to eat,” she said, glancing at chae-eun for confirmation.

chae-eun nodded, the faintest smile tugging at her lips. “yeah, we went to that cute little restaurant my coworkers have been talking about. the one with the soft, fluffy pancakes.”

jisun raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. “you went to a restaurant in sector two?” she asked, her voice laced with disbelief. she sniffed the air once, then again, her nose twitching slightly as she processed the scent. her eyes narrowed. “you smell like... ferals,” she said, her voice quieter now, the concern creeping in.

chae-eun tilted her head. “ferals?” she echoed, glancing at myah with a raised brow.

“yeah,” jisun said, her gaze sharpening as she studied myah. “ferals... or someone’s trying to mark you.” she sniffed again, her posture becoming tense. “why the hell were you in that sector anyway? I get you were hungry but there’s a mcdonalds is down the street. you know how dangerous it gets this late.”

“someone marked us?!” chae-eun exclaimed, worry laced in her tone, her eyes darting between myah and jisun. “we didn’t—”

“no, not you,” jisun cut in, taking another deep sniff, her nose circling back to myah with an almost predatory precision. her eyes sharpened as she focused entirely on myah. “just her.”

myah’s stomach dropped at the implication. her chest tightened as jisun’s words settled in the air like a weight. she swallowed, trying to keep her voice steady. “marked me? what does that even mean?”

jisun’s expression darkened, her lips pressed together in a tight line. “it means someone or something has claimed you, myah. not necessarily in the way you might think, but,” her voice trailed off as she looked myah up and down, her sharp eyes never leaving her. “this scent, this… feeling, it’s not a coincidence. and it’s not good.”

chae-eun shifted nervously beside her, crossing her arms tighter. “but how? how could anyone just claim her? what does it mean?”

“i don’t know,” jisun admitted quietly, her voice softer now, a flicker of concern breaking through the cool edge. “but it’s not something you want to mess with. you’re in danger now. and it’s worse the later it gets. someone’s definitely watching you.”

myah’s heart raced, her breath catching in her chest. “so what should we do? what now?”

“now,” jisun began, her gaze lingering on myah as she stepped closer, lowering her voice, “you stay close to home. you stay away from sector two. don’t go out alone. and if you feel anything off, anything at all, anything, you call one of us, or even that stupid fox, no questions. got it?”

myah nodded quickly, the weight of jisun’s warning settling heavily in her bones. the air around her felt thick with something more dangerous than she had realized, and she wasn’t sure how to navigate it. everything felt too uncertain now.

“we’ll stick together,” chae-eun added, her voice steady but with an undercurrent of concern. “no more risky moves. we’ll figure this out.”

jisun’s expression softened, but her eyes still held a trace of that intensity, as if she wasn’t fully convinced it was safe. “yeah, well. don’t get complacent. that’s how people end up disappearing.”

myah felt her skin prickle at the word. disappearing. it echoed in her mind like a whisper.

"we'll be careful," she said, though her voice felt small against the heaviness in the room.

the warning was clear, stay away from that house, that basement. yet myah knew tomorrow she would be back.

the morning light filtered softly through the blinds, casting a pale glow across the room. myah blinked awake, the gentle warmth of her bed pulling her into a moment of peace before the reality of the day ahead sank in. for a split second, she let herself sink deeper into the mattress, the faint hum of the city outside the only sound in the quiet apartment. it felt like a different world, a world where she could just stay here and forget. but that wasn’t her life anymore.

she shifted in bed, rubbing her eyes and groaning quietly. the bed beside her was empty, the sheets crumpled from when jisun had left for her early class. myah had barely noticed when she’d gotten up, the soft sound of her roommate’s footsteps and the creak of the door the only clues. jisun had always been considerate about her early classes, never wanting to wake myah up. it was one of those little things she did that made myah appreciate her so much more.

she pushed the blankets off her body, sitting up slowly, her limbs heavy from the lack of sleep, though it wasn’t from exhaustion, it was the tension of the night before still weighing on her. her heart beat slower now, but the unease from the warning, from the knowledge of what she had to do, lingered like a shadow.

as she stood and moved toward the window, myah caught sight of chae-eun in the kitchen, her back to her as she prepared breakfast. the soft clink of the kettle being set down, the smell of something rich and warm in the air. it felt oddly comforting. something familiar amidst everything else that had gone wrong.

“morning,” myah mumbled, rubbing at her eyes again, her voice thick with the remnants of sleep.

chae-eun turned with a soft smile, a cup of tea in her hand. “good morning. how’d you sleep?”

myah sighed, stretching her arms above her head as she walked over to the counter. “like crap,” she admitted, settling into the chair, her gaze flickering to chae-eun. “just can’t shake the feeling of... everything.”

“yeah,” chae-eun murmured, setting the cup down before her, her eyes softening as she studied myah. “it’s been a rough night. did you talk to jisun?”

myah shook her head, her hands wrapped around the warm mug. “she had an early class, didn’t want to wake me up.” she sighed again, this time louder. “i didn’t even want to wake up myself. it’s just one of those mornings.”

cha-eun nodded in understanding, but the way she looked at myah, that lingering thought on her mind. it was clear she wasn’t letting this go.

“you sure you’re okay?” cha-eun asked, her voice lighter but her eyes serious. “you don’t look like it.”

myah gave her a tired smile, but it was thin, strained. “i’ll be fine. just a little shaken up, that’s all.”

the moment hung between them for a beat, and cha-eun didn’t press. instead, she moved toward the stove, fiddling with the pots. “well, if you want to talk, i’m here. just don’t bottle it up, okay?”

myah gave a slight nod, watching her in silence as the air shifted, becoming thicker with the weight of their unspoken thoughts. cha-eun, always the one who saw the smallest details, could tell something was off, something deeper. and myah knew the next question was coming. she braced herself, trying to steel herself for the inevitable.

but when it came, it wasn’t gentle.

“you can’t seriously think about going back, right?” cha-eun’s voice was low, but sharp enough to cut through the tension. her eyes narrowed as she turned to face myah, the concern evident on her face. “especially after what jisun said? they claimed you, myah. claimed you. marked you.”

myah’s breath hitched, the word “claimed” hanging in the air, ringing in her ears like a warning bell. her heart skipped a beat, but she pushed it away. “i don’t have a choice, chae-eun,” she said quietly, her voice a little too steady. “i have to go back. i need answers. i need to understand what’s going on.”

“but—” cha-eun stepped closer, her face softening, her hands placed flat against the counter as if grounding herself. “you’re not thinking straight. you don’t know what’s out there, what’s waiting for you. What if jisun’s right, what if they’re not just marking you. they’re hunting you.”

myah opened her mouth to argue, but the words felt too heavy in her throat. cha-eun was right. she wasn’t thinking straight. but she couldn’t back down now. she had to know what happened, what her grandparents were involved in, what she had inherited by stepping into that house. something had happened there, and she wasn’t going to back away from it, no matter how many warnings or how much fear clawed at her chest.

“i don’t care,” myah finally said, her voice firm despite the cold dread spreading through her veins. “i have to go. i’ll figure it out. i just... i can’t leave it hanging over me.”

chae-eun watched her for a long moment, her lips pressing together in a tight line. she exhaled sharply, almost as if giving up, but then the words came, filled with that quiet edge of concern.

“okay, fine,” she said, her voice low. “but you’re going to need more backup than kai. you’re going to need... more.”

“more?” myah echoed, raising an eyebrow. “more backup? what do you mean?”

cha-eun leaned against the counter, her gaze shifting from myah’s face to the window, where the early morning light cast long shadows across the street. “call the police, myah. get professionals involved. you don’t know what’s out there. you’re not just going to walk in there and walk back out. and kai’s not enough. if something happens, you need to be prepared.”

myah swallowed, the weight of cha-eun’s words sinking deep into her chest. she hadn’t thought about it that way. she’d been so focused on going back, on finding out what was really going on, that she hadn’t considered how unprepared she really was. what if something happened? what if they were waiting for her?

“you’re right,” myah murmured, her voice quieter now, weighed down by the growing realization that she couldn’t do this alone. “i’ll call a hybrid service office. one that’s ethical and figure out what to do from there.”

“good,” cha-eun said, her voice softening as she reached over and squeezed myah’s shoulder. “this isn’t your responsibility. your grandparents might have fucked up, but you shouldn’t carry this burden alone.”

myah nodded, her chest tight with the unspoken promise. they would face it together. she didn’t know what was coming, but she wasn’t walking into it blind anymore.

the tension in the room began to lift slightly, the quiet comfort of their usual dynamic slowly returning as cha-eun began to gather her things to head out for work. myah remained seated for a moment, lost in thought. she could still feel the weight of the decision ahead of her, the uncertainty hanging like a cloud over her head. but for the first time that morning, she felt like she wasn’t carrying it alone.

“you’ll be okay,” cha-eun said, her voice light, though there was still concern in her eyes. “just remember to reach out if you need anything. me, the police... call whoever you have to.”

“i will,” myah promised, a small but genuine smile pulling at her lips. “thanks.”

with a nod, cha-eun picked up her bag and headed toward the door. “you’re stronger than you think,” she said over her shoulder, her words lingering in the air. “don’t forget that.”

and with that, she was gone, leaving myah alone in the quiet apartment once more. but the stillness felt different now. not so heavy. not so uncertain.

myah stood up, straightening her clothes, taking a deep breath.

she wasn’t going to back down, no matter how much she wished she could. chae-eun had been right, she needed more help, more backup. but who could she rely on?

her only family just died and everyone else was too far away or busy. school, work, their own lives. they wouldn’t be able to help, let alone understand the gravity of the situation.

and the police?

hybrid services?

the thought made her chest tighten.

her heart ached with something she couldn’t quite name. not guilt exactly, not fear either, something sharper. something heavier. like grief, but still forming. a knot of determination that hadn’t quite settled yet, tangled with something raw and restless and aching to make sense of all of it.

the truth was, if she called it in, if she let hybrid services come in and "handle" it, it would be the end.

they’d be torn from that basement, sedated, evaluated, assigned numbers, and locked away again. not for weeks.

forever.

because most of those hybrids, especially the predatory ones, would never make it out of a shelter once they were placed in one.

not the adults.

not the ones like them.

they were labeled too dangerous. unadoptable. unpredictable. too violent for re-entry into the workforce, too scarred for family placement. society had long since decided they were problems to be managed, not people to be saved.

and once they were in the system, that was it.

they'd disappear.

just like so many others.

but myah had seen them. not just down there in that cold, rotting basement, but years ago, back in high school, volunteering at a hybrid recovery center during summer break. she remembered the ones with hollow eyes and clipped ears, the ones who flinched at sudden movements and kept their heads down.

but she also remembered the way they moved when they thought no one was watching, silent, graceful, brilliant. she remembered the quiet strength in their bodies, the soft, unguarded moments when their masks slipped.

the kind of resilience no government file could capture.

no one ever looked long enough to see that part.

but myah had.

and now, she was seeing it again.

only this time, it wasn’t behind plexiglass and safety protocols, it was behind rusted iron, in the glow of a single swinging lightbulb, with eyes that watched her like she mattered.

and him.

the silver-haired one.

he haunted her thoughts more than the rest. not because he was the most beautiful, though he was, but because there was something in his voice when he spoke to her. something she couldn’t forget.

something human.

no judgment. no bitterness. just…

quiet gratitude.

warmth.

trust.

as if he already knew she wouldn’t leave him there.

as if he’d been waiting for her.

it made her chest hurt. made her wonder what he knew.

what he’d seen.

and that was the other thing, the part she hadn’t said out loud yet, not even to chae-eun.

they were the key to understanding everything.

the whispers sealed in her grandfather’s safe. the secret side of her family she never knew existed. who they really were. what they’d done.

there was a rot at the center of it all, and the only place she’d ever felt close to it was in that basement.

standing in front of those cages.

staring into those eyes.

no one deserves to be locked away.

not forever.

and that was why she couldn’t let it go.

even if it meant risking everything.

even if it meant lying to her friends.

even if it meant stepping straight into something she might not walk out of.

she wasn’t going to let them vanish into the system like they were nothing. she wasn’t going to let her life be defined by silence, by ignorance, by the same kind of cage her family had apparently helped build.

if she was going to get answers,

if she was going to help them,

if she was ever going to understand what the hell her grandparents had really been involved in,

then she had to start by going back.

even if every part of her said she shouldn’t.

even if it already felt too late.

she had to face it.

she shook off the lingering doubt and made her way to the door, grabbing her keys from the hook by the entrance. she stepped out into the hallway, the familiar scent of the building’s damp concrete filling her lungs, but it did nothing to ease the unease crawling up her spine.

the city was alive around her, bustling with the usual chaos, but she felt completely disconnected from it all. she moved quickly, trying to block out the intrusive thoughts, the questions of whether she was making a mistake.

as she made her way to the train station, the streets felt emptier than usual, the buildings casting long, looming shadows over the sidewalks. the rain had stopped, leaving the pavement slick and reflective, but the tension in the air was palpable, like the whole city was holding its breath.

her fingers tightened around the strap of her bag as she walked, the familiar route to the house feeling foreign under her feet. she glanced around, half-expecting someone to be following her, but there was no one.

just the hum of the city, the occasional car speeding by, the echo of her own footsteps.

when she arrived finally at the house, it seemed even more intimidating in the daylight. it loomed before her, quiet and brooding, as if it had been waiting for her return. myah paused at the gate, her heart thudding in her chest.

the house hadn’t changed, its faded, weather beaten exterior, the overgrown ivy clinging to the walls, the windows dark and lifeless. everything about it screamed abandonment. and yet, it was calling to her. pulling her back. demanding that she come inside.

with a deep breath, she pushed open the gate, the rusty hinges creaking in protest. the sound echoed through the stillness, making her flinch. she moved up the cracked stone steps, each one heavy under her feet, until she reached the door. she paused there for a moment, hand resting on the handle.

do i really want to do this?

 the thought hit her like a punch to the gut, but she didn’t flinch this time. she couldn’t afford to. she had already made the choice.

she turned the handle and stepped inside.

the air was the same as yesterday, thick with dust. the old house holding its breath, as though waiting for her to make her move.

the floor creaked beneath her feet, the familiar scent of must and aged wood filling her lungs. the hallway stretched ahead, dark and silent, the faded wallpaper peeling in some places, revealing the skeleton of the house beneath. everything looked the same as it had when she left. and yet, it felt different. darker.

she made her way through the house, the silence pressing in around her as she moved towards the hatch to the basement. the steps leading down felt narrower than before, the air getting colder as she descended. her heart pounded louder now, the anticipation building in her chest with every step. she wasn’t sure what she expected to find, but she knew it wasn’t going to be easy.

when she reached the bottom, the basement stretched out before her, dimly lit by a flickering light bulb that cast eerie shadows on the stone walls. the cages were still there, stacked in rows against the walls. and there they were.

the hybrids.

the ones she had met just yesterday.

the ones whose eyes she could never forget.

the silence was suffocating. they didn’t make a sound. they just watched her. their eyes, so full of life and longing, fixed on her, waiting. expecting.

one of the hybrids, the lion, shifted slowly inside his cage, the bars groaning faintly as he leaned into them.

his movements were deliberate, graceful in a way that spoke of restrained strength. golden eyes, deep and piercing, locked onto hers, holding her captive in their intensity. the rounded ears atop his head flicked just slightly, attentive to every tiny sound she made, and his thick tail curled languidly behind him, swishing in silent contemplation.

“you came back,” he murmured, his voice a deep, rumbling vibration that seemed to ripple through the darkness, touching places within her she didn't fully understand. it carried a heaviness, something hidden beneath layers of calm control.

myah froze in place, her heart hammering against her ribs. his words echoed through the basement, hanging in the air between them, charged with meaning she couldn't decipher. she didn't know if she felt relief or fear, or some intoxicating mixture of both, but there was no turning back now.

“i had to,” she whispered back, voice barely audible, trembling slightly beneath the intensity of his stare. “i’m not leaving you here.”

he remained motionless for a heartbeat longer, gaze unyielding, a flicker of something unreadable.

something darkly possessive passing through those golden eyes.

his lips curved into the faintest ghost of a smile, subtle enough to almost seem imagined, but unmistakably there. her breath caught as the realization settled heavily into her bones.

the silence stretched between them, deeper and more charged now, until it felt as though the room itself were waiting, holding its breath.

and in that quiet, myah sensed something else begin to take shape, something dangerous, enticing, and far beyond her control.

the silence lingered, dense and heavy, pressing in around her until myah felt like she could barely breathe. she let her eyes drift away from the golden-haired hybrid in front of her, shifting instead toward the others trapped in their cages.

they watched her carefully.

silently.

their eyes, so piercing and full of guarded curiosity, seemed to catch the faint, dim lighting in the basement, each gaze following her movements with a predatory focus she tried desperately to ignore.

she swallowed hard, the lump in her throat painfully tight, before realization suddenly flooded her chest. her heart twisted sharply as she took in the hollowed look to their faces, the subtle way their ribs pressed sharply against skin.

god, when was the last time they had eaten?

"oh my god," she whispered, voice breaking slightly, guilt stabbing sharply in her chest. "you all must be starving."

the golden eyed hybrid’s gaze softened, something almost amused flickering behind the predatory calm in his eyes. he tilted his head slightly, studying her carefully, his long tail flicking lazily behind him.

From across the room another hybrid, with midnight dark hair spoke up,

"you care," he drawled slowly, voice deep and smooth like honey, though an edge lingered beneath the surface, subtle and dangerous. "how interesting."

myah’s cheeks heated at the weight behind his words, but she forced herself to stay steady, stepping a little closer despite the warning bells going off in her mind. she ignored them, shaking off her hesitation. she had to help. she couldn't turn her back, not now.

"of course i care," she replied, voice stronger now, her chin lifting slightly with defiance. "no one deserves this. i won’t leave you hungry."

from one of the cages behind her came a quiet chuckle, a low, husky sound that sent shivers down her spine. turning sharply, she caught sight of another hybrid in the shadows, his silvery-white hair glowing softly even in the dimness, eyes glittering like shards of ice as he regarded her from behind the rusted bars.

"brave little human," he murmured softly, tone playful but dangerously sharp around the edges, "you have no idea what hunger really means."

myah tried not to let his words unsettle her further, tried not to let his icy stare cut beneath her skin. instead, she focused again on the lion hybrid, meeting his steady golden gaze head-on. "i’ll get food. just, wait here."

another amused sound drifted from the raven haired hybrid, his amber eyes peering at her from the darkness. his lips curved faintly into something sharp and unsettlingly knowing.

"we're not going anywhere," he drawled, voice silky but cold, dripping with quiet menace. "take your time."

myah took one last glance at their eyes, sharp, glowing, hungry, and turned quickly, racing back up the creaking basement stairs. her heart pounded painfully in her chest as she emerged into the stale air of the house, her mind spinning wildly.

food.

she had to find food. but what did they even eat?

hybrids, predators, they probably needed meat.

fresh meat.

her stomach turned uneasily at the thought, memories flickering through her mind of childhood visits spent here. her grandfather had hunted regularly, she remembered vividly.

yet, somehow, she’d never once seen a deer carcass or anything remotely like it inside the house.

no, there had never been any raw meat in the fridge. not even once. her grandparents had always kept their kitchen pristine and tidy, a place of warmth and home-cooked meals. there had never been anything bloody or raw tucked away.

so where had it all gone?

myah spun around slowly in the kitchen, pulse quickening as realization dawned on her.

the shed.

her grandfather’s old hunting shed. the little wooden shack that had always felt eerie and had been forbidden during her childhood.

it sat tucked back in the shadowed corner of the backyard, concealed by overgrown bushes and towering trees. she’d never been allowed near it as a child; her grandfather had always warned her away, claiming it was dangerous.

She always assumed it was because her grandparents didn’t want her to get ahold of her grandpa’s rifles and knifes, but now, she understood the true reason.

it must’ve been where he’d stored the meat, fresh from his hunts, hidden away from innocent eyes.

myah rushed out the back door, stepping quickly through the tall grass, the yard eerily quiet around her. the old shed loomed at the edge of the property, dark and weathered with age. ivy crept up its sides, tendrils gripping tightly onto rotting wood. it felt like something from a nightmare, shadowy and foreboding. but she pushed down the dread, forcing herself forward.

with a trembling hand, she grasped the rusty door handle, wrenching the creaking door open. the interior was dark, dusty, smelling strongly of leather, oil, and something sharp and metallic. the air inside felt colder than outside, raising goosebumps along her arms.

she fumbled for the old light switch beside the door, praying it still worked. after a tense moment, the dim bulb flickered to life, casting pale, sickly yellow light across the cluttered space.

her grandfather’s hunting gear lay scattered everywhere, rifles mounted on racks along the walls, knives and traps piled haphazardly on a workbench, old hunting boots lined up beside crates stacked high against one wall. but at the far end of the shed stood something else,

a large industrial freezer, humming quietly.

myah swallowed hard, stepping hesitantly toward it, her throat dry. her heart beat wildly in her chest as she placed her hand on the cold metal handle.

she’d come too far now to turn back.

with a firm tug, she opened the heavy door, a blast of freezing air rushing out to meet her, carrying with it the metallic scent of frozen blood. inside, neatly stacked on shelves, were wrapped cuts of raw meat, large and small. each package labeled meticulously in her grandfather’s neat, cursive handwriting.

deer.

elk.

rabbit.

even something labeled boar.

her stomach churned again at the sight, but relief flooded through her just as quickly. at least there was enough here to feed them. to ease some of their suffering.

carefully, myah pulled out several packages of meat, ignoring the sharp chill that bit at her fingers. she had no idea how much they’d need, but she grabbed enough that her arms strained under the weight. the freezer door slammed shut heavily behind her, echoing sharply in the quiet of the shed.

as she made her way back across the yard, she felt a prickling at the back of her neck, the creeping sensation of being watched. she glanced around quickly, but saw nothing.

just the still, empty yard, the trees looming silently. she shook her head, dismissing the feeling.

she had other things to worry about right now.

by the time she reached the hatch in the kitchen again, her heart was hammering so loudly she feared the hybrids would hear it. she steadied herself carefully, balancing the frozen packages awkwardly in her arms as she descended the steps, back into their cage lined darkness.

their eyes were waiting for her, glowing softly in the shadows, sharp and calculating. watching. hungry.

"i found something, i hope this helps," myah said quietly, steadying her voice as she lifted the heavy packages of frozen meat onto the worn wooden table. her pulse quickened under the weight of their gazes, each hybrid watching her with an intensity she stubbornly refused to show intimidated her.

The same hybrid stepped forward, his amber eyes narrowing slightly, glinting with predatory curiosity. his movements were smooth, deliberate, exuding a controlled menace barely contained behind rusted bars.

"oh, it helps," he purred softly, voice smooth and dangerously alluring, eyes never leaving her face. "you have no idea just how hungry we've been."

myah forced herself not to flinch under his stare, silently holding his gaze with quiet defiance. she wasn't going to let him see how easily he could rattle her. her composure was her armor, and right now, she needed every bit of it.

"interesting," the lion hybrid remarked softly, gaze steady and quietly evaluating. "you returned without your friend this time. was she too frightened to come back?"

myah paused slightly, she vividly remembered how tense chae-eun had been yesterday when they first discovered the hybrids; the way her friend's eyes widened at the creatures who'd seemed so fearful, so vulnerable in their cages. at that moment, they’d looked more frightened of them than the other way around.

myah couldn't help but wonder what had changed. were they simply hungry, exhausted, or was it something else?

"she thought it was better to stay behind," myah replied carefully, keeping her voice even. "after yesterday, i can't say i blame her."

from the cage closest to the stairs, another hybrid chuckled quietly, lounging with casual elegance against the bars. his deep brown curls drawing attention even in the shadowy basement, his tiger-like eyes playful and subtly teasing as he watched her reaction.

"shame," he drawled lightly, a lazy smirk curving his lips. "we barely got a chance to say hello."

myah raised an eyebrow slightly, managing a faint, wry smile despite the unease fluttering in her stomach.

"i think your idea of a greeting might be a bit different than ours," she replied dryly, masking her nerves beneath humor.

a quiet grunt slipped from the cage across from his, containing what looked to be a jaguar.

the hybrid was still shifted, however his gaze held a quiet amusement, silently studying her reaction with careful, thoughtful intensity.

the subtle tension shifted again when a gentler voice drew her attention, familiar, soft, and inexplicably comforting. her heart quickened slightly in recognition. this was the hybrid she’d spoken to through the door yesterday, the gentle voice that had quietly pleaded with her, easing her doubts.

the hybrid who had asked her to return, who she had been unable to forget about.

stepping slightly closer to his cage, she saw his delicate features more clearly, soft hazel eyes wide with sincerity beneath wispy silver hair.

"you shouldn't blame yourself," he murmured quietly, his gaze gentle, reassuring, yet tinged with subtle sadness. "we knew you'd come back. thank you for keeping your promise."

myah’s breath steadied subtly at his quiet sincerity, inexplicably comforted by his voice, his gentle expression. she couldn’t help but trust him, despite the uncertainty that still prickled at the edges of her mind.

"i just want to help," she said softly, earnestness slipping into her tone as she held his gaze briefly.

from the back again, the black-haired hybrid shifted slightly, regaining her attention effortlessly. his eyes narrowed subtly, golden gaze glittering with quiet amusement. "help," he echoed smoothly, voice dripping with subtle skepticism, yet somehow alluring in its challenge. "an interesting way to describe bringing raw meat to caged predators."

myah glanced at him, forcing herself not to react outwardly, though his words did send a small spike of anxiety through her chest. she knew there was truth in his statement, but she refused to let him control the moment. she held her composure steady, lifting her chin slightly.

"would you prefer vegetables instead?" she asked lightly, refusing to be baited further. "because i'm not sure rabbits were on the menu."

another soft laugh drifted from near the stairs again. the curly headed hybrid grinning wider now, openly amused by her retort. "see?" he murmured teasingly, eyes glinting with clear interest. "i knew she had claws."

the silver-haired hybrid, sensing the subtle tension rising again, spoke gently, quietly soothing the room once more. his voice was careful, gentle, subtly pleading for calm. "we're grateful for anything you can do," he assured her softly, hazel eyes earnest. "we just want freedom from this."

the quiet sincerity in his voice tugged deeply at her chest, melting some of the tension still clinging to her shoulders. despite everything, she felt drawn to trust him above all the others, instinctively believing the gentle sincerity he offered.

"i’m trying," she promised softly, sincerity clear in her tone. "i won't leave you stuck here."

silence briefly settled between them, and myah felt the weight of their collective stares again, heavier than before, each hybrid watching her carefully, some with amusement, some curiosity, others quiet calculation.

finally, she stepped back slightly, glancing around the basement thoughtfully, determination steadying her again despite the lingering uncertainty inside her chest. "alright," she said firmly, gaze flickering back to the silver-haired hybrid, quietly finding reassurance in his gentle, hopeful expression. "let's see if i can figure out how to get you out."

a charged silence followed her words, the air in the basement feeling suddenly heavy with cautious hope. myah drew in a slow breath, steadying herself as she glanced around again at the cages, searching for anything she might've missed before.

"do any of you remember how you got out last time?" she asked carefully, keeping her voice calm and gentle as she moved closer to the nearest cage, the one containing the lion. she kept her movements deliberate, careful not to startle or upset them.

he regarded her with quiet authority, eyes steady and watchful. after a brief moment, he shook his head slightly, the thick waves of his golden hair shifting softly against his shoulders.

"we've never been out of these cages," he replied evenly, his deep voice resonating softly in the quiet basement, laced with subtle yet firm certainty. "at least, not since we were put in them."

myah’s brows furrowed slightly in confusion, her heart giving a sharp, anxious twist. that didn't make sense. something wasn't adding up. "but, someone got out," she murmured, mostly to herself, recalling the reports of a hybrid attack, the police statements. her grandparents' fate. she swallowed hard, pushing down the sharp sting of grief. there was no time for that now.

the dark-haired hybrid with the intense amber eyes watched her closely, clearly noting her distress. his voice was soft, velvet-smooth, edged with quiet menace.

"perhaps someone’s not telling you the whole truth," he suggested quietly, his amber gaze narrowed and thoughtful, subtly unsettling in its quiet intensity.

she glanced sharply at him, feeling another small flicker of unease.

was he implying something about her grandparents?

about someone else entirely? she forced herself to shake the thought away, not ready to entertain those suspicions yet. not until she had more answers.

determined, she carefully checked the locks and hinges, examining each door for weakness. her fingers brushed against cold, rusted metal; the surfaces worn but still frustratingly secure. each latch held firm beneath her attempts. frustration began to gnaw at the edges of her composure, her pulse quickening anxiously with every fruitless test.

the curly headed hybrid leaning lazily against his bars tracked her with slow, interested eyes. his posture was relaxed, lounging like a cat sunbathing, but there was a flicker of something sharper beneath it.

something watchful.

"you seem pretty determined," he drawled, his voice light with amusement, but the glint in his eyes wasn’t playful. "but i doubt you’ll get these open by hand. believe me, we’ve tried."

myah let out a quiet breath, running a hand through her hair, trying to mask the growing tension pressing in behind her ribs.

"there has to be another way," she muttered, stepping back to scan the room again. "they can’t have just locked you down here without some kind of system."

"oh, there’s a system," came a voice from the farthest cage, low and smooth like velvet over blades. "you’re just not the one they built it for."

she turned sharply. the one in the shadows hadn’t moved much, but his golden eyes glinted in the dim light, watching her with quiet calculation.

like he was waiting for this moment.

"what does that mean?" she asked slowly. "how did the eighth hybrid get out?"

a beat of silence.

the silver-haired one shifted where he sat, his eyes suddenly distant. he didn’t speak.

the one lounging by the stairs stilled too, his expression folding in just slightly, the casual edge softening into something unreadable.

"there was no eighth predator," the black-haired hybrid said finally. deliberate. calm. like it was a truth he’d held in his teeth too long. "that cage wasn’t for one of us."

myah stared at him. "then who was it for?"

"prey," another voice answered, quieter, softer from the left side of the room. "they kept them there overnight. until they were…taken."

"they never returned," said the deep voice in front of her, steady but heavy. "not ever."

her breath caught.

"you mean prey hybrids? like rabbits? deer?"

"among others," the dark headed hybrid said smoothly. he shifted just slightly in his cage, his golden eyes never leaving hers. "kept in that cage. fattened. frightened. sometimes sedated if they cried too much. usually just…quiet. they knew what was coming."

myah shook her head. no, that didn’t make sense. it didn’t fit. "but no. my grandfather didn’t do that. he,” she paused, sucking in a breath, “he hunted, yeah, but he wasn’t like that. he believed in clean kills, in ethical tags and permits and—"

"you think he was dragging whitetail out of the forest?" the hybrid tilted his head slightly, amusement curling at the corner of his mouth. it wasn’t a smile. it was a warning. "those went extinct in this region before you could even walk."

her stomach dropped.

"there’s no wildlife left out there," the one with the golden hair said, his voice calm but edged. "you’d be lucky to find a squirrel. the ecosystems are gone. wiped out. pollution, over-harvesting, fires—take your pick. all the original prey species are either dead, relocated, or too protected to touch."

"but he had meat," she whispered as she slid to the ground. "the freezer, there was venison, rabbit, he said he hunted in the northern woodlands—"

"hybrids are the only remaining source," the hybrid’s voice quiet now. almost gentle. "the gene carriers. you want deer meat, you need a deer hybrid. they harvest from us. still do. just not out in the open."

her blood went cold.

"you’re lying," she said. but it came out wrong. weak. like she was asking.

the one sitting near the stairs scoffed, his eyes gleaming. "do we look like the liars in this story?"

she turned toward the table, staring at the empty meat packages, the ones she’d pulled out of the freezer herself. her stomach twisted violently. she’d brought that meat down here like a gift. like an offering.

"no," she whispered, voice cracking. "he wouldn’t, he wouldn’t feed people—"

"who said it was for people?" the black haired hybrid murmured, almost too low to hear. "some of it, sure. the best cuts went to buyers. the rest? maybe to the staff. maybe into his own freezer. maybe right back down here to us, to see what we'd do."

her hands curled into fists. the nausea burned in her throat.

she looked at the cage again. that cage, noticed its smaller size, the lack of locks to hold it shut. it had never been meant to hold someone like them.

it had been a pen. a prep table.

livestock containment.

"i didn’t know," she said. her voice shook. "i didn’t know any of this."

"you do now.”

the words weren’t cruel. they weren’t sharp or cutting.

they were just…

final.

and somehow that made it worse.

myah stood there, frozen, the truth settling around her like dust after a collapse. heavy. choking. inescapable. she could still feel the cold metal of the cage beneath her fingertips, the weight of the meat she had carried down, the flicker of pride she’d felt for thinking ahead. thinking she was helping.

but that meat had come from someone.

someone who had slept in that cage. breathed in this basement. cried out in the dark and gotten no answer.

someone who had never left.

and her grandfather had known.

not just known, he had organized it. built it. maintained it. made it look normal. made it look ethical.

and she’d never questioned it. not once.

"i grew up in that house," she murmured, not to any of them, not even to herself, but to the ghost of something that had once felt solid inside her. "i used to sit on the porch with him while he cleaned his arrows. i used to help him label the cuts. i thought…"

her voice broke. she blinked hard.

"you didn’t put us here," a voice said quietly.

she looked up.

he was sitting near the front of his cage now, close enough to reach the bars, close enough that she could see the way his pale lashes caught the light.

the silver haired one.

his fingers were loose around the rusted metal, not clutching, just resting. like he’d been waiting. like he wasn’t in a cage at all. just keeping her company.

"but you came back." his voice was soft, careful, like he knew her heart was still in pieces. like he didn’t want to step on the shards. "that has to mean something. doesn’t it?"

myah blinked at him.

there was no accusation in his face. no push. just that unbearable calm, that gentle gravity he carried, like he was built to be safe, even in a place like this.

and that was the problem, wasn’t it?

he made her want to believe in something again.

she stood slowly, brushing her palms off on her jeans. her legs ached, but she kept her gaze on him, watching him watch her.

he tilted his head, just slightly.

and smiled.

not wide. not teasing. just this soft little thing that tugged at her ribs.

“you have a name?” he asked, voice low and warm, like it didn’t matter if she answered or not, he’d remember the way she looked when she did.

“myah,” she said, after a moment. “it’s myah.”

his smile deepened, just a breath.

like he was tasting it.

like he already knew it would ruin him.

“myah,” he repeated, slow and deliberate, like it was a word worth savoring. “that’s a beautiful name.”

her stomach did something embarrassing.

something fluttery.

and then he leaned forward, just a little, just enough for the light to catch on the golden flecks in his eyes, and said, softer, almost conspiratorial, “you can call me jimin.”

like it was a secret. like it was just for her.

she stared at him for a beat too long, her lips parting slightly, caught between suspicion and the stupid, impossible urge to smile back.

“thank you jimin,” she said finally, voice quieter than she meant it to be.

“anytime,” he murmured, leaning dangerously close, like the rusted bars weren’t even there.

"excuse me, sweetheart," a voice drawled from somewhere off to her right. "but some of us would like to eat."

her head snapped toward the sound, heat crawling up her neck like she’d just been caught doing something she hadn’t meant to.

the one who’d spoken leaned lazily against the bars, grinning like he’d been watching the whole thing and was thoroughly entertained.

her stomach twisted. because the grin didn’t reach his eyes. and his gaze, sharp and golden, wasn’t just amused.

it was hungry.

she looked back at the table.

the meat was still sitting there, thawed now. bleeding slowly through its plastic.

but when she turned her gaze back to the hybrid watching her, there was something in his expression that made her feel like that wasn’t the dinner he meant.

she swallowed.

hard.

and the room suddenly felt just a little too warm.

a little too quiet. like the real hunger in here had nothing to do with the meat behind her.

authors note: hey... um i am so sorry about how long this took me to get out. idk why this story is so difficult for me to like what i write, but i hope you guys enjoyed it !! finals are coming up soon so it might be a sec for the next part but then it should be good. also i think every member has been mentioned now (two have been quiet in scenes with myah but i wont say who for rn) , but take your guesses as two whos what hybrid (i'm planning on making like a post just about whos what i'll link it here when i do!) thank you guys all for the support, ik this chapter was kinda boring, but i wanted to set up some relationship dynamics, idk if its just me but i personally hate when a story introduces characters but then leaves them super one dimensional so i used this chapter to kinda flesh out chae-eun as well as start exploring some of the grandparents backgrounds. thank you guys once again i hope you enjoyed it !!

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[1343401]

echos of the sea - chapter eight

pairing: bts x reader

status: ongoing

word count: 15.4 k

warnings: depictions of violence, kidnapping, family trauma, insecurities, mentions of blood, sexual assault, attempted rape, angst (jk is going through it), like partial drowning?, substance use (drinking rum/wine), language

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the shirt is too big.

it slips past her shoulder, the fabric loose against her skin, drowning her frame in unfamiliar softness. it smells of salt, of the sea, of something faintly familiar, something she can’t quite place.

it’s better than the dress, at least.

her ruined gown lays discarded on the floor, stiff with dried seawater, torn from work, stained with grime. she doesn’t regret shedding it, but the vulnerability that lingers nags at the edges of her exhaustion.

still, her limbs are heavy, her thoughts dulled, weighed down by the long hours of survival. the flickering lantern by her bedside casts a dim glow, shadows stretching long across the wooden walls. the ship rocks gently beneath her feet, the distant murmur of waves lulling her senses.

as she goes to grab the pants she pauses, just for a second, to let herself breathe.

until she hears it.

slow, deliberate footsteps. each measured, unhurried, carrying the weight of someone who knows exactly where they’re going. someone who isn’t searching, isn’t wandering.

someone who means to be here.

they stop just outside her door.

jiah goes rigid, breath locking in her throat, blood roaring in her ears. her fingers tighten around the too-long sleeves of the borrowed shirt, her knuckles going white.

the smell that follows burns her nose.

thick. acrid.

wrong.

the scent of rum and sweat clings to the air, heavy, suffocating.

jiah’s stomach churns.

her body locks up.

slowly, she turns.

the door is open,

and a man is standing in the doorway.

his silhouette is unsteady in the candlelight, swaying slightly, but his stance is deliberate. he isn’t lost. he meant to be here.

scraggly hair falls in greasy strands over his forehead. his clothes are stiff with salt, stained with something darker. his face is hollowed, sharp angles made sharper by the smirk curling his lips.

his eyes gleam with something dark. something that makes her blood run cold.

jiah doesn’t recognize him.

but the way he looks at her, like he’s already decided something makes her skin crawl.

"didn’t think we had any new passengers," he slurs, stepping inside.

his movements are sluggish, weighted by drink, but deliberate. too deliberate.

her pulse hammers. she takes a step back, her bare feet pressing against the cool wooden floor.

"get out."

her voice is steadier than she feels.

the man grins, showing yellowed teeth, a laugh rasping from his throat. "c’mon now, no need to be unfriendly."

another step.

too close.

jiah's breath catches.

her fingers twitch at her sides as her eyes dart around the small room, searching desperately for something, anything, to put between them. her fingers brush against a wooden crate, but before she can reach for it

his hand darts out, clamping around her wrist.

heat and filth and calloused fingers dig into her skin.

jiah sucks in a sharp breath, panic flaring in her chest like an open flame.

the moment his fingers close around her wrist, a sickening chill bolts through jiah’s spine.

his grip is rough, calloused from years at sea, the ridges of his fingers pressing against her skin like sandpaper. his palm is damp with sweat, the moisture clinging to her like something vile, something she can’t shake off. the stink of rum is thick, seeping from his pores, mingling with the salty tang of the ocean air and the musk of unwashed clothes.

the pressure around her wrist tightens. firm. unyielding.

a silent promise that he isn't planning on letting go.

panic slams into her chest, cold and sharp, but she tamps it down. forces herself to breathe through it.

her muscles coil. she tries to jerk away, twisting her arm, nails digging into her own palm as she wrenches back.

"i said, don’t touch me."

he only chuckles. low. throaty. his breath is hot, humid with liquor, fanning against her cheek in waves.

he takes another step closer.

"c’mon now," he murmurs, voice thick with drink, words slurring together like tar.  "no need to be so unfriendly, girl."

jiah’s stomach twists, bile rising in her throat.

her heart hammers so hard she swears he can hear it.

too close.

his presence swallows the already small space, pressing in from all sides. the scent of salt, sweat, and alcohol clings to him like rot, settling into the cracks of the room, suffocating.

he looms over her, broad shoulders casting long shadows in the dim candlelight. the flickering glow from the lantern plays against the deep lines of his face, accentuating the hollowness of his cheeks, the sharp curve of his mouth as he leers down at her.

his eyes glint.

dark. hungry.

this is bad.

jiah’s free hand fumbles behind her, fingers splaying over the rough wooden surface of the crate, searching. for anything. a weapon. a barrier. something to put between them.

but the room is too bare.

and he has her cornered.

her nails scrape against the wood, desperation creeping in like a rising tide, but she forces steel into her voice, forces her expression to stay flat, to not let him see the tremor threatening to slip through.

"what do you want?" she asks, forcing steel into her voice, refusing to let him hear the tremble threatening to slip through.

he smiles. grins. slow, knowing.

"just came to welcome you proper he drawls, the words a mockery of something polite.

his grip tightens.

he tugs.

pulling her forward.

jiah stumbles, a sharp gasp slipping past her lips. her stomach lurches at the sudden loss of footing, the dizzying, stomach-churning sensation of being yanked off balance.

no.

panic claws at her throat, icy and suffocating. her pulse pounds, hammering against her ribs like a war drum. she plants her feet, shoving back, twisting her wrist in his hold, but his grip is ironclad. unyielding, as if he’s done this before, as if he knows exactly how to keep someone from slipping away.

"let me go."

"relax," he coaxes, his voice syrupy and sweet, a mockery of comfort. as if they’re old friends. as if this is normal. his other hand lifts, fingers brushing the ends of her hair, slow and deliberate.

too familiar. too much. too close.

"you’re a pretty thing. wouldn’t want you feeling lonely out here."

his voice is smooth, too smooth, but beneath it lies something sickening. something that makes her skin prickle with revulsion.

jiah recoils, bile rising in her throat, hot and acidic.

"get away from me," she spits, yanking her arm again.

but he holds fast.

his fingers tighten, the pressure biting into her skin. she feels the edges of his nails pressing in, little crescents digging into the delicate skin of her wrist.

a warning.

a threat.

his smile never falters. if anything, it deepens, stretching across his face like a wound, his eyes gleaming with something dark. he enjoys this. the struggle. the panic. the fire burning in her eyes.

her breath shudders, shallow and quick, heart slamming against her ribs.

she can’t let this happen. she won’t let this happen.

she plants her feet. shoves back. putting every ounce of strength she has into it, her muscles straining, her body coiled tight like a spring.

but the pirate barely stumbles.

his grip never loosens.

his amusement only grows.

"feisty," he muses, head tilting, his smile curling at the edges, sharp as a blade. mocking. enjoying this.

"i like that."

the air feels too thick. the room too small. her pulse is a frantic, caged thing, hammering in her throat.

her free hand scrambles behind her again, fingers searching, desperate, nails scraping against wood, finding nothing but empty space and splinters.

her chest tightens.

think, think, think.

but panic is white-hot, numbing her thoughts, making it hard to focus on anything but the feel of him. the weight of his grip. the heat of his breath, thick with the stench of rum, fanning against her skin in waves.

the door is still open.

scream.

but the air feels caught in her throat, a choked, suffocating knot of fear and nausea.

she has to do something.

his fingers slide lower, brushing against her forearm, slow and deliberate.

jiah snaps.

her knee jerks up, aiming for his gut, but he’s faster, sidestepping just enough that she barely clips him. he only laughs, like this is some sort of game.

"easy now, dove," he chides, voice thick with amusement.

he wrenches her closer.

her balance wavers.

the breath is knocked from her lungs.

her stomach twists.

no, no, no.

a sound builds in her throat, raw and instinctive.

a scream.

it rips through the tight space, sharp and desperate, slicing through the thick, stagnant air like a blade. it’s loud, louder than she thought she could manage, but she doesn’t care.

someone will hear. someone has to hear.

the pirate curses, a vicious snarl tearing from his throat as his grip tightens like a vice, his other hand shooting up, smothering the sound before it can fully escape.

his palm is rough against her lips, pressing hard, forcing her head back as he leans in close.

too close.

"bad idea, sweetheart," he hisses, voice dropping into something low, something ugly, something that makes her stomach churn with a different kind of fear.

his breath is thick with rum, warm and sticky against her cheek, clinging to her skin like a stain she can’t scrub away.

"real bad idea."

he drags her closer, pulling her flush against him, forcing her to feel the full weight of his presence, the strength coiled in his limbs.

no, no, no, no

jiah thrashes.

her pulse hammers, frantic against his palm, her body twisting, writhing, every muscle in her screaming move, move, move,

but he’s stronger.

his fingers dig in, nails biting against the delicate skin of her wrist, her jaw, her throat.

her mind races. searching, scrambling, desperate,

think, damn it. think.

but panic is clouding everything, choking out rational thought, drowning her in a suffocating wave of fear and revulsion.

her breath shudders.

no one’s coming.

no one’s,

a noise.

a shift in the hall.

footsteps.

the heavy, deliberate thud of boots against the wooden floor, moving closer, steady and slow.

someone’s coming.

hoseok moves through the dimly lit halls, boots silent against the worn wooden planks. the ship creaks with the steady sway of the sea, a familiar rhythm that once lulled him into a false sense of peace. he’s long since tuned it out.

but his mind is far too loud to ignore.

he tells himself he’s heading back to his quarters. that’s all. just another night, just another step closer to sleep.

he isn’t thinking about her.

he isn’t wondering why she has everyone so goddamn wrapped around her finger.

he isn’t wondering why she has everyone so goddamn wrapped around her finger.

and yet, her presence lingers, like the salt in the air, impossible to shake.

the siren, a creature that should have cared for nothing but the hunger in his gut, the thrill of dragging his prey beneath the waves wasn’t supposed to care for anything other than his own hunger, yet jimin had looked at her with something close to recognition. 

jungkook never says much, rarely ever did. but hoseok saw the way he carried himself after she arrived. saw the tension coiling tight in his shoulders, the bristle of something unspoken, something restless. fascination. wariness.

even namjoon, their captain. the most ruthless man on this ship, the one who held the crew in an iron grip, the man hoseok had sworn loyalty to, had carved his name into the seas. and yet, even he was watching her.

but why?

what the hell made her so special?

a simple palace maid. a girl who should have broken beneath the weight of this ship before she even got on it. a girl who had no place among men like them, and yet, she was still standing. still fighting.

the thought gnaws at him, irritation curling in his gut.

he doesn’t like unanswered questions. doesn’t like things he can’t figure out.

even his own brother seems to be under her curse.

seokjin.

his jaw tightens, fingers twitching at his side. his breath pulls in slow, measured.

he shouldn’t care. he shouldn’t give a damn what his brother does, who he’s interested in, what he’s chasing after. but the moment he had heard jungkook mention seokjin’s interest in her, the irritation burning beneath his ribs curdled into something sharper.

a bitter taste lingers on his tongue.

of course seokjin would get involved. of course, the golden son, the perfect prince, the one who had always been chosen would have his hands in this too.

the very thought of him makes hoseok’s jaw tighten, his grip clenching into fists at his sides.

his thoughts darken, pulling him back into the shadows of a past he swore he left behind.

he doesn’t regret running.

doesn’t regret the night he vanished from the castle, slipping into the streets like a ghost. doesn’t regret the salt in his lungs, the bruises on his ribs from the first brawl he fought aboard this ship. doesn’t regret choosing a life of freedom over a cage lined with gold.

but sometimes, late at night, when the past curls around his throat like a noose, when old wounds ache like phantom limbs, he wonders if seokjin ever regretted not coming after him.

if his so-called perfect brother had ever hesitated.

had ever felt guilt.

hoseok scoffs under his breath.

no.

he knew the answer to that.

seokjin was the golden son, the one their father shaped into a ruler. hoseok, on the other hand, had been nothing more than an afterthought. the bruises on his skin, the sharp words thrown his way, the weight of expectations he was never meant to meet. he had always been a placeholder, a scapegoat for their father’s disappointment.

he had been the storm. seokjin had been the calm.

the only time his brother had ever looked at him, truly looked at him, was the night he left.

but even then, seokjin hadn’t even noticed until it was too late.

hoseok exhales sharply, shaking the thought away.

his fingers loosen, tension easing from his shoulders as he rounds the corner. but just as he’s about to push forward, something shifts. 

his steps slow.

his brows knit together.

the door ahead is open.

not just any door.

hers.

his pulse gives an uneasy kick, something instinctive settling in his gut, something sharp that he doesn’t like.

the ship is full of men who don’t care much for boundaries, but still, she's an outsider, a curiosity. although he doesn’t know what the hell she really is, he knows one thing for certain, she doesn’t belong here.

and that means she’s vulnerable.

his body moves before his mind catches up.

hoseok steps closer, silent as a shadow.

the door isn’t open wide, just a sliver, just enough for the dim lantern light to bleed into the hall, flickering unevenly with the sway of the ship.

just enough for him to catch the low murmur of voices.

no.

not voices.

one voice.

her voice.

strained. tight. edged with something unmistakable.

fear.

hoseok hears movement from in the room. the sound is small, nearly swallowed by the steady groan of the ship, but he hears the scuff of boots dragging across the floor, a sharp intake of breath, quick and started, and then a thud. 

something, someone, slamming against the wooden wall. 

his pulse spikes. heat flashes through his veins, instinct rearing its head before his mind can fully process it. his fingers tighten, curling around the worn leather of his hilt, the familiar weight of steel sliding free as he draws his blade without thinking.

then she screams.

it’s not loud. not the kind of scream that would wake the whole damn ship, but it doesn’t have to be.

it’s panicked, ragged, real.

hoseok doesn’t think.

he moves.

his body propels forward before he can fully register it, a force driven by something deeper than reason. the door is only barely ajar, but it doesn’t matter, he shoves it open, the wood crashing against the wall with a deafening bang that drowns out the next choked sound from inside.

for a fraction of a second, everything is frozen.

the dim lantern flickers, casting jagged shadows across the room, distorting the shapes within.

his eyes land on the corner of the room. he sees jiah only half-dressed, one arm pinned behind her as she struggles against the man holding her. her hair is disheveled, strands clinging to the damp sheen of sweat on her skin. her chest heaves with each ragged breath, panic raw in her wide, dark eyes.

and the culprit, a scraggly excuse for a pirate. his grip is a vice around her wrist, his other hand crushing over her mouth. his clothes are rumpled, stained with rum and salt, the stink of him so thick it nearly overpowers the sea air creeping through the cracks of the ship. his face, smeared with grease, with something uglier lurking beneath his leer, twists into something between shock and irritation as he registers the intrusion.

hoseok sees the way his fingers dig into her skin, how his knuckles whiten with pressure.

sees the way jiah trembles, the way she thrashes despite knowing she’s overpowered, despite the fact that her struggle only makes the pirate’s grin widen.

sees the way her bare shoulders are rigid, the curve of her collarbone rising and falling with her frantic breaths, the unmistakable fear bleeding through her usually sharp features.

and something in him snaps.

the cold, coiled thing in his chest erupts.

hoseok doesn’t hesitate.

his blade is in his grip before he’s even aware of drawing it. the polished steel catches the flickering light, a silver flash as he moves forward fast.

the pirate barely has time to react before hoseok is on him, before the tip of the blade is pressing against the exposed column of his throat, before the amused glint in his eyes morphs into something resembling realization, fear.

“get your hands off her.”

his voice is low, edged with something lethal.

the pirate’s breath stutters, his drunken haze clearing just enough for him to grasp the danger of the situation. but he hesitates, his grip tightening for a fraction of a second, his pride outweighing his sense of self-preservation.

hoseok doesn’t give him time to decide.

his wrist shifts, the blade biting just enough into flesh to draw a bead of blood.

the pirate freezes, his grip on jiah loosening.

and hoseok watches, expression void of anything but cold detachment, as the bastard stumbles back, hands raised in a pathetic display of surrender.

“i—”

“out.”

the single syllable cracks through the air, leaving no room for argument.

the pirate swallows, his tongue darting out to wet his chapped lips, eyes flicking between hoseok’s blade and the sharp edge of his gaze.

and then, without another word, he runs.

hoseok watches him go, chest rising and falling with steady, measured breaths.

the door slams shut in the pirate’s wake, the echo of his retreating footsteps fading into the hallway. the room is silent now, safe for the ragged pull of jiah’s breath, sharp and uneven, like she’s struggling to get enough air. 

hoseok doesn’t move. 

his grip on his dagger is still tight, fingers curled around the hilt like he’s debating whether or not to chase after the bastard and finish the job. his pulse is still spiked, a slow, burning heat simmering beneath his skin. his mind is racing, not with thoughts of the pirate, he's gone, he’s handled, but of the girl standing before him.

jiah hasn’t moved either.

she’s backed against the wooden wall, the flickering lanternlight casting jagged shadows over her form. her arms are wrapped around herself, fingers digging into the fabric of the shirt that hangs loosely off one shoulder, and hoseok belatedly realizes it’s not hers.

it’s too big. the fabric is worn, the collar stretched. it drapes over her small frame in a way that looks familiar, he realizes with a slow creeping recognition. too familiar.

his eyes narrow.

he knows those clothes.

the fabric is rough but sturdy, the sleeves rolled up at the cuffs, the collar fraying slightly at the edges. he’s seen them a hundred times before, draped over broad shoulders, smelling of salt and ink and something distinctly him.

namjoon.

his captain’s shirt.

for some reason, the realization stirs something in him, something sharp and unpleasant, something he doesn’t like examining too closely.

but right now, that doesn’t matter.

what matters is the way jiah looks at him.

not angry. not sharp-tongued. not filled with that usual fire he’s come to expect from her.

but afraid.

and hoseok doesn’t like that.

he doesn’t like the way she’s trembling, doesn’t like the way her wide, dark eyes are still locked on the closed door as if expecting the pirate to return.

"he's gone," hoseok says, voice quieter than usual.

jiah doesn’t respond.

she still hasn’t moved from the wall. her chest is still rising and falling too fast, her breaths too shallow. her fingers are still curled into the fabric of her borrowed shirt, white-knuckled, like she’s trying to ground herself.

hoseok exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair before taking a single step forward.

jiah flinches.

his stomach twists.

he shouldn’t care.

this girl, this mouthy, insufferable, stubborn girl, has been nothing more than a thorn in his side since the moment she got on this ship.

but right now, she looks... small. fragile in a way that she has never allowed herself to be.

she shifts, arms wrapping around herself as if she can feel the weight of his stare.

her hands are still trembling. barely, but enough that he notices.

and god help him, he hates seeing it.

he clicks his tongue, gaze flicking away as he mutters, "sit down before you pass out or something."

jiah blinks, like she’s just remembering where she is. her lips part, like she wants to say something, maybe snap back at him like usual, but then, hesitantly, she moves.

hoseok watches as she takes slow, careful steps toward the bed, sinking onto the edge with all the grace of someone who’s still not sure their legs will hold them.

she exhales shakily, dropping her head into her hands.

hoseok exhales too.

this isn’t his problem.

he knows that.

but still, he finds himself moving toward her.

"you good?"

it’s an awkward question, too blunt, too stiff, but it’s the closest thing to concern he’s willing to offer.

jiah lifts her head. her eyes flick up to meet his, something unreadable swimming behind them, something almost vulnerable.

then, quietly, so quietly he almost doesn’t hear it, she says, "wait… thank you."

hoseok stills.

he’s not sure what he expected, but it wasn’t that.

jiah, thanking him?

it feels foreign. weird.

he scoffs, shifting on his feet. "don’t make it a habit," he mutters, before turning toward the door.

but just before he leaves, he lingers, just for a second.

then, without another word, he slips out into the hall, closing the door softly behind him.

for a moment hoseok just stands there, his heart pounding with the weight of unspoken words, a silent battle raging in his chest. as if the world around him has suddenly become too much to bear, he slides down the wall, back hitting the cold wood, knees drawing up as he exhales a slow, measured breath.

hoseok knows won’t sleep tonight.

not with thoughts of his brother on his mind.

not when every time his eyes close, he sees jiah’s scared shaking figure.

he can’t.

especially when there’s still the risk of some other drunken pirate stumbling in where they don’t belong. so he stays, keeping watch, keeping her safe in the only way he can.

the hours stretch on, the lantern light flickering, shadows shifting with the rhythm of the waves. and just before dawn, when the sky outside begins its slow bleed into pale blue, he finally pushes himself to his feet and walks away.

jiah stares at the ceiling, breaths coming too fast, too shallow, even as she tries to force them into something steady. her body won’t stop trembling. her skin feels too tight, too raw, like she’s still being touched, like she’s still trapped beneath a grip she couldn’t break.

her wrist aches. not sharp, not unbearable, but there. pulsing beneath the surface, a reminder she can’t shake. she knows what it’ll look like tomorrow, faint bruises blooming in the shape of fingers, proof of how easily she had been overpowered.

she should be used to this.

well not this. not being backed into a corner with nowhere to run, with someone pressing too close, with real fear curling in her stomach like something alive.

but the rest? the looks? the casual touches that lingered a second too long? the comments slipped between smiles, low enough that they could be passed off as jokes?

she’s been dealing with that since she was fifteen. since the first time she stepped behind the counter at the diner, since the first time an older man called her sweetheart with something knowing in his eyes.

she learned how to handle it. how to force a laugh, how to pull away just before they got too close. how to fight back when they tried anyway.

but tonight, she had fought.

and it hadn’t mattered.

her stomach twists, nausea curling at the edges of her ribs.

this can’t happen again. she won’t let it.

her fingers curl into the fabric of the shirt she’s wearing, twisting it between trembling hands, clutching it like an anchor. it smells different. not like sweat and rum and something else. something cleaner, something vaguely like the ocean, like parchment left out in the sun, like,

she doesn’t know.

but it grounds her.

keeps her from spiraling. keeps her from drowning in the weight of what could have happened, what almost happened, what might still happen if she doesn’t figure out how to survive this place.

her chest rises, falls.

she can still feel his eyes on her. not his. not the pirate who had tried to…

the other one.

the one who had stormed into the room like a force of nature, like he had been ready to carve through bone if she had been even a second later in screaming.

his face flashes in her mind. sharp, severe. eyes dark with something unreadable.

concern?

no.

he’s not the type to care.

but he had looked at her, really looked at her. not in amusement, not in irritation, not in cold disinterest, the way he always does.

something had shifted.

something she doesn’t want to think about.

because she’s read this before.

her stomach lurches.

this is his moment.

the point where it begins.

she remembers this scene. not with her in it, not with her trapped in the middle of it, but with yiseo.

yiseo, terrified, shaken, the victim of a similar attack. and the one who had saved her,

jiah goes rigid.

no.

no.

her breath stutters.

it was him. it was hoseok.

the pirate with a name like a curse. the one no one crossed, no one questioned. the one she had been arguing with this morning, tossing back sharp words like knives, ignoring the warning in his eyes.

him.

a ruthless bastard with a reputation steeped in blood and betrayal.

and in the book, this had been where fans said he started falling.

for yiseo.

does that mean now for her.

jiah never shipped the two but the way he, no hoseok, looked at her,

the way his eyes peered into her soul, grounding her, making her feel not just comforted and safe but something else.

jiah’s hands tighten in the fabric, grip white-knuckled.

this can’t happen.

she won’t let it.

she can’t be yiseo.

and he can’t be him.

seokjin sits in his chambers, the weight of the night pressing against his shoulders. the glow of the candlelight flickers over the scattered parchment before him, maps, naval reports, letters from his council, all of it blending into an unfocused blur. his fingers drum absently against the polished wood of the desk, his other hand wrapped around the stem of a half drunk glass of wine, though he has long since lost the taste for it.

his robe hangs loosely off his frame, the silk cool against his skin, but there is no comfort in it. his mind is elsewhere. it has been elsewhere ever since she was taken.

the maid, jiah.

it’s infuriating how often she crosses his thoughts. even now, his eyes drift to the sea beyond his balcony, as if he might catch a glimpse of something, of her. but there is nothing. only endless, shifting waters stretching far beyond his reach.

his jaw clenches.

where is she?

what have they done to her?

his stomach twists at the thought. the pirates were ruthless, but not without reason. they wouldn’t have taken her without a purpose. but what purpose could a maid serve to a pirate captain? seokjin has turned the question over and over in his mind, and none of the answers settle well.

his grip tightens around the glass. the thought of her, helpless, surrounded by men with no morals, no honor, makes something coil deep in his gut, something raw and ugly.

she had been right in front of him.

the last time he had seen her, she had been standing on that balcony, the night air catching in her hair, her eyes unreadable as she looked at him. for a moment, he had thought he had felt,

but then the pirates had come.

his hand twitches. he can still feel the sting of his failure. he had fought, had drawn his blade and faced them without hesitation, but in the end, they had left him there, his sword knocked from his grasp, his dignity in the dirt. they had taken her, and there had been nothing he could do.

the second she was gone, it felt like something had ripped out of him.

he exhales sharply, trying to force the tension from his muscles, trying to think.

It was like the pirates were ghosts. no tracks, no trails, no patterns to follow. namjoon was too smart for that. and if seokjin couldn’t find him…

his teeth grind together.

then he’d have to draw him out.

he stops abruptly, pivoting on his heel. the guards stationed outside his chambers snap to attention, but he waves them off.

"fetch the council," he orders, his voice cold, decisive. "wake whoever you have to. i want a meeting now."

they don’t hesitate. they rush off, boots pounding against the stone.

seokjin inhales slowly, steadying himself.

if he can’t find her,

his jaw tightens.

then he’ll make sure she’s returned to him.

whatever it takes.

the council chambers are colder than usual, the stone walls offering little comfort against the morning chill. a fire crackles in the grand hearth, its glow casting long shadows over the faces of the gathered officials. the air is thick with the scent of parchment and ink, the weight of authority pressing down on the room like an iron hand.

seokjin stands at the head of the long table, hands braced against the polished wood, his gaze sharp as he watches the men shuffle in. most of them look weary, pulled from their sleep at his command, but he doesn’t care. there is no time for rest.

not while jiah is still out there.

"your highness," one of the older councilmen greets, bowing slightly before taking his seat. the others follow, their expressions varying from curiosity to concern.

seokjin doesn’t waste time with pleasantries. "any word?"

a silence stretches across the table, uneasy.

"no, your highness," another councilman finally speaks. "the waters have been quiet. no reported sightings of captain namjoon or his crew."

seokjin exhales slowly through his nose, frustration simmering just beneath his skin. "and the ships i sent?"

"still searching," the man replies, though he shifts slightly in his seat. "it will take time, prince seokjin. the seas are vast, and the pirates know how to hide."

seokjin clenches his jaw. time. how much of it had already slipped through his fingers? how much more could he afford to lose?

before he can push further, the doors to the chamber swing open once more.

"announcing his majesty, king taehwan, and her highness, princess yiseo."

seokjin straightens as the king steps inside, his presence commanding as ever, draped in the deep navy and gold of seohwa’s royal colors. yiseo follows closely behind, her gown pristine, her hair arranged in careful waves over her shoulder. she looks unbothered, a stark contrast to seokjin’s own restless energy.

"prince seokjin," king taehwan greets, his voice even. "i trust this morning finds you well."

"your majesty," seokjin replies, dipping his head in respect.

the king steps forward, settling into the chair at the table’s head. yiseo takes her seat beside him, folding her hands neatly in her lap.

"if this is about the wedding, rest assured, our fastest ships have already been sent out to gukseon and will arrive by nightfall."

seokjin’s fingers curl against the wood.

"unless, of course, you’re simply eager to see the preparations unfold, prince seokjin. i must say, your enthusiasm is quite admirable." the king continues, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"you mean your second fastest," he corrects, voice clipped. "because the first is supposed to be hunting down the pirates."

a beat of silence.

yiseo exhales, barely concealing her irritation. "seokjin—"

"no," he cuts in, eyes flashing. "tell me you didn’t pull resources from the search just to send out invitations."

"this isn’t just about invitations," yiseo says, her tone sharp. "this is about your duty, seokjin. our wedding."

"my duty?" he scoffs, pushing away from the table. "my duty is to my people. to ensuring the safety of this kingdom. not playing host to a ceremony when there is real work to be done."

yiseo stiffens, her lips pressing into a thin line. "and you think chasing after pirates is more important than securing an alliance?"

"i think retrieving someone stolen from this kingdom is more important," he snaps before he can stop himself.

the weight of the words settles over the room, heavy and unspoken.

yiseo’s brows furrow, and realization flickers across her features.

"this is about her, isn’t it?"

seokjin says nothing.

yiseo lets out a short, humorless laugh. "of course it is. you’re making a fool of yourself over a maid, seokjin."

"watch your tongue," he warns, low and dangerous.

"or what?" yiseo challenges, tilting her chin. "you’ll abandon your duty for her?" she shakes her head, exasperated. "this is ridiculous. you don’t even know where she is."

"not yet," he counters, voice cold. "but i will."

"and then what?" she presses. "you think she’ll be grateful? that she’ll come back and suddenly everything will change?"

seokjin doesn’t answer.

"you’re being reckless," yiseo mutters, her gaze hard. "and you’re going to cost this kingdom more than you realize."

"and you," seokjin returns, eyes dark, "are underestimating me."

silence falls between them, thick with unspoken tension.

the king, who has remained silent throughout their exchange, finally sighs. "enough."

both seokjin and yiseo fall quiet, though neither looks away.

"we will discuss this further when you have both cleared your heads," the king says, tone firm. "for now, let us proceed with matters that concern the entire kingdom."

seokjin exhales sharply, forcing himself to step back.

this isn’t over. not by a long shot.

jiah wakes to the sound of her door creaking open.

panic grips her instantly, sharp and suffocating, dragging her back to last night. her breath catches in her throat as she scrambles upright, hands fisting in the sheets, heart hammering against her ribs.

not again.

her pulse is a wild thing, her body coiled tight, bracing for

jungkook?

he stands in the doorway, silhouetted against the dim morning light, his dark hair tousled from sleep, his sharp gaze scanning the room before landing on her.

she exhales shakily, the tension in her shoulders loosening by a fraction. it’s absurd, really. she barely knows him. just a pirate. a stranger who helped steal her from what little she knew of this world. she shouldn’t feel anything close to relief at the sight of him.

and yet, she does.

jungkook doesn’t speak right away. his gaze lingers, sweeping over her like he’s cataloging every detail, how she’s curled up in the sheets, how the oversized shirt drapes over her, slipping slightly off one shoulder, exposing the curve of her collarbone.

his eyes flicker lower.

the hem of the shirt has ridden up, just enough to reveal the bare skin of her legs, the soft slope of her thighs. his jaw tightens, a muscle feathering as he stares for just a moment too long, something unreadable flashing behind his dark eyes.

jiah stiffens, tugging the fabric lower, suddenly hyperaware of herself beneath his stare.

his gaze snaps back to her face, sharp and sudden, like he’s just realized where he was.

"get up," he finally says, voice rough.

she swallows, forcing herself to focus. "why?"

his gaze flicks back to her face.

"captain wants you above deck."

her stomach twists. "for what?"

jungkook shrugs, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossing over his chest. "not my business."

jiah hesitates. she doesn’t want to go. doesn’t want to step out of this room, doesn’t want to face whatever the captain of this ship has planned for her.

but she doesn’t have a choice.

her fingers tighten around the sheets before she slowly shifts to sit on the edge of the bed. the motion makes the shirt slip again, and jungkook’s gaze drops for half a second before he looks away, jaw flexing so tightly she swears she hears his teeth grind.

"can you…" she gestures vaguely, cheeks burning.

he just blinks.

"turn around," she clarifies, irritation slipping into her voice.

he huffs, but obeys, pivoting so his back faces her.

jiah moves quickly, pulling on the pants that were left from yesterday, tucking the oversized shirt into the waistband, trying to make herself look at least somewhat put together.

"okay," she mutters when she’s done.

jungkook turns immediately, gaze flicking over her again before he jerks his chin toward the door.

"let’s go."

jiah hesitates for only a moment, glancing back at the bed, at the faint imprint left on the cot.

then she stands, steps forward, and follows him out.

jiah barely has time to rub the sleep from her eyes before jungkook is leading her through the ship, his steps quick and impatient. she scurries to keep up, still feeling the remnants of sleep clinging to her limbs, her thoughts sluggish.

"you could’ve at least knocked," she mutters, voice still thick with sleep.

"i did," jungkook says flatly. "twice."

she scowls at his back. "and then you just walked in? what if i was—"

"you weren’t."

her scowl deepens.

when they reach the heavy wooden door leading to the captain’s quarters, jungkook raps his knuckles against it once before pushing inside. jiah hesitates for half a second before following, the scent of salt, parchment, and ink hitting her immediately.

namjoon is already seated behind his desk, rolling up a map with practiced ease. his gaze lifts at their arrival, sharp eyes flickering between them before settling on her.

"good morning," he greets smoothly.

she crosses her arms. "i wouldn’t call it good."

jungkook huffs beside her, but namjoon only smirks, tilting his head. "not a morning person, i take it?"

"not a pirate person," she corrects.

"unfortunate, considering your current predicament."

she glares, but namjoon is already moving on, leaning back in his chair. "i assume jungkook has informed you that i wanted to see you."

"he gave me the courtesy of a one word summons," she deadpans.

namjoon chuckles. "concise, as always."

jiah rolls her eyes. "just get to the point."

his smirk lingers, but his expression shifts slightly calculated, considering. "last night was, how do i put it, eventful."

her stomach twists at the reminder.

namjoon watches her reaction carefully. "you seem unharmed."

"thanks to hoseok," she says pointedly.

his jaw tenses for half a second before his mask of indifference returns. "regardless, it made one thing clear."

she crosses her arms. "and what’s that?"

namjoon leans forward, resting his forearms on the desk. "you’re vulnerable."

she stiffens. "i can handle myself."

"clearly," he muses, eyes glinting with amusement. "which is why you were moments away from being dragged off by a crewman."

her teeth clench. "just get to your point."

he holds her gaze for a beat before exhaling, almost as if this conversation is a mild inconvenience. "you’ll be staying here."

her brow furrows. "where?"

"here," he gestures vaguely around the cabin. "with me."

she blinks. "you’re joking."

there’s a beat of silence.

jungkook stiffens beside her.

"hyung," he says sharply, stepping forward. "that’s—"

namjoon lifts a hand, cutting him off. "she can’t seem to defend herself," he says simply. "and hoseok can’t be her guard forever."

jungkook’s jaw clenches. jiah watches as his hands tighten into fists, the muscle in his jaw feathering as he grits his teeth. he looks like he wants to argue, like he wants to say something, anything, but he doesn’t.

he can’t.

jiah swallows, shifting on her feet. "i already have a place—"

"a glorified storage closet," he interjects smoothly. "which, after last night, has proven to be lacking in security."

her jaw tightens. "so your solution is locking me up in here instead?"

"hardly locking you up," he muses. "but you’ll be safer here."

"why do you even care?"

his lips twitch, but he doesn’t answer right away. "call it a captain’s responsibility."

she glances at jungkook, searching for some kind of reaction, some indication that he’s just as unhappy about this as she is.

but he’s already looking at her.

his gaze is dark, unreadable, something simmering beneath the surface that she can’t quite place.

and for some reason, that unsettles her more than anything.

namjoon tilts his head. "well?"

she exhales sharply, arms crossing over her chest. "fine," she mutters, then quickly adds, "but on my terms."

namjoon raises a brow, clearly amused. "your terms?"

"if i’m staying here, i don’t want to be treated like some helpless thing you’re keeping under watch," she says firmly. "i still do my work. i still move around the ship. and no one," her eyes flick to jungkook, then back to namjoon, "treats me like i’m some kind of fragile cargo."

namjoon hums, fingers tapping idly against the wood. "reasonable enough. but if i deem it unsafe, you listen to me without argument."

she scowls but nods. "deal."

namjoon’s smirk widens slightly. "good. then that’s settled." he shifts his gaze toward the door just as a sharp knock sounds against it. "perfect timing."

jiah tenses as the door swings open, revealing hoseok leaning against the frame, arms folded. his eyes flick between them before settling on her. "what’s going on?"

"you’re here to collect her," namjoon says smoothly. "she has work to do."

hoseok’s brow furrows slightly but he nods. "right. let’s go then."

jiah doesn’t move right away, hesitating for just a fraction of a second before finally stepping forward. as she passes jungkook, she catches a glimpse of his expression, still unreadable, still watching her too closely.

she forces herself to ignore it, brushing past hoseok as she exits.

his voice is the last thing she hears before the door swings shut behind her.

"try not to cause too much trouble today, yeah?"

namjoon waits until the door swings shut behind hoseok and jiah before exhaling through his nose, rolling his shoulders back like the conversation had been nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

jungkook, on the other hand, doesn’t move. he’s still standing there, fists clenched, jaw tight, eyes trained on the closed door like he could burn a hole through it if he stared hard enough.

namjoon watches him for a beat before leaning forward, resting his elbows on the desk. "say it," he drawls, tilting his head.

jungkook’s shoulders tense. "say what?"

namjoon hums. "whatever it is you’re holding back. because you look like you’re about to snap that pretty little jaw of yours from clenching so hard."

jungkook inhales sharply, nostrils flaring. "this isn’t a good idea."

"which part?" namjoon asks, arching a brow. "keeping her here? sending her off with hoseok?" he tilts his head. "or the part where you clearly have something to say but refuse to say it?"

jungkook’s eyes flash. "you know exactly what i mean."

namjoon leans back, crossing his arms over his chest, watching him like he’s some kind of amusing puzzle to solve. "don’t tell me you care for her."

jungkook’s scoff is immediate, sharp and cutting. "you can’t say that when it was your clothes she was dressed up in."

namjoon stills.

for a moment, silence stretches between them, thick with something neither of them wants to name. namjoon’s expression doesn’t change, but his fingers twitch where they rest against his arm, and jungkook catches it.

"oh," jungkook breathes, the corner of his lips curling into something that isn’t quite a smirk. "so that’s how it is?"

"don’t be ridiculous," namjoon says smoothly, but there’s a slight edge to his voice now, something just barely off-kilter.

"ridiculous?" jungkook parrots. "what’s ridiculous is you acting like you don’t care when you’re the one keeping her locked up in your damn quarters."

"she’s safer there."

"right," jungkook drawls. "because that’s why you did it."

namjoon’s jaw tightens. "you’re getting bold."

jungkook tilts his head, stepping closer. "and you’re getting careless."

namjoon’s eyes darken, a flicker of warning flashing through them. "watch it."

"or what?" jungkook challenges, voice deceptively light. "you’ll pull rank?"

"if that’s what it takes."

jungkook lets out a quiet, humorless laugh, shaking his head. "unbelievable. you think this is control, but you’re just playing a losing game. you can keep her in here all you want, hyung, but that doesn’t mean she belongs to you."

a muscle in namjoon’s jaw ticks. he exhales slowly, reigning himself in, schooling his expression back into something unreadable. "this conversation is over."

"of course it is," jungkook mutters, turning on his heel. "because you don’t like what i have to say."

he’s almost to the door when namjoon speaks again.

"i trust you, jungkook," he says, voice quieter now. "but don’t forget your place."

jungkook stops. he doesn’t turn around.

a muscle feathers in his jaw, fingers flexing at his sides. for a second, it looks like he might say something. might throw namjoon’s words right back in his face. but instead he exhales sharply through his nose, shaking his head like he’s trying to rid himself of the entire conversation.

"right," he mutters, voice laced with something bitter. "wouldn’t want to forget that."

he yanks the door open, stepping through without another word. it slams shut behind him, rattling the lantern hanging from the ceiling.

namjoon stays still for a moment, jaw tight, staring at the space jungkook had just occupied. with a sharp exhale, he leans back in his chair, tipping his head toward the ceiling.

his gaze flickers to the closed door.

then lower.

to the space where she had stood mere moments ago, the ghost of her presence still clinging to the air like the lingering scent of salt and something faintly sweet, something that didn’t belong on a ship like this. something that didn’t belong to him.

but she had looked like she did.

namjoon exhales sharply, tilting his head back against the chair, fingers drumming idly against the desk. the image of her is still burned into his mind. the oversized shirt slipping off one shoulder, baring the smooth curve of her collarbone, the fabric too large on her frame because it wasn’t meant for her. it was meant for him.

his.

the thought sparks something unwelcome in his chest, something he tamps down before it can take shape.

this was supposed to be simple. she was an inconvenience, a stray piece that didn’t fit, and he was merely making sure she didn’t get in the way. nothing more.

but the way she had looked at him, chin lifted, eyes dark with challenge, had made something twist low in his stomach. had made him want to remind her exactly who was in charge here.

"why do you even care?"

namjoon scoffs under his breath, reaching for the bottle of rum on his desk. he turns it once in his hand before setting it back down without drinking.

he doesn’t care.

he can’t.

but the weight in his chest tells him he’s a liar.

with a measured breath, he pushes himself to his feet, unfastening the top buttons of his shirt as he strides toward the open window. the ocean stretches endlessly before him, waves lapping gently against the ship’s hull. it should be calming.

it isn’t.

his eyes flick downward.

on the main deck, jiah is walking beside hoseok, strands of her hair catching in the wind. namjoon’s shirt still drowns her frame, slipping off her shoulder again as she lifts a hand to brush it back into place.

something sharp flickers through him.

hoseok says something, and jiah laughs. not fully, but enough. enough for namjoon’s fingers to curl against the windowsill, a muscle ticking in his jaw.

"troublesome," he mutters under his breath.

and for the first time in a long while, he wonders if he’s made a mistake.

they walk in silence at first.

the ship rocks gently beneath their feet, the sounds of the ocean mingling with the rhythmic creak of the wooden planks. sailors move around them, busy with their tasks, some sparing glances in their direction, more at her than hoseok. but no one says anything, and for that, jiah is grateful.

hoseok walks beside her with easy strides, hands tucked into the loose folds of his coat. if the silence between them bothers him, he doesn’t show it.

jiah, on the other hand, feels the weight of unspoken words pressing against her chest.

she sneaks a glance at him, trying to gauge his expression, but he remains unreadable, eyes fixed ahead. she exhales, deciding to just say it.

“thank you again for saving me last night.”

hoseok’s gaze flickers to her, his lips curving, not quite a smile, but something close.

“you were lucky,” he says lightly. “i don’t always go around playing the hero.”

she raises a brow. “so you’re saying if it had been someone else, you wouldn’t have stepped in?”

“depends,” he muses. “do they have your sharp tongue? your tendency to make things difficult?”

jiah scoffs. “i am not difficult.”

hoseok grins now, tilting his head. “you tried to bite someone last night.”

“that was self defense!” she protests. “he was, he was grabbing me, what was i supposed to do?”

“i’m not saying it was wrong,” hoseok says, laughing under his breath. “i’m just saying, difficult might be an accurate description.”

jiah narrows her eyes, but she can’t help the way her lips twitch, threatening to give away her amusement. she sighs dramatically. “fine. i guess i should thank you for saving me from my difficult self.”

“you should,” he teases, nudging her arm lightly. “i accept payment in gold, fine wine, and the last piece of dessert at dinner.”

this time, she does laugh, the sound breaking through the tension she hadn’t realized she’d been carrying. “wow. what a noble price for a knight in shining armor.”

hoseok snorts. “you should know better than anyone princess that knights follow orders. i’d make a terrible one.”

“so what does that make you, then?”

his eyes glimmer with something unreadable before he shrugs. “someone who doesn’t like seeing you in trouble.”

it’s such a simple statement. shouldn’t make her stomach flip or her fingers twitch at her sides.

but it does.

and for once, jiah doesn’t know what to say.

jiah clears her throat, shifting her gaze away before he can catch whatever just flickered across her face. “well,” she says, trying to regain some footing. “since you’re so adamant about keeping me out of trouble, maybe you should teach me how to handle myself.”

hoseok lifts a brow, clearly amused. “handle yourself? didn’t you just tell me you bit someone?”

“yeah, and it would have worked,” she retorts. “but i doubt biting is a longterm strategy. you seem like you know how to fight.” she glances at him pointedly. “unless you’re all talk.”

hoseok chuckles, shaking his head. “you really don’t like owing people, do you?”

she crosses her arms. “not particularly.”

he considers her for a moment, then sighs. “alright, princess,” he drawls, the nickname rolling off his tongue effortlessly.

jiah huffs but doesn’t correct him this time. instead, she smirks. “so that does make you my knight.”

“i already told you—”

“—that you’d make a terrible one, yeah, yeah,” she waves a hand. “but here you are, agreeing to teach me how to fight. sounds like something a knight would do.”

hoseok just rolls his eyes, but the grin tugging at his lips betrays his amusement. “come on,” he says, jerking his chin toward the far end of the deck. “let’s find some space before i change my mind.”

they weave through the ship, past busy crewmates adjusting sails and tying knots, until they find a relatively empty stretch near the railing. the sea stretches endlessly beyond them, waves crashing against the hull in a rhythmic lull.

hoseok shrugs off his coat, tossing it over a nearby crate before stretching his arms above his head. “alright,” he says, rolling his shoulders. “let’s see what we’re working with.”

jiah squares her stance. “okay. what do i do first?”

hoseok eyes her posture and snorts. “first? try not to fall over when I push you.”

she scoffs. “excuse you, i have great balance.”

his grin turns sharp. “we’ll see about that.”

before she can fully register what he’s doing, he reaches out and, gently but swiftly, nudges her shoulder.

jiah immediately stumbles back a step.

hoseok smirks.

her cheeks burn. “okay, that was—”

“bad,” he finishes for her. “but don’t worry, princess. that’s what I’m here for.”

jiah exhales sharply, shaking off the misstep. she doesn’t let herself dwell on the way her borrowed clothes hang awkwardly on her frame, the sleeves too long, the hem brushing against her thighs in a way that feels distracting. instead, she resets, inhaling deep before moving again.

this time, she attacks first.

it’s fast, faster than he expects. she feints left before striking right, aiming a sharp jab toward his ribs. hoseok’s brows lift in surprise, but he reacts just in time, shifting back to block.

before he can fully reset, she follows up with another hit, angling for his shoulder.

he catches her wrist easily, fingers locking around it like a cuff. “not bad,” he muses, his grip firm but not painful. “better than i thought.”

she exhales, chest rising and falling steadily. “i have experience.”

hoseok’s lips twitch. “oh?” he tilts his head, still holding onto her wrist. “funny. i didn’t know maids brawled in their spare time. must make for some interesting entertainment.”

jiah huffs a laugh, twisting out of his hold, not sure how to explain herself. She couldn’t just say “oh yeah i took lessons when i was in middle school”  

so instead she replies with, “something like that,” shaking out her arms.

hoseok watches her for a moment, his smirk still in place, but there’s something more curious behind it now, something thoughtful.

“alright then,” he says, rolling his shoulders. “again.”

this time, she doesn’t hesitate.

she moves quicker, sidesteps when he reaches to counter, and when she aims a sharp kick at his leg, he actually has to work to block it. their sparring shifts, turning into a dance of movement and precision, neither of them willing to be the first to falter.

jiah can feel the steady burn in her muscles, the way her breath starts to come faster, but there’s something exhilarating about it, about holding her own, about proving she isn’t just some helpless captive.

hoseok seems to recognize it too. “you’re not half bad,” he remarks, catching her wrist again and spinning her away before she can land a hit.

“not half bad?” she echoes, turning back to face him, breathless but grinning.

he grins back. “i’m being generous.”

jiah scoffs, but there’s no real bite to it. she resets, bouncing lightly on her feet.

“again?”

hoseok smirks. “again.”

their sparring picks up, shifting from careful, measured movements to something more instinctive. jiah adjusts quickly, adapting to hoseok’s rhythm, dodging when he swings, countering when he expects her to retreat. the air between them crackles, filled with the sound of shuffling feet, sharp exhales, and the occasional smack of skin against skin when a block lands just right.

she’s fast. faster than he expected. and she’s determined. every time he knocks her off balance, she finds her footing again, lips pressed into a stubborn line.

hoseok, for his part, is grinning.

“didn’t know you had this in you, princess,” he muses, narrowly avoiding a strike aimed at his ribs.

jiah scoffs, shaking out her wrist. i didn’t know either. but she doesn’t say that. instead, she resets, circling him.

then, without warning, she moves.

it’s a feint at first, but hoseok catches onto it a second too late. she ducks low, sweeping a leg out to knock him off balance. it almost works. almost.

hoseok stumbles back a step but catches himself at the last second, twisting just enough to grab her wrist and yank her forward.

jiah gasps.

before she knows it, she’s tumbling, except hoseok moves with her, and suddenly, she’s the one being pinned.

her back hits the wooden deck with a soft thud, her breath knocked from her lungs. hoseok is hovering over her, one knee pressing against her thigh to keep her in place, his grip tight around her wrist.

for a moment, neither of them move.

jiah stares up at him, wide eyed, chest rising and falling rapidly. hoseok is close, too close, his face only inches from hers, breath warm against her skin. his dark eyes flicker over her expression, lingering just a little too long.

his grip on her wrist loosens slightly, his thumb brushing absently against the inside of her palm.

oh.

something shifts in the air between them, thickens, turning into something heavier. something charged. jiah knows better. knows who this man is, what he’s done, what he’s capable of. she’s read whispers of the sea too many times, her subconscious is screaming at her to push him off of her,

yet, something inside od jiah doesn’t want him to move away.

hoseok’s smirk fades, his lips parting slightly as though he's about to speak, but no words come. his gaze drops to her mouth, then back up to her eyes, and jiah’s breath catches in her throat.

“sir!” a voice calls out, rough and interrupting. it’s a younger pirate from the crew, no more than fifteen, his tone not quite apologetic enough.

hoseok's shoulders stiffen. the magic of the moment breaks, leaving jiah feeling strangely exposed. she quickly pulls her hand back, shifting away, though her heart still beats too fast, too erratic.

“what is it jun?” hoseok snaps, his voice cool but sharp, annoyed at the intrusion.

the pirate doesn’t seem to notice the tension that hangs heavy in the air. “the kitchen’s looking for her, says they need her for prep work,” he reports, clearly not picking up on the unease surrounding them.

hoseok exhales through his nose, clearly frustrated. he glances back at jiah, the tension still palpable between them, his eyes still dark, still lingering. “well, looks like your shift’s come early,” he mutters, his voice low, too quiet to fully hide the edge.

jiah blinks, thrown off balance by the sudden change in atmosphere. “i thought i was supposed to clean the deck,”

hoseok meets her gaze, his smile slow but faint, the humor in his eyes gone. “you’ll survive,” he says softly, voice nearly a growl now. “just follow me. don’t make me repeat myself, princess.”

the word “princess” comes out almost too smoothly, too easily, like he’s already gotten too used to calling her that. and for the first time since being here, it makes her stomach flutter in a way she doesn't understand.

he turns toward the ship’s corridor, walking briskly. jiah, still flustered, follows behind him, the echo of her footsteps the only sound in the heavy silence between them.

as they make their way toward the kitchen, she can’t help but glance up at him, wondering if that intensity in his eyes had been real or just some trick of the light. but hoseok doesn’t look back at her, his pace steady, his expression unreadable.

being in the kitchen wasn’t part of the plan.

but then again, nothing had gone according to plan.

taehyung kept his head down, fingers working over the half-rotten potato in his hands, peeling away its rough skin with slow, deliberate movements. the galley was the safest place for him, tucked away beneath the deck, away from prying eyes, away from hoseok.

and survival meant keeping out of sight.

the galley was cramped, thick with the scent of salt, old bread, and burning oil. the other kitchen hands barely looked at him. just another body. another set of hands to chop, peel, scrub. they didn’t ask questions, and he didn’t offer answers.

his grip tightened around the knife. jungkook had noticed something was off with him.

he wasn’t a fool. the moment hoseok caught wind of his presence, things would get ugly fast.

he rolled his shoulders, forcing himself to relax. the last thing he needed was to look suspicious. the head cook barely paid him any mind, and the other kitchen hands were too busy grumbling about supplies to question why he was here. it was easy enough to blend in, to keep his head low, to stay clear of trouble.

until trouble walked right in.

the door creaked open, and taehyung didn’t have to look up to know who it was. his grip on the knife tightened instinctively.

“i’ll finish showing you how to do this in a moment, dear,” the head cook’s voice rang out, warm and absentminded.

taehyung’s stomach twisted. against his better judgment, he lifted his gaze just enough to see.

jiah.

she stood next to hoseok, her frame swallowed in clothes too big for her, sleeves rolled up messily, the hem of her shirt brushing mid-thigh. she looked out of place here, lips pressed into a thin line, her expression carefully guarded.

hoseok said something to the head cook, too low for taehyung to hear, and the older man nodded, stepping away to talk to him in hushed tones.

taehyung stiffened.

jiah was alone.

for the first time since boarding this ship, she was standing right there, close enough that if he reached out, his fingers might just graze hers.

but he didn’t move.

he just watched, pulse hammering in his ears, as she glanced around, her hands twitching at her sides like she wasn’t sure what to do with them.

this wasn’t the moment to act. it wasn’t the moment to speak.

but soon.

soon, he’d get her out of here.

jiah hesitated for only a second before making her way to the long wooden table where a pirate sat peeling potatoes. she still felt out of place, but standing idly wasn’t an option. not when she was supposed to be learning how to work in the kitchen, not when hoseok was just a few feet away.

besides, there was something about the boy hunched over the table that felt… familiar.

she slid onto the bench beside him, resting her hands on the edge of the table. “not exactly what you imagined when you signed up to be a pirate, huh?”

the mans hand stilled.

for a second, he didn’t look at her, didn’t react at all. but then, slowly, his fingers tightened around the knife, and he turned his head.

his eyes met hers.

jiah inhaled sharply.

even with the dim lantern light casting flickering shadows across his face, he was just as breathtaking as she remembered.

no. more.

the glow accentuated the sharp angles of his jaw, the elegant slope of his cheekbones, the soft curve of his lips. his hair, lighter now, fell messily over his forehead, strands catching the light like threads of gold. there was something almost unreal about him, like he had stepped out of a dream and into the dim warmth of the kitchen.

it hadn’t even been three days, but after everything, being kidnapped, thrown onto a pirate ship, forced into a life that wasn’t hers, he was the only thing that felt remotely familiar. the only person she knew wouldn’t hurt her.

he was the only character she had met who had played a major role in her story, well jiah’s story, in this world. yet he had never been mentioned in the book.

that should have terrified her.

and yet,

and yet, it only made her more curious.

her lips parted, her heart climbing into her throat. “taehy—”

before she could finish, his hand shot out, gripping her wrist under the table.

her breath caught.

“don’t,” he murmured, voice low but firm.

his fingers were warm against her skin, his grip not tight enough to hurt but enough to send a clear message.

jiah swallowed, her pulse thudding in her throat. her first instinct was to pull away, but she didn’t. something in his expression made her stay.

so she lowered her voice, her words barely above a whisper. “it is you.”

taehyung’s jaw ticked. his grip loosened slightly, but he didn’t let go.

“you shouldn’t talk to me,” he muttered.

jiah’s brows furrowed. “that’s going to be difficult considering we’re working in the same kitchen.”

his lips pressed into a thin line, but he didn’t argue.

she tilted her head, studying him. “how did you get here?”

taehyung hesitated. his grip on her wrist twitched, like he was debating letting go, but he didn’t. instead, his gaze flickered away, as if he was scanning the room, making sure no one was listening.

then he exhaled, voice quieter this time. “i was trying to find you. before they took you.”

jiah’s breath hitched.

the words sent a sharp pang through her chest.

he hadn’t just been looking for her on this ship.

before the pirates, before any of this, he had been trying to find her that night.

her mind flickered back to the conversation that led to her being on that balcony.

“…the proposal? the only reason the royal family would ever let you two attend an event like this…”

taehyung was going to propose.

her fingers curled against the table.

he had been looking for her to propose.

something thickened in the air between them, charged and unspoken.

jiah opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, a voice cut through the tension.

“jiah.”

she startled, her head snapping up just as hoseok strode toward them, his usual smirk playing at his lips.

taehyung didn’t move.

but when she glanced at him again, she realized something had shifted.

his posture had gone rigid.

his expression was carefully blank.

he wasn’t looking at her anymore.

he was watching hoseok.

his eyes stayed fixed on hoseok, and for a brief moment, the room seemed to hold its breath. the air around them was taut, charged, like a bowstring drawn too tight.

jiah could almost feel the heat of his stare on the back of her neck, the tension in the space between them growing thicker by the second.

something in taehyung snapped. his grip on her wrist loosened, and he jerked his gaze away from hoseok, as if breaking some invisible thread between them. he exhaled, a sharp, controlled breath, his jaw tight.

"i have to go," hoseok said, his tone clipped but not unkind. he stood, looking down at jiah for a moment, his expression unreadable. “there’s something i need to take care of.”

his gaze lingered for a second too long on jiah or more importantly her proximity to taehyung, his smirk turning to something darker.

"don’t get too comfortable."

“of course,” jiah managed, trying to keep her voice steady despite the pounding of her heart.

hoseok paused at the doorway, glancing back at taehyung, who was still seated at the table. he studied him with a flicker of suspicion in his eyes. there was a quiet, dangerous amusement in the way his lips curled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

hoseok finally spoke, his voice low but unmistakably commanding. “what was your name again?”

jiah stiffened. beside her, she felt taehyung do the same, though his face remained impassive.

“tan, sir,” he answered, his voice even, controlled.

hoseok’s gaze sharpened for just a second. quick, fleeting, but enough to make the air in the room feel razor thin. finally, with a slow nod, he dismissed him, like a noble might wave off a servant.

“tan,” hoseok murmured, rolling the name over his tongue as though testing its weight. there was something behind his voice, a mix of curiosity and something far more dangerous. “you’ll do.”

without another word he turned on his heel and made his way to the door, his boots striking heavy against the wooden floorboards.

jiah hadn’t even realized taehyung was still holding onto her until his fingers suddenly loosened, retracting as if scalded. he exhaled sharply, his breath unsteady, and for the first time since their conversation started, she could see it, the adrenaline still coursing through him, the tension coiled tight beneath his skin.

“you’re safe for now,” he muttered, though it sounded more like a reassurance to himself than to her.

but even as the words left his lips, jiah could see it in his eyes, the lingering fear, the weight of something unspoken. hoseok was dangerous. and no matter how much taehyung tried to hide it, she could tell.

he wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep up the act.

wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep both of them safe.

jiah let out a slow breath, trying to shake the tension that lingered in the wake of hoseok’s departure. she glanced at taehyung. his posture was stiff, shoulders locked as though bracing for a blow that never came. his jaw was still tight, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

she hated seeing him like this.

so, in an attempt to lighten the mood, she offered, “soo… what are we making?”

taehyung blinked at her, like he hadn’t expected the question. for a moment, his expression remained unreadable, then, finally, some of the tension in his frame eased. he huffed out a breath, the corner of his lips twitching, not quite a smile, but the ghost of one.

“i have no idea,” he admitted. “i got here right before you did. the head chef, mirae, i think, was showing me what to do before he dragged you in.”

jiah nodded, taking in the space around them. the kitchen was warm, filled with the comforting scent of simmering broth and warm bread. despite the circumstances, despite the fear that still gnawed at the edges of her mind, there was something oddly grounding about standing here with taehyung.

he was here. he was real. and for the first time since she’d been thrown into this world, she wasn’t completely alone.

“so,” she said, tapping her fingers against the wooden countertop, “does that mean we’re both completely useless?”

taehyung let out a soft chuckle, rubbing a hand over his face. “probably. though, to be fair, i’m good with a knife.” he glanced at her, amusement flickering in his dark eyes. “not for cooking, though.”

jiah rolled her eyes. “comforting.”

he smirked, a little more like himself now, and leaned against the counter. “don’t worry, i’m sure mirae will make sure we don’t burn the ship down.”

she snorted, but then, quieter, she said, “it’s really you.”

taehyung’s smirk faltered. he looked at her, really looked at her, like he was taking her in for the first time.

“yeah,” he murmured. “it’s me.”

jiah swallowed, something thick settling in her throat. for days now, she had been surrounded by unfamiliar faces, tossed into a world that wasn’t her own, forced to play a role she didn’t understand. nothing had made sense. nothing had felt safe.

but taehyung, he was real. he was something tangible in all of this chaos. even if she had only known him for less than a month, even if they had only shared a handful of moments before everything unraveled, he felt… steady.

maybe it was because, in a strange way, her body knew him even before she did. the memories of the jiah from the novel she was supposed to be lingered somewhere deep inside her, tethering her to him in ways she couldn’t explain. she wasn’t sure if she believed in things like fate, but standing here, in the warm glow of the kitchen, it was the closest she had felt to something familiar since waking up in this world.

she wasn’t alone.

so instead of trying to find the words to explain all of this, words that probably wouldn’t make sense anyway, she simply reached for a nearby loaf of bread and tore off a piece, holding it out to him.

“well,” she said, forcing a small smile. “if we’re going to be terrible at this, we might as well start somewhere.”

taehyung hesitated for only a second before taking the offered piece of bread. his fingers brushed against hers, warm, familiar.

“yeah,” he said, softer this time. “we might as well.”

jungkook is pissed.

him and namjoon never fight. not really. they argue, sure disagreements over strategy, the occasional clash in opinion, but it’s always been light. something that fades as quickly as it flares up.

but this?

this felt heavy.

this wasn’t just a difference in opinion. it wasn’t some fleeting frustration that would disappear with a good night’s sleep. no, this had weight to it, something unspoken pressing down on his chest, tightening like a rope with every breath he took.

jungkook runs a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply through his nose. it’s not just that namjoon dismissed him. he’s used to that, used to the captain making the final call, used to following orders. but this time, it wasn’t about the mission. it wasn’t about strategy or survival.

it was about her.

namjoon’s words still echo in his head, laced with something possessive, something territorial.

his clothes. his cabin. his rules.

jungkook clenches his jaw. why does it bother him so much? it shouldn’t. it shouldn’t. but there’s a heat curling in his gut, something restless and bitter, and he doesn’t know what to do with it.

why does it matter to him that she’s wearing namjoon’s clothes? that she’ll be sleeping in his quarters? that she’s stuck beneath his watch?

why does it feel like namjoon is making a claim, staking something unspoken, and why does that thought make jungkook want to break something?

his fingers twitch at his sides, restless, itching for something to hold, to grip, to hit. his pulse thrums beneath his skin, hot and insistent, like the steady pounding of war drums in his ears.

he doesn’t know why this is getting to him.

but he hates it.

his grip tightens against the railing, wood groaning under his fingers. his teeth grind together, jaw locked so tight it aches.

it doesn’t make sense.

she’s just a girl. a prisoner. a liability they didn’t ask for.

but,

she’s not.

she’s not like the other captives they’ve taken before. she doesn’t cower. she doesn’t break. she stands her ground, looks them all in the eye, holds her chin high like she belongs here. like she’s daring them to prove otherwise.

and maybe that’s why namjoon is keeping her close.

maybe it’s strategy.

maybe he doesn’t actually care.

but jungkook doesn’t believe that.

because he’s seen the way namjoon watches her.

not just like a captain assessing a risk. not just like a man weighing his options.

but like something more.

like he’s waiting for something. like he’s already decided something. like he’s holding on to something he refuses to name.

and that,

that pisses him off.

jungkook exhales sharply through his nose, shaking his head. he’s being stupid. irrational. namjoon can do whatever the hell he wants. it’s none of his business.

and yet, his gaze flickers across the deck, searching.

searching for her.

except she’s not here.

she’s in the galley.

jungkook’s fingers drum against the railing, the rhythm uneven, restless. hoseok still hasn’t returned yet.

that shouldn’t mean anything, but for some reason, it does.

what the hell is he still doing down there?

jungkook scowls, shaking his head. hoseok is probably just getting food, maybe wiping off the sweat from their training session. maybe he lost track of time. maybe he’s already on his way back up.

or maybe he’s still with her.

his stomach twists at the thought.

the sparring match shouldn’t have bothered him. he’s seen hoseok train countless people before. new recruits, prisoners who could be of use, even some of their own crewmates who wanted to sharpen their skills.

but this, this is different.

she is different.

and now half the damn ship probably saw them together, saw the way hoseok taught her, stood close enough to correct her stance, let her land blows against him just to test her strength.

jungkook swallows hard, his grip on the railing tightening.

it should have been him.

hoseok is good, great even, but jungkook is just better.

everyone knows it. hoseok might have been a prince once, might have had the best tutors money could buy, but jungkook had earned his skill with blood and bruises, with battles fought tooth and nail. he’s the best fighter in the eastern sea, and not a single person aboard this ship would dare argue otherwise.

so why wasn’t he the one training her?

why wasn’t he the one fixing her stance, making sure she held her ground, teaching her how to use her body in a fight?

why was it hoseok, with his easy smiles and manicured charm, who got to be the one at her side?

his jaw clenches, irritation curling hot in his chest.

was namjoon keeping him away from her on purpose?

the thought is ridiculous. namjoon has never been one to care about things like that. he’s always been measured, calculating, never acting without reason. but then again, namjoon has also never been this possessive over anyone before.

and maybe it’s not just namjoon.

maybe it’s him.

the realization hits jungkook like a punch to the gut, knocking the air from his lungs.

his fingers flex at his sides, an ache settling in his bones that he doesn’t know how to shake.

he doesn’t want to think about her. doesn’t want to acknowledge the way she’s crawled into his head, the way her voice lingers in the spaces between his thoughts, the way her presence shifts the air around him, tangible in a way that makes his pulse quicken.

but no matter how much he tries to push her from his mind, the image of her standing in the galley, laughing at something hoseok said, hands still wrapped up from their spar, eyes bright with something like excitement,

it makes him want to punch someone.

or maybe it makes him want to grab her wrist, pull her away, and be the one to teach her himself.

his breath comes uneven now, sharp with frustration.

it doesn’t make sense. none of this makes sense.

jungkook exhales, tilting his head back to stare at the sky. the sun hangs high above the mast, the waves below rolling in slow, lazy arcs, but he feels none of the peace the open sea usually offers him.

his thoughts are too tangled, knotted so tight he doesn’t know how to unravel them, and the only person who could ever make sense of the mess in his head is nowhere to be seen.

jimin.

his fingers curl against the railing, the salt-rough wood biting into his palms.

he wishes, fuck, he wishes he could talk to him.

jimin always had a way of cutting through the bullshit, of taking one look at jungkook and knowing. if he were here, he’d take one glance at jungkook’s clenched jaw, the restless set of his shoulders, and drag him away before he could snap at the wrong person.

but he’s not here.

and that’s the problem, isn’t it?

jungkook and jimin have never been apart this long. not since they were kids, not since jimin saved him.

and yet, when jimin finally did return, when he finally emerged from the sea that stole him away,

he didn’t come to jungkook.

not to his brother, not to the boy who would have burned the world down to bring him back.

but to her.

to some girl he’d never met.

to jiah.

jungkook’s jaw clenches, something raw and ugly twisting in his chest.

he should hate her for it.

he should resent her for the way jimin had looked past him, even fought with him, like jungkook wasn’t the one who had spent every day since that night waiting, hoping, searching.

instead, jimin had come back changed, his voice like the tide, his eyes like the storm, and the first thing he did was go to her.

and yet,

jungkook exhales sharply, pressing his palm flat against the railing, feeling the salt in the grooves of the wood, the sting of it against his fingertips.

he still can’t bring himself to hate her.

he wants to. god, he wants to. but he thinks about the way she squared her shoulders at that first night, refusing to back down from namjoon. he thinks about the stubborn set of her jaw, the fire in her eyes, the way she held herself like she had nothing left to lose.

he thinks about the way she stood her ground today, fists clenched, learning to fight with every ounce of determination she had.

and he—

jungkook scowls, shaking his head, cursing himself under his breath.

this is not his problem.

his problem is jimin.

his problem is that jimin should have never left him.

jungkook always knew part of jimin belonged to the sea. it was in a siren’s nature, after all.

but jungkook and jimin’s relationship was special.

he was immune to jimin’s song.

it’s how they first met.

the waves had swallowed his small boat whole.

one moment, the sea had been calm, nothing but the whisper of the tide and the creak of the wood beneath his feet. the next, a storm had raged from nowhere, black clouds churning in the sky, winds howling like a beast awakened from slumber.

jungkook had tried to hold on, tried to fight, but the ocean didn’t care.

it took.

and jungkook sank.

salt filled his lungs, burned his throat, pulled him under. the water was thick, heavy, darkness pressing in from all sides. he kicked, thrashed, but it was useless. the ocean was endless, a great maw yawning open, swallowing him whole. his limbs ached, the fight leaving his body in slow, dragging increments.

this was it, then.

he was going to die here.

but instead all he heard was a melody.

soft, lilting, curling around his ears like a whispered promise. it slithered beneath his skin, tugged at his ribs, coiled tight around his heart. he felt the pull of it, the lure, like invisible strings trying to drag him deeper, down, down, down

but it didn’t work.

his head remained clear. his limbs, heavy but his own.

he blinked through the murky water, disoriented, confused, and then he saw him.

a boy, not much older than him floating just beyond his reach, silver-blue hair shifting like mist, eyes glowing like the deepest part of the ocean floor.

his lips moved, voice spilling into the water, weaving something delicate, something deadly. something meant to take.

but jungkook didn’t move.

he only stared.

watched as the siren’s voice wove through the dark, reaching for him, expecting him to follow, to fall, to belong to the sea.

but jungkook didn’t.

and for the first time in his life, he saw a siren hesitate.

he saw something flicker across the siren’s face. confusion, frustration, and beneath that, the smallest hint of fear.

because the siren’s song had no power over him.

the currents shifted, and for a moment, they simply stared at each other.

Ever so slowly the siren moved.

closer, cautious, as if jungkook were the strange thing here, the impossible thing.

and maybe he was.

the siren reached for him first.

jungkook doesn’t remember much after that, just the feeling of cold hands against his skin, the sensation of being held, the blurry memory of breaking the surface, lungs burning, salt and air mixing in his throat as he choked on his own breath.

but he does remember this.

he remembers waking up, washed up on some nameless shore, the tide lapping at his ankles, sand rough beneath his palms.

he remembers the boy sitting beside him, eyes bright with something unreadable, silver hair still dripping, tail curled beneath him.

he remembers him saying, quietly, like a secret, like something too important to be spoken aloud,

"you weren’t supposed to resist."

and jungkook, young and reckless and so grateful to be alive, had only grinned, voice hoarse and raw.

"guess I’m not like most people, huh?"

the siren had stared at him for a long moment.

then, unexpectedly, he had smiled. “my names jimin.”

and that had been it.

jimin had never left his side after that.

wherever jungkook went, jimin followed, like the tide pulled by the moon. inevitable, inseparable. there was never a question of it, never a need to ask why. it was simply the way things were.

jimin, with his too sharp teeth and ethereal beauty, who did not belong on land, and jungkook, with his reckless heart and salt-stained hands, who had no place beneath the waves.

they weren’t siren and human. they weren’t predator and prey.

they were something else.

a siren’s suiyum.

the one soul that followed them across lifetimes. a thread binding them together, unbroken, unyielding.

sirens were old creatures, older than men, older than the sea itself. they believed in fate. a suiyum. their tether, their anchor across the endless cycle of life and death.

a siren’s song could pull, seduce, command. it could drag ships to ruin, could shatter the wills of even the strongest men. but a suiyum was different. a suiyum was immune. untouchable. their heart beat to a different rhythm, a melody a siren could not sway.

because their bond had already been written in the stars.

if a siren found their suiyum and made them fall in love, their spirit would be freed.

they could be reborn.

human.

in all of his past lives, jimin had failed.

jungkook doesn’t know how, doesn’t know what happened to the version of him from before, the one who came before this jungkook, the one who had looked into jimin’s eyes and not loved him right.

but something had gone wrong.

now, jimin was something unnatural. a half-blooded mistake, too human for the depths, too monstrous for the surface.

jimin had told him once, in the quiet lull of the night, voice soft like the lullaby of the waves, that sirens were not meant to be born wrong.

that he had been a punishment, a reminder from the gods that some souls did not deserve mercy.

jungkook had hated that.

he had hated the way jimin said it like a truth, like something undeniable.

because to jungkook, jimin had never been a mistake.

jimin, who had pulled him from the depths, who had sat beside him on the shore with seafoam clinging to his skin, who had chosen him when he could have let him drown.

jimin, who was all sharp edges and hidden softness, who had never quite fit anywhere, who had always belonged with jungkook.

jungkook had never cared that jimin wasn’t fully human.

he had never cared that sirens were meant to be feared.

he loved jimin.

as a brother. as a friend. as something else, something he never let himself name.

it didn’t matter.

Because now jimin wouldn’t even look at him. his attention was elsewhere.

his soul was reaching out, but not to him.

it was reaching for her.

jiah.

jungkook didn’t understand it, didn’t want to understand it, but he had felt it that night. the first night jiah had been dragged onto this cursed ship, when she had still been shaking from the cold, from fear, from the sheer wrongness of her situation.

when he found jimin in her sorry excuse for a room. the one he had put her in.

it had been like watching something ancient awaken.

jungkook had never feared jimin before.

but in that moment, with silver hair falling into those eerie, glowing eyes, with power thrumming beneath his skin like something barely restrained, he had felt it.

the air had snapped.

one moment, jungkook had been charging forward, fists drawn, heart hammering,

and the next, he had been thrown back like a ragdoll, his body slamming against the wooden walls of the ship with a force that hurt.

he had gasped, stunned, but before he could even move, jimin was already there.

a cold hand pressing against his chest, holding him down with a touch so light, it shouldn’t have been enough to keep him still. and yet jungkook hadn’t been able to move.

"you should be more careful," jimin had murmured, voice silky smooth, empty of the warmth jungkook had once known. "humans are so… breakable."

jungkook had seen that look before.

he had seen it in other sirens, in the creatures who viewed men as nothing more than fleeting entertainment, as playthings, as something to be toyed with and discarded.

but never in jimin.

never in the boy who had once pulled him from the sea, who had chosen him over the call of the depths.

except that night, jimin hadn’t been himself.

he had been something else.

something possessed.

and jungkook didn’t know what scared him more.

the fact that jimin had fought him over her.

or the fact that jiah was not immune to him.

jungkook had spent his entire life knowing he was different. knowing he was the only one who could meet a siren’s gaze and feel nothing.

if jiah esd truly connected to jimin, was his true suiyum and jungkook was just a freak accident, why had she reacted to his call.

why had shivered beneath jimin’s touch. she had drawn in a sharp breath when his voice curled around her ears. her pulse had jumped, her hands had trembled.

she had looked at jimin like something in her recognized him.

but the worst part,

jimin had looked at her the same way.

like a soul calling out across lifetimes.

like a thread snapping taut.

like something ancient, something undeniable, something that had been waiting, waiting, waiting.

until now.

jungkook swallows hard, the phantom ache of that night lingering in his ribs.

the ship rocks beneath him, steady, constant, nothing like the storm brewing in his chest.

jungkook clenches his jaw, forcing down the unease clawing at his throat.

because if jimin’s soul is calling out to hers,

if that thread is pulling tight, dragging them closer,

then where does that leave him?

authors note: hey guys !! im lowkey sorry for how long it too me to put something out, i just had midterms and it was rough. like always i wanted to say thank you guys for reading, it means the world to me !! quick questions i have for you guys

1. do you prefer longer posts (like 10k words) slightly less frequently or shorter posts (like 5-10k words) slightly more frequently. 2. do you like jumping around from member to members pov (its a stylistic choice i personally really enjoy, but am i doing it too much? not enough? is there any member you wish you heard from more?) 3. now for the fun question, besides yoongi im pretty sure every member has had some sort of scene with jiah, which member so far do you enjoy seeing her interact with the most? who do you want her to interact with more?

also i feel like so much happened in this chapter that helps you guys understand whats going on (especially with jimin and jungkook's dynamic, trust in the next chapter we will be seeing jimin again, i was hoping to get him in here but if i did this chapter would have ended up being 10k+ more words). also to all my yoongi people out there ik hes gotten like nothing i have stuff planned for him, its just hard since hes still with seokjin on land.

thank you guys again, i am going to try my absolute best to not have it end up being so long between chapters again, hopefully i can have something out before the end of the month !!

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[1343401]

captive desires - chapter two

pairing: hybrid bts x reader

status: ongoing

word count: 10.1 k

warnings: depictions of violence, death, family trauma, mentions of blood, yandere-ish, hybrids, animal abuse

prev | next | m.list

when myah returned home that night something felt off.

jisun was waiting for her in the living room, curled up on the couch, one leg tucked beneath her, the other bouncing slightly. her rabbit ears twitching the second myah stepped through the door, nose scrunching up as if she caught a scent she doesn’t like. her golden eyes sharpened, flickering over myah from head to toe.

not just looking. assessing.

"where were you?" jisun’s voice is soft, but there’s a tension to it, like a wire stretched too tight.

"the house," myah answers, kicking off her shoes. her limbs feel heavy, weighed down by exhaustion and the thick layer of unease clinging to her skin. she can still feel the press of cold metal beneath her fingertips, the scent of damp stone lingering in her nose.

jisun watches her closely. doesn’t blink. doesn’t look away. myah knows that look.

then, slowly, jisun sits up, stretching her arms overhead, her movements languid, too casual. calculated. her ears flick again.

"and?"

myah hesitates. "and…what?"

jisun tilts her head slightly, eyes never leaving hers. "and why do you smell like that?"

a chill runs down myah’s spine, cold and sharp. her fingers twitch at her sides, but she doesn’t move. doesn’t flinch.

she won’t flinch.

"what are you talking about?" she asks, forcing her voice to stay even, bored, like jisun is just being dramatic again.

jisun doesn’t respond right away. instead, she rises to her feet, slow and deliberate, stepping closer. too close.

myah can see it now, the way her pupils have dilated just slightly, the way her nostrils flare, like she’s inhaling, pulling in something unfamiliar.

"other hybrids," jisun murmurs. "it’s faint, but…it’s there. under all that dust and whatever else is clinging to you."

myah’s mouth goes dry. there’s no way, she thought. 

from the kitchen, chae-eun’s voice drifts in, calm but curious. "should we be concerned?"

jisun doesn’t look away. doesn’t even blink.

myah forces a breath past her lips, tries to shake the tension out of her shoulders. act normal. don’t let them see it.

"i don’t know what you’re talking about," she lies. "it was just me."

another pause. jisun’s eyes narrow, her ears flicking again, sharp and quick.

"okay," she says, but the word is light, dismissive. a trap.

myah can see it in the way she lingers, the way her fingers twitch at her sides, like she wants to reach out, grab her wrist, pull the truth out of her. but she doesn’t push. not yet. instead, she just smiles. too sweet. too knowing.

"you should sleep in my room again tonight," she says, voice smooth. "just in case."

myah exhales slowly. "i’m fine, jisun."

"humor me."

her voice is light, but there’s something unshakable in her tone, something dangerous lurking beneath the concern. something that says i know you’re lying.

she knows.

maybe not everything. maybe not what, exactly, myah had found in that basement, but she knows something happened.

and myah can’t risk pushing her further.

"fine," she murmurs.

jisun hums, pleased, and reaches out, running her fingers through myah’s hair, absently smoothing it down. like she’s claiming her. like she’s reminding her where she belongs.

"good," she whispers. "i’ll take care of you."

as the night drags on, the air is thick and heavy. myah shifts beneath the covers, sleep evading her.

jisun is curled against her side, her breathing slow, steady. but even in sleep, she doesn’t let go. one of her hands rests lightly on myah’s wrist, fingers curled just enough to keep her there.

it’s not just comfort. it’s possession. a quiet warning.

stay where i can see you.

myah stares at the ceiling, trying to steady her breathing. she feels like she’s still in the basement, like the weight of the house is pressing down on her, wrapping around her throat like invisible hands.

the scratching.

the breathing.

it had been on the other side of that door. waiting.

she had run. bolted up the stairs like a coward, slamming the panel shut behind her.

but she hadn’t imagined it.

she knows what she heard.

a shiver runs through her.

the sun hadn’t even risen by the time she finally untangles herself from jisun’s grip. she moves carefully, slowly, prying herself free without waking her.

jisun stirs slightly, fingers twitching against the sheets, but doesn’t wake.

quietly, myah slipped out of the room.

rounding the corner, myah sees chae-eun in the kitchen, stirring a cup of coffee, her expression unreadable. the early morning light filters through the window, casting soft shadows across the counter.

myah freezes for half a second.

then, chae-eun glances up, meeting her gaze.

she doesn’t say anything. doesn’t scold her for being up so early or for looking like she hasn’t slept at all.

instead, she turns, pulls another mug from the cabinet, and fills it.

then she slides it across the counter.

“sit.”

it’s not a request.

myah hesitates, but she’s too exhausted to argue. she pulls out a chair and sinks into it, wrapping her hands around the warm ceramic.

silence settles between them.

chae-eun watches her. patient. waiting.

“what happened?”

myah’s fingers tighten around the mug. “what do you mean?”

chae-eun exhales, tilting her head slightly. “you came back wrong.”

the words shouldn’t make myah’s stomach drop, but they do.

“jisun smelled it,” chae-eun continues, voice even, unreadable. “i saw it. you walked in here like you weren’t sure if you were even supposed to be back.”

myah swallows, forcing herself to meet her gaze.

she isn’t like jisun. she doesn’t sniff people out, doesn’t pin them in place with a knowing look, doesn’t dig her claws into the truth until it spills out, raw and exposed.

but she doesn’t have to.

because chae-eun knows.

she’s already put the pieces together, already seen the way myah walked through the door last night like she was stepping out of a nightmare, the way her hands shook when she thought no one was looking, the way she hesitated when asked what happened.

and she’s waiting for myah to say it.

for some reason, that makes it harder.

her throat feels tight.

her mind flashes back to the house. to the dim light flickering overhead, to the cold air creeping up from beneath the floorboards and the dust thick in the air.

to the door in the basement.

she hadn’t seen anything.

but she had heard it.

the scratching. the breathing. the slow, deliberate drag of nails against metal. like whatever was behind that door wasn’t just waiting.

and then, that moment,

that awful moment,

when the sound had stopped.

when the silence had stretched long and thin, curling around her like a warning.

when the air had felt too still, as if something was pressing against the other side of the door, ear to the metal, mirroring her.

like it was listening back.

myah shudders.

her fingers tighten around her mug, her pulse thudding against her ribs.

chae-eun doesn’t look away. doesn’t blink.

the weight of her gaze makes it impossible to lie.

so myah exhales, steadying herself, and whispers, “there’s something in the basement.”

chae-eun stills.

myah forces herself to keep going. “i don’t know what, but,” she shakes her head. “it’s locked. bolted shut. but there was something on the other side.”

the words feel ridiculous now that they’re out in the open. like she’s a child confessing to a nightmare.

but chae-eun doesn’t laugh.

doesn’t blink.

instead, she sets her mug down carefully, fingers pressing against the counter’s edge.

“what did you hear?”

myah’s stomach twists, nausea curling low in her gut.

the apartment feels too warm all of a sudden, the scent of coffee and chae-un’s floral perfume turning thick and suffocating in the air.

her grip on the mug tightens, the ceramic pressing into her palms, grounding her.

but it doesn’t stop the memory from creeping in.

“scratching,” she says, the word dragging out of her throat like something unwilling.

chae-eun doesn’t move.

doesn’t even blink.

her expression remains eerily neutral, but there’s something simmering beneath it, something watching.calculating.

waiting for myah to keep going.

she swallows, throat dry.

“and breathing.”

the words are barely a whisper, but they feel deafening in the quiet of their kitchen.

chae-eun exhales, slow and measured, before leaning forward, resting her elbows on the counter.

her eyes don’t leavemyah’s face.

and then she asks,

“how did it breathe?”

a chill rips down myah’s spine.

the question shouldn’t make her stomach drop, shouldn’t make her pulse pound against her ribs.

but it does.

because chae-eun isn’t asking to humor her.

she’s asking because she sees her.

and that means this isn’t just paranoia.

this is real.

she blinks, forcing herself to focus. “what?”

chae-eun tilts her head slightly, like she’s studying her.

“was it shallow?” she asks, her voice too calm, too controlled. “uneven?” she pauses. “or was it slow?”

the world tilts for a second.

slow.

the lump in myah’s throat feels impossibly thick.

her mind yanks her back to the basement.

to the thick, suffocating air pressing against her skin.

to the steel door, bolted shut, looming in front of her like something alive.

and to the moment it breathed.

not shallow.

not erratic.

not panicked.

not desperate for escape.

controlled.

deep.

a slow inhale, dragging through the silence, like something was taking its time.

like it was thinking.

like it knew she was there.

like it was waiting for her to lean just a little closer.

her pulse roars in her ears as she forces her hands to stay steady around the mug, forces her voice to stay even.

but when she finally speaks, the words barely scrape past her throat.

“...it was slow.”

chae-eun inhales through her nose, leaning back slightly.

she doesn’t look surprised.

she looks like she just had something confirmed.

and for some reason,

that terrifies myah more than anything.

like whatever was behind that door had been listening to her just as closely as she had been listening to it.

she doesn’t answer.

she doesn’t have to.

chae-eun sits back, exhaling through her nose.

“and?”

myah blinks. “and?”

“what are you going to do about it?”

the question lands like a slap.

she doesn’t have an answer. not one she can put into words, not one that makes sense. her pulse is still erratic, the memory of that deep, measured breathing pressed into the back of her skull like a stain she can’t wash out.

her fingers twitch around her mug.

“i don’t know,” she admits finally. it’s quiet, but it feels deafening in the small space of their kitchen.

chae-eun watches her for a long moment. then, just as calmly, she says, “do you want me to come with you?”

myah’s breath catches.

she blinks, unsure if she heard her right. “what?”

chae-eun shrugs, taking another slow sip of her coffee, as if she’s offering to run an errand with her, not go back to a house with something locked in its basement.

“you’re planning on going back, aren’t you?”

myah doesn’t answer.

she doesn’t need to.

chae-eun hums, setting her cup down again. “you shouldn’t go alone.”

“i—” myah shakes her head, still trying to catch up. “i wasn’t—i mean, i don’t—”

“you are going back,” chae-eun says, cutting through her hesitation with the same sharp, even tone she always uses when she’s already figured something out. “it’s just a matter of when.”

myah exhales through her nose, pressing her palms against the table. she wants to argue. wants to say she’s not planning anything.

but that would be a lie.

because of course she’s going back.

she doesn’t have a choice.

chae-eun tilts her head, considering her. “so?”

myah hesitates.

then, ever so quietly se replies “you don’t have to.”

“i know.” chae-eun leans back, tapping her fingers against her mug. “but i don’t like the idea of you going by yourself.”

she doesn’t say i believe you. she doesn’t say you’re not crazy.

but she also doesn’t say you imagined it. doesn’t tell her to leave it alone.

and somehow, that makes myah’s chest ache.

she swallows. “okay.”

chae-eun nods once, satisfied.

“we’ll go tomorrow,” she says simply. then she stands, stretching, rolling her shoulders back like she’s already moving on to the next thing. “you should try to get some actual sleep.”

myah huffs out something that’s almost a laugh. “doubt that’ll happen.”

“figured.” chae-eun gives her a look. “just don’t let jisun catch on.”

right.

jisun.

myah’s stomach twists.

“i won’t,” she says, but she’s not sure.

because jisun’s already suspicious.

and if she realizes myah’s planning to go back

she won’t let her leave.

not without a fight.

the house is still.

above them, the weight of silence stretches, thick and heavy. but down here, beneath the earth, buried beneath years of rusted metal and stone, none of them are sleeping.

jungkook finally stops pacing, his body taut with frustration, muscles wound too tight. his jaguar tail flicks, a sharp, irritated motion, the faint rosette markings on his arms standing out under the dim light.

“i hate waiting,” he growls, voice low.

yoongi exhales, stretching out against the bars like he has all the time in the world, his panther tail curling lazily around his wrist. “we’ve waited this long. a little longer won’t kill you.”

“speak for yourself,” hoseok mutters, shifting his weight where he sits, his spotted tail tapping impatiently against the cold stone. his golden eyes flick toward the ceiling. “feels different now.”

“it is different,” seokjin murmurs, his silver-white hair catching in the dim light as he leans against the bars, his fluffy tail curling around his leg. his tone is unreadable, but his piercing, icy blue eyes are sharp, focused.

“she was here,” jungkook snaps, tail flicking again, more agitated this time.

“briefly,” namjoon corrects, his golden mane slightly disheveled from where he’s been leaning against the wall. he looks calm, but his amber eyes hold an intensity beneath them, calculating, considering. “and then she ran.”

silence lingers for a moment.

“if she returns,” taehyung says, his deep voice laced with lazy amusement, though his sharp tiger eyes glint with something darker, “we’ll see what kind of person she really is.”

jungkook’s ears twitch back. “she will.”

“will she?” taehyung tilts his head, black curls falling over his eyes. “we both smelled the fear on her.”

his gaze sweeps the room, landing on namjoon. “it’s clear she knows something dangerous is down here.”

“good.” yoongi’s voice is smooth, almost lazy. “means she’s smart.”

jimin, who’s been sitting with his long, clouded leopard tail draped over his lap, finally shifts. his hazel eyes gleam in the dim light, something unreadable in them.

“then we just have to convince her that nothing dangerous is down here.”

jungkook scoffs, rolling his shoulders. “easier said than done.”

“not really.” jimin hums, tracing idle patterns on the stone floor with one fingertip. “fear makes people irrational. she ran before she saw anything, which means she’s only scared of what she thinks is here.”

“so we let her fill in the blanks,” seokjin muses, a slow smirk curling his lips.

hoseok snickers, resting his chin on his palm. “oh, this is going to be fun.”

but namjoon remains quiet, watching, considering.

he knows something the others don’t want to acknowledge.

he finally speaks, his voice steady, measured.

“even if she does come down here,” he murmurs, “even if she opens the door,”

his golden eyes flick to the cages.

“do you really think she’ll open these?”

the room falls silent.

jungkook’s tail flicks once, twice, sharp and agitated.

“so what?” he mutters, crossing his arms. “we just sit here and hope she’s stupid enough to come back?”

seokjin hums, a slow, amused sound. “you sound eager.”

jungkook’s golden eyes snap toward him, sharp and irritated. “we’ve been rotting in here for years. you’re not eager?”

seokjin shrugs, his silvery-white hair shifting as he leans against the bars. “eager? maybe. impatient? never.”

“you should be,” jungkook growls. “because namjoon’s right, she could walk through that door and still leave us locked in these fucking cages.”

his tail flicks again, a sharp, annoyed motion.

“we have no control over what she does.”

“so we make her do what we want,” taehyung murmurs, his deep voice laced with something dark.

jimin tilts his head, his long, spotted tail curling loosely around his fingers. “we can’t exactly hold a knife to her throat, taehyung.”

taehyung exhales through his nose, unimpressed. “who said anything about knives?”

yoongi shifts, rolling his neck, his golden eyes catching the dim light. “you want to scare her into it?”

taehyung shrugs. “if she’s too afraid to open the cages, we make her afraid not to.”

hoseok, who’s been quiet up until now, snorts. “you’re an idiot.”

taehyung’s gaze snaps toward him, but hoseok doesn’t look impressed. his golden, cheetah like eyes are sharp, calculated, but there’s an edge of amusement curling at his lips.

“you think she’ll listen to threats? we just established she ran because she already knows something’s wrong here,” hoseok points out. “if she really thought there were monsters in this basement, do you think she’d willingly let them out?”

taehyung narrows his eyes, but he doesn’t argue.

because hoseok’s right.

seokjin sighs, dragging a hand through his silver-streaked hair. “so, what? we play nice?”

jimin’s lips curl, slow and sweet. “we make her want to help us.”

jungkook scoffs. “we’re a bunch of caged hybrids. what exactly do we have to offer?”

jimin’s hazel eyes gleam, knowing. “you’d be surprised.”

yoongi finally shifts, exhaling like he’s already exhausted. “namjoon?”

the lion hybrid hasn’t spoken for a while, his golden-blond mane slightly tousled as he leans back against the cold bars of his cage, watching them all in silence. his amber eyes are thoughtful, considering.

“we wait,” he says simply.

jungkook makes a frustrated sound. “are you kidding me?”

namjoon doesn’t react. his expression remains steady, unwavering.

“she’ll come back.”

his voice is calm, but there’s something final beneath it. something certain.

his tail flicks once, slow. deliberate.

“and when she does…” his golden eyes glint in the dim light.

“we’ll make sure she doesn’t leave empty-handed.”

the basement is still.

the cold, damp air sits heavy, clinging to their skin like a second layer. in the quiet, only the slow flicking of tails and the steady rise and fall of breath can be heard. but beneath that, something simmers. something restless.

yoongi is the only one who looks at ease, lounging with his back pressed against the metal, long legs stretched out, panther tail draped over his lap.

the air is heavier tonight.

not from tension, at least, not the kind they’re used to.

but something else. something uncertain.

"you’re thinking too loud," yoongi mutters, barely opening his eyes.

namjoon huffs out a quiet breath, shaking his head. "someone has to think."

“that sounds exhausting,” jimin hums, stretching his arms above his head before letting them fall limply back to his sides. “ever considered letting it go? just for one night?”

seokjin smirks, tipping his head back against the bars. “namjoon? relax? you might as well ask the old man to start treating us like his pets.”

silence.

the weight of his absence is still fresh, still strange.

"why do you think they kept us?" taehyung asks suddenly, voice quiet.

it isn’t the first time the question has been asked.

but tonight, it feels different.

yoongi's golden-amber eyes flick open, sharp against the dim light. “who cares?”

"i do," taehyung mutters. “they could’ve killed us. we’ve all seen them do it before. they take hybrids and toss them out, hunt them for sport, treat them worse than animals.”

his tail flicks against the bars, a slow, restless motion. “so why us?”

hoseok exhales, tilting his head back. "maybe we were a game."

jungkook's jaw tightens. "we are a game."

the silence that follows is heavy.

because they all know that’s the truth.

they were hunted, taken, thrown in cages, kept.

but why?

seokjin, who had been quiet up until now, speaks.

“it wasn’t just for sport,” he murmurs, voice smoother than it should be given the weight of the conversation.

they all turn to him.

he runs a hand through his silver hair, blue-gray eyes unreadable. "if it was just for sport, we wouldn’t still be here."

"then why?" jungkook asks, eyes dark, intense.

seokjin sighs. "because they were waiting for something."

the words settle over them.

because it makes sense.

if they had only been prey, they would have been discarded long ago.

but instead, they were kept.

the old man, sir, as they had been forced to call him, had always been different with them. not kind, never kind, but never outright cruel either.

"maybe they liked the idea of us belonging to them," jimin says softly, tracing patterns into the dust.

his tail sways lazily, but his expression is distant, unreadable.

"not them," yoongi corrects. “him.”

they don’t have to say his name.

the old man is gone now.

but his presence still lingers, buried in the walls, in the floor, in the cages that still haven’t been opened.

"if he was waiting for something, it sure as hell wasn’t us," jungkook mutters, stretching out his arms, muscles rippling under golden-toned skin.

“no,” namjoon agrees, voice low. “but maybe it was her.”

silence.

the air shifts.

jimin hums, a slow, thoughtful sound. "if it was, then the real question is what was she supposed to do?"

none of them have an answer.

but the truth is obvious.

she was here once before,

and she’ll come back.

jungkook scoffs, rolling his shoulders. "even if she does, do you really think she’ll open the cages?"

seokjin tilts his head, smirking. "we’ll just have to give her a reason to."

yoongi’s lips curl, slow and sharp. “and if she doesn’t?”

jimin, who has been silent, finally speaks.

"then we make her want to."

his hazel eyes gleam in the dark, something knowing, something dangerous flickering behind them.

they all glance toward the door.

waiting.

listening.

because when she returns,

and she will return,

she won’t be walking away so easily this time.

the next morning, myah wakes up feeling like she never actually slept.

the weight of the night before clings to her skin, thick and suffocating. every time she closes her eyes, she hears the slow, deliberate scratch against metal, the measured breathing on the other side of the door. steady and patient, as if it knew she was there.

as if it had been waiting for her.

she swallows hard, staring up at the ceiling.

the morning light filters weakly through the blinds, casting pale streaks across the walls. jisun is still curled beside her, warm and unmoving except for the occasional twitch of her ears. her breathing is soft, even, but there’s a possessiveness to the way her fingers remain loosely curled around the edge of myah’s sleeve, like even in sleep, she refuses to let go.

and chae-eun—

the memory of her sharp, pointed gaze flashes through myah’s mind, the don’t be stupid written all over her face when she left last night.

she doesn’t need to say it out loud.

myah already knows.

because the basement door still exists.

and that thing behind it still exists.

and she still has no idea what the hell she’s supposed to do about it.

but for now, she has to go to work.

she exhales slowly, forcing herself to move.

carefully, she peels jisun’s fingers from her sleeve, holding her breath as she shifts out of bed. jisun stirs slightly, mumbling something unintelligible, her ears flicking once before she settles again.

myah lingers for half a second, watching her.

she can’t know.

not yet.

not until myah figures out what she’s dealing with.

and right now she’s not even close.

by the time she steps into the café, the scent of coffee and fresh bread is already thick in the air, warm and familiar. the soft hum of conversation blends with the whir of the espresso machine, the clinking of ceramic cups against saucers, the low chatter of customers tucked into booths and perched on stools.

kai is behind the counter, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the muscles in his forearms flexing as he works the espresso machine with practiced ease. his tail flicks once, irritated, as he pulls a shot, eyes narrowed at the portafilter like it personally offended him.

when he sees myah walk in, his sharp gaze flickers over her, quick and assessing.

“you look like shit.”

myah sighs, rubbing a hand over her face as she ties her apron around her waist. “good morning to you too.”

kai doesn’t let it go. “you sleep?”

“enough.”

he raises a brow. clearly, he doesn’t believe her, but for once, he doesn’t press.

“you sure?” yuna’s voice cuts in before myah can brace herself.

she’s leaning over the counter, chin propped up in her palm, eyes glinting with amusement. strands of dyed blonde hair fall loose from her messy ponytail, the ends curling slightly from the humidity in the café. she’s already chewing gum, bright pink, probably sickly sweet, snapping it between her teeth as she watches myah like she’s her morning entertainment.

“’cause you look like you’ve either seen a ghost or committed a murder,” she continues, smirking.

myah exhales. “maybe both.”

kai’s ears twitch slightly, his grip tightening on the tamper for a fraction of a second before he slides a drink across the counter toward her without a word.

she takes it without question, the warmth of the cup grounding her more than she wants to admit.

yuna pops another piece of gum into her mouth, eyes still trained on myah. “big plans after work?”

myah hesitates.

“nah.”

kai snorts. “liar.”

she stiffens, grip tightening around her cup.

“what?”

kai doesn’t even look up from the milk frother. “you just seem off today. you keep touching your pocket like you’ve got something in there, and you keep looking at the door like you’re waiting for someone to walk through it.”

myah stiffens, her hand immediately retreating from where it had been resting against her jacket pocket.

damn.

she hadn’t even realized she was doing that.

she forces herself to stop, shoving both hands into the apron tied around her waist instead. but now that kai has pointed it out, it’s all she can think about. the nervous tick, the way she keeps checking the entrance like something is coming for her.

because, deep down, she feels like it is.

yuna, ever the opportunist when it comes to gossip, perks up from where she’s stacking cups near the espresso machine.

“ooh,” she coos, leaning in with a devilish grin. “is it a boy?”

myah snorts, but it comes out weaker than she intends. “oh, totally. i met a guy in a dark, creepy basement and immediately fell in love.”

yuna gasps dramatically. “no way.”

kai makes a face, ears twitching in mild irritation. “you do realize that’s a concerning sentence, right?”

yuna ignores him, smirking. “was he hot?”

myah groans, rubbing her temples. “yuna, there was no guy.”

yuna clicks her tongue, clearly unbothered by the denial. “tragic. girl, i wish that was the case. at least then you’d be getting some action.”

kai, who had been in the middle of sipping his coffee, promptly chokes.

he sets his cup down hard on the counter, coughing into his fist while shooting yuna a look of pure betrayal.

“what the fuck?” he wheezes.

yuna cackles, patting him on the back way too hard. “relax, fox boy, it’s just an observation.”

kai glares at her between coughs. “keep your observations to yourself.”

myah, tired of all of them, groans louder and throws a towel in yuna’s direction. “can we not?”

yuna just winks and flounces away to help a customer, flipping her hair over her shoulder like she didn’t just set a match to dry kindling and walk away. the slight bounce in her step, the smug tilt of her lips, it’s so yuna. she lives for moments like this, for stirring the pot just enough to make people squirm.

kai mutters something under his breath, tail flicking in irritation as he picks his coffee back up. whatever he says is too quiet for myah to hear, but judging by the way his ears twitch, it’s probably not polite.

myah exhales, dragging a hand through her hair, trying to shake off the conversation. but the words linger, pressing against her ribs like something sticky, something that won’t leave her alone.

she grabs a rag and busies herself wiping down the counter, but her movements are stiff, absentminded. her fingers twitch at her side, itching to reach into her pocket. to check. to make sure the basement key is still there.

but she doesn’t.

instead, she keeps glancing at the door.

and kai notices.

she doesn’t realize he’s watching her until she feels his gaze, sharp and focused, cutting through the space between them.

“what?” she mutters, not looking at him.

he leans in slightly, voice lower, quieter. “if it’s not a guy, then what is it?”

her grip tightens around the rag in her hands.

the weight in her pocket is heavy.

too heavy.

she’s not ready to answer that.

not yet.

so she forces herself to relax, tilts her head just slightly, and gives him a slow, easy smile.

“wouldn’t you like to know?”

kai doesn’t react right away. his ears twitch again, tail flicking once behind him, but his expression doesn’t change.

he just watches her.

assessing.

calculating.

then, finally, he exhales and pulls back, picking up his coffee like he didn’t just pry a little too close to the truth.

“yeah,” he mutters, taking a sip. “i really would.”

and that, that unsettles her more than anything.

myah just takes a slow sip of her coffee and stares him down, letting the silence stretch between them. she knows kai. knows that he’s waiting, expecting her to crack, to give him something real.

but she won’t.

not yet.

instead, she swallows, and shrugs. “well, that’s too bad.”

kai exhales through his nose, his ears flicking back slightly. a subtle, irritated movement. his tail gives a single, slow flick before going still again.

but he doesn’t push.

not yet.

instead, he grabs a rag, swiping at an already clean spot on the counter, his voice low.

“just don’t do anything stupid.”

too late for that.

but myah doesn’t say it. doesn’t acknowledge the way her pulse stutters at the thought of the key still sitting in her pocket, burning against her skin like a loaded gun she hasn’t decided to fire yet.

she just hums, noncommittal, and turns away, forcing herself to focus on something, anything, else.

but it’s hard.

her mind keeps slipping, caught between the steady noise of the café and the silence of last night.

the silence before the scratch.

the silence before the breath.

she busies herself wiping down tables, clearing empty cups, resetting napkin dispensers, but it does nothing to ground her. her fingers twitch against the rag in her hands, her movements too stiff, too precise.

every time the café door swings open, she stiffens.

her body braces like she’s expecting something.

someone.

it’s ridiculous.

no one is coming for her.

and yet,

the feeling doesn’t fade.

it settles into her bones, curling against her spine, a whisper of unease that refuses to leave.

she feels watched.

even long after the morning rush dies down, even when the café is half-empty, even when the only people left are the usual customers who have never spared her a second glance.

the sensation lingers.

slipping into the cracks of her thoughts, pressing against the edges of her ribs.

a quiet, unshakable feeling.

like something unseen is waiting.

like something knows.

the thought sits heavy in her chest, crawling up her throat like a warning she can’t quite decipher. the café hums around her, warm and full of life, but she feels outside of it, like she’s not really here, like part of her is still trapped somewhere else.

somewhere below.

the scratching, the slow measured breathing, it all plays in the back of her mind, looping like a song she can’t shake.

it knew she was there.

it was waiting.

her fingers twitch against the rag in her hand, and for a second, she swears the air shifts around her. like something is standing just behind her shoulder, just out of reach, watching.

she nearly jumps when yuna slaps a hand onto her shoulder.

“earth to myah,” she drawls, chewing loudly on her gum. “you gonna take that table, or are you just gonna stand there looking like you’ve been possessed?”

myah blinks, her body snapping back into the present like a rubber band pulled too tight.

a couple sits by the window, waiting for her, eyes flicking between their menus and her blank stare.

right.

her chest feels tight as she forces herself to move, shaking off the lingering unease. she grabs her notepad and crosses the room, past the soft hum of customers, past the steady clinking of cups and plates.

the café is normal.

safe.

but her thoughts are elsewhere.

namely,

the house.

the basement.

the locked door.

she takes the order on autopilot, her voice steady, her hands moving without thinking. she writes down words she doesn’t fully process, nods in response to things she doesn’t fully hear.

because in her mind, she’s still standing at the top of the basement stairs.

she had promised chae-eun they would go back tonight.

but now, in the light of day, with the warmth of the café wrapping around her like a blanket, the weight of that decision presses down on her harder than before.

what the hell am i doing?

she shouldn’t be doing this.

she should leave it alone.

she should take the money from her grandparents’ will, sell the damn house, and forget any of this ever happened.

but she can’t.

because something inside her is screaming.

this isn’t just a locked door.

this isn’t just a family secret.

this is bigger.

this is wrong.

and she needs to know why.

she grips her pen a little too tight.

tonight.

she’s going back tonight.

the café slows down after the morning rush, the lull settling in like a warm haze. myah leans against the counter, staring blankly at the espresso machine, her thoughts far from where they should be.

kai, ever observant, picks up on it instantly.

“so,” he starts, wiping down the counter with slow, deliberate movements. “are you gonna tell me what’s going on, or do i have to beat it out of you?”

myah snorts, finally dragging her gaze to him. “you? beat me up? i’d like to see you try.”

kai raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “don’t test me. you may be scrappy, but i have claws.”

“oh, terrifying.”

kai just flicks his tail, watching her carefully. “seriously, though. you’ve been weird all day. and before you say it, no, it’s not just the whole ‘dead grandparents’ thing.”

myah rolls her eyes. “wow. so sensitive.”

he shrugs. “i’m just saying. grief doesn’t make you jump every time the door opens.”

she stills for a fraction of a second. too quick for most people to catch.

but kai isn’t most people.

his ears twitch, golden eyes narrowing. “yeah. that’s what i thought.”

she exhales through her nose, turning to grab a rag just to have something to do with her hands. “it’s nothing.”

“bullshit.”

“just drop it, kai.”

he leans forward, voice dropping just slightly. “nah, see, here’s the thing, i would drop it, if i thought it was actually nothing. but it’s not.”

she clenches her jaw, scrubbing harder at an already-clean spot on the counter.

kai watches her, unimpressed.

“you don’t get like this, myah.” his voice is softer now, but still firm. “you don’t get jumpy. and you sure as hell don’t lie this badly unless something is really wrong.”

she doesn’t respond.

kai sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “look, i get it. i don’t know exactly what’s going on, but i know you. and i know that whatever this is? you’re not handling it well.”

myah exhales, gripping the rag tightly. “thanks for the vote of confidence.”

kai huffs a quiet laugh. “it’s a compliment, dumbass. you usually handle shit way better than this. but right now?” he tilts his head. “you look like you’re being hunted.”

her breath catches.

kai notices.

his eyes darken, ears pressing back slightly.

kai watches her carefully, his gaze sharp, assessing, as if he’s peeling her apart piece by piece, searching for the cracks.

“myah,” he says carefully, voice steady but edged with something hard. “is someone messing with you?”

“no,” she says immediately.

too immediately.

kai’s ears twitch, his tail flicking once behind him. He leans in just a fraction, voice dropping lower.

“is it… them?”

her breath hitches.

her fingers tighten around the rag in her hands, gripping the fabric like it can ground her.

she forces her face into something blank. neutral. “who’s them?”

kai’s jaw ticks, his expression darkening.

“you know who.”

her stomach drops.

because she does know.

hybrids.

but not just any hybrids, the wrong kind.

the ones who don’t care about peace, who don’t care about living alongside humans. the ones who see people like her as nothing more than prey, as something weaker.

and before she can stop it the memory floods back.

the alley behind the café.

cold air.

damp pavement.

 the dull hum of streetlights buzzing above.a shadow moving too fast, cutting her off before she could react.

the scent of cigarette smoke and something wilder, thicker, muskier, something animal.

a hand, claws just barely extended, catching her wrist with an almost lazy grip.

“you should be careful walking alone, sweetheart,” the hybrid had murmured, voice deep and edged with amusement. “someone might take advantage of that.”

her stomach had twisted. she’d tried to pull back, but his grip tightened, claws pressing just enough to threaten.

there had been more of them.

leaning against the alley walls, watching. waiting.

she had felt their eyes rake over her, assessing.

like they were bored, like they were waiting to see what she’d do, how much fight she had in her before they decided whether she was worth the effort.

she remembers her pulse roaring in her ears.

remembers the way she opened her mouth, about to say something, anything, but she hadn’t needed to.

“let her go.”

kai’s voice.

low. steady. deadly.

she remembers the shift in the air.

remembers the way the hybrid’s fingers twitched against her skin before his lips curled, like he’d just been handed something fun.

“what’s it to you, fox?”

kai had taken a single step forward.

not fast. not aggressive.

just final.

“i won’t ask again.”

his ears had been pinned back, tail low, muscles tight beneath his work uniform. but his eyes,

his eyes had burned.

the hybrid holding her had exhaled through his nose, amusement curling at the edge of his mouth, but something else had flickered in his expression.

something wary.

something that said he knew better.

“tch,” he had muttered, clicking his tongue as he let her go. “no fun.”

the others had pushed off the walls, hands in their pockets, expressions unreadable as they walked away.

as if it had all been a game.

as if it hadn’t meant anything to them.

but myah, myah had felt sick.

her hands had shaken.

kai hadn’t said anything at first. just stood there, watching the end of the alley until the hybrids were completely gone.

“you good?”

and she’d hated that her voice had cracked when she answered.

“yeah.”

he hadn’t believed her.

but he hadn’t called her out on it, either.

he had just stepped forward, slipping his hoodie off and draping it over her shoulders before nodding toward the café’s back door.

“come inside.”

not go home.

not be more careful.

just come inside.

like he knew she wouldn’t be okay alone.

she had followed him without a word.

for weeks, kai followed her home after every shift. he never said anything about it, never made a big deal out of it, just walked a few steps behind her, hands stuffed in his pockets, tail flicking lazily like it was all coincidence.

he only stopped after myah, and an annoyed jisun who had wrinkled her nose and muttered something about “smelling too much fox” for her liking, finally forced him to.

but even then, he never really stopped.

he still called or texted her the moment she should’ve been home, a simple “you in?” or “alive?” showing up on her phone like clockwork.

and if she didn’t answer fast enough?

he was already dialing.

she forces the memory down, locking it back in the place she keeps all the things she doesn’t want to think about.

kai is still staring at her, his golden eyes dark and unreadable.

he thinks someone hurt her.

and if she lets him believe that, there’s no telling what he’ll do.

kai doesn’t talk about it often, but she knows he’s been in situations before.

situations where humans decided what his worth was before he could prove otherwise.

situations where he had to fight just to exist.

he’s never said it outright, but myah knows he fough to be here.

and now, with the tension laced through his body, the sharp edge to his voice,

he’s ready to fight again.

but he won’t be fighting them.

he’ll be fighting something else.

something she doesn’t even understand yet.

so she forces a breath, shaking her head. “no, kai. no one’s messing with me.”

his eyes search her face.

for a second, she thinks he’s going to call her out.

but then, finally, he exhales, leaning back slightly.

“fine.”

relief washes over her.

“but only for now.”

her stomach twists.

kai levels her with a look, his voice calm but unshakable.

“if something is going on, you tell me. got it?”

his tone leaves no room for argument.

myah hesitates before nodding.

“good,” he mutters, grabbing his cup and taking a long sip. “because if i find out you’re keeping something from me, i will find out on my own. and you won’t like how i do it.”

she snorts. “oh, please. what are you gonna do? sniff me out like a bloodhound?”

kai just grins, slow and sharp.

“don’t tempt me.”

the rest of the shift drags.

myah keeps herself busy, refilling coffee cups, wiping down tables, pretending she doesn’t feel kai’s gaze flicking toward her every few minutes. he doesn’t push her again, but she can tell he wants to.

yuna eventually ropes him into an argument about proper latte art technique, giving myah just enough breathing room to keep her thoughts from spiraling. but no matter how many drinks she makes or how many orders she takes, the weight in her chest doesn’t ease.

because she knows what’s coming.

what she’s choosing to do.

by the time her shift ends, the sky is dark, streetlights buzzing to life as she steps outside. the air is cold, crisp, carrying the scent of autumn and distant rain.

she exhales slowly, watching her breath curl in the night air.

chae-eun is waiting for her when she gets home, sitting cross-legged on the couch with her arms folded. she doesn’t ask if myah is ready. doesn’t ask if she’s changed her mind.

she just stands. grabs her jacket.

“let’s go.”

myah swallows hard.

and together, they walk out into the night.

back to the house.

back to whatever’s waiting in the basement.

the air feels different the second they step onto the property.

it’s subtle at first, nothing more than a feeling. an unnatural stillness pressing against their skin, crawling up myah’s spine like unseen fingers tracing along her back.

the house looms before them, massive and unwelcoming, its dark silhouette standing against the night sky like a sleeping beast. the windows are empty, blacked out, void of warmth. the porch, once a place of childhood memories, now feels hollow, stripped of anything that once made it home.

the only light comes from the dim glow of a lone streetlamp at the end of the driveway, its flickering bulb casting elongated shadows across the uneven path leading to the front door.

the trees sway with the wind, their skeletal branches reaching toward the house, stretching over the cracked stone walkway like grasping hands. the overgrown grass shifts in the breeze, but there is no sound. no rustling. no chirping of crickets.

just silence.

thick. suffocating. unnatural.

no cars pass in the distance. no hum of life exists beyond the front gate.

just the steady pounding of myah’s heart, the quiet press of chae-eun’s presence beside her.

neither of them speak.

there’s nothing to say.

they both know why they’re here.

myah’s fingers tighten around the key in her hand, the cool metal biting into her skin. her knuckles turn white, but she doesn’t loosen her grip.

she slides the key into the lock.

click.

the sound echoes too loudly in the quiet.

the door swings open with a low, aching creak, the kind that scrapes through her bones and sends a shudder crawling down her spine.

the air inside is thick, heavier than it should be.

dust lingers in the air, untouched, swirling lazily in the dim glow of the porch light spilling in from behind them. but beneath it, something else clings to the space. something old, something watching.

the scent of aged wood, forgotten memories, and the faintest trace of something metallic lingers at the edges of her senses, tugging at something deep, something unfamiliar.

she steps inside first.

the wooden floorboards groan beneath her weight, as if protesting her presence.

she flicks the light switch and the dim overhead bulb stutters to life, flickering weakly before settling into a dull, yellow glow, causing long shadows to stretch along the walls, warping the edges of the furniture, turning familiar shapes into twisted, unrecognizable figures.

chae-eun exhales, glancing around with sharp, calculating eyes. her nose wrinkles slightly. “it smells old.”

myah huffs out a quiet, humorless laugh. “it is old.”

chae-eun shoots her a look, unimpressed, but doesn’t argue. instead, she takes a few careful steps deeper into the house, scanning the dimly lit space with the kind of awareness that comes from knowing when something isn’t right.

her fingers trail lightly over the edge of a dusty side table, her movements slow, deliberate.

“nothing feels off yet,” she mutters.

but myah knows better.

the whole house feels off.

it always has.

even as a child, when she’d spent years running up and down these halls, curling up on the worn out couch, peeking into rooms she was never supposed to enter, there had always been something off, something there, lurking beneath the surface, something she could never quite name.

and now, standing here as an adult, the weight of it is even heavier.

she doesn’t realize she’s gripping the fabric of her jacket until chae-eun’s voice pulls her back.

“where’s the basement?”

the question slides down her spine like ice.

myah swallows.

her body moves before her mind catches up, turning toward the back of the house.

the hallway stretches before her, long and narrow, the floorboards creaking under her steps as she moves.

she doesn’t want to say it.

the words come anyway, low and quiet.

“this way.”

they move through the house, past the parts of the house that had once been familiar, towards the kitchen. a place myah had never questioned growing up.

but she questions it now.

the air is heavier, thicker, settling into the walls, into the floorboards, into the bones of the house itself.

every step she takes feels wrong.

as if she’s moving toward something that doesn’t want to, no shouldn’t, be found.

she stops in front of the hidden panel.

it looks like nothing. the wood is slightly discolored, barely noticeable unless you were looking for it.

her fingers twitch.

she crouches down, pressing her fingertips against the edges, feeling the grooves worn into the wood.

the panel gives under her touch, lifting with barely any effort.

the moment it opens cold air rushes up from the dark.

it hits her skin like something alive, crawling up her spine, sinking into her clothes, wrapping around her throat like a second pair of hands.

chae-eun inhales sharply, stepping back just slightly.

“well,” she mutters, staring down at the darkened stairwell. “that’s not ominous at all.”

myah forces a breath past her lips, but it doesn’t steady her.

she flicks on the flashlight on her phone and aims it downward.

the beam of light barely cuts through the blackness.

the stairs stretch below them, old and uneven, leading into narrow stone walls that seem to tighten the deeper they go.

she doesn’t want to do this.

her entire body is screaming at her not to do this.

but she has to.

so she swallows, forcing herself to glance at chae-eun.

“ready?”

chae-eun gives her a dry look, arms crossed, brow raised.

“not even remotely.”

but she steps forward anyway.

because they both know,

it doesn’t matter if they’re ready.

they’re going down there regardless.

a sharp noise, something between a tap and a thump, drags jimin from the edges of sleep.

he groans, shifting onto his side, his tail curling lazily around his waist. "why," he mutters, voice thick with drowsiness. "let me die in peace."

from the next cage over, hoseok clicks his tongue, the sound carrying through the quiet. "because she’s back."

jimin doesn’t move at first, letting the words settle in the air between them, the weight of them pressing against his skin like a slow-building heat.

then, finally, he inhales.

his pupils dilate, nose twitching as he catches it,

her.

it’s faint but unmistakable, threading through the damp, rusted scent of their prison.

his lips curl, slow and knowing.

"well," he sighs, stretching his arms above his head before settling back against the cold bars. "that is interesting."

the others are already awake.

jungkook, closest to the door, is sitting up, muscles tense, tail flicking in short, sharp motions.

taehyung’s golden eyes gleam in the dark, fingers curled loosely around the bars of his cage.

yoongi doesn’t speak, but his attention is fixed on the door, focusing on the noise coming from the stairwell above them, his stillness more dangerous than any movement.

namjoon is the first to break the silence.

“she’s come back.”

the words settle over them, quiet but heavy.

jimin hums, stretching his arms over his head, slow and deliberate.

“i told you she would.”

seokjin’s tail flicks in mild amusement. “for once, you were right.”

jungkook exhales sharply, but there’s something unreadable in his expression.

“what do we do?” hoseok asks, tilting his head toward namjoon.

the lion hybrid doesn’t answer right away.

instead, he leans back against the bars, eyes still locked on the unseen presence above them, the scent of her curling through the air like a silent invitation.

“we wait,” he finally says.

jungkook’s jaw tightens.

“for what?”

namjoon’s golden eyes gleam.

“for her to come to us.”

jungkook scoffs, shifting where he sits, his golden eyes flickering toward the ceiling. "and if she doesn't?"

"she will," yoongi murmurs, voice smooth, confident. he’s still lounging against the bars, but his gaze is sharp, locked on the stairwell.

"you sound sure." hoseok tilts his head, watching him carefully.

yoongi's lips curl, slow and knowing. "because she hesitated last time."

silence.

jungkook's tail flicks in irritation, but he doesn’t argue.

because yoongi is right.

she had come close enough to hear them. close enough to feel them.

but she hadn’t run. not completely.

and now, she was back.

"so, what?" taehyung drawls, dragging his fingers along the rusted bars of his cage. "we sit here like obedient little pets and wait for her to decide what to do with us?"

"we make it easy for her," seokjin corrects, adjusting his position, his silver hair catching the dim light. "she’s already curious. we just have to nudge her in the right direction."

jimin hums in agreement, stretching his arms above his head before settling back against the bars. "if she’s come back, that means she wants answers."

"then we give them to her," namjoon says simply.

jungkook scoffs. "we lie to her, you mean."

namjoon shrugs, expression unreadable. "we tell her what she needs to hear."

hoseok exhales, running a hand through his golden-brown hair. “and if she panics?”

"then we convince her that panicking is the wrong choice," jimin murmurs, a small smile playing at his lips.

jungkook's tail flicks again, restless. "and if she never opens the damn cages?"

silence.

no one moves.

no one speaks.

because that,

that is the real question.

"then we wait," namjoon finally says.

yoongi smirks, tilting his head. “and if waiting isn’t enough?”

namjoon’s golden eyes glint in the dark.

"then we make her open them."

chae-eun doesn’t hesitate. she follows myah down without a word.

the wood panel creaks shut behind them, causing the air to shift.

it feels colder.

heavier.

the stairwell is narrow, the old wooden steps groaning beneath their weight as they descend. dust clings to the air, swirling lazily in the beam of myah’s phone flashlight, but beneath it,

something else.

something damp. metallic.

it sits thick in her throat, sharp and coppery, like blood left too long in the air.

she swallows against it, tightening her grip on her phone.

behind her, chae-eun moves carefully, her footsteps steady, but myah can hear the slight hitch in her breath.

she feels it too.

the wrongness.

the weight pressing in on them the deeper they go, wrapping around their limbs like unseen hands.

the walls seem closer than they should be, the stone damp with time, with something else.

the further down they go, the worse it gets.

when they finally reach the bottom, myah hesitates.

the light from her phone flickers over the basement,

old shelves, their contents buried beneath years of dust. stacks of papers, curled at the edges, ink faded. rusted tools, their original purpose lost to time, but sharp in all the wrong places.

her stomach twists.

but it’s not the table in the center of the room, scarred with deep scratches, its surface warped with age, that makes her breath catch,

it’s the door.

thick metal, bolted shut.

waiting.

watching.

the second she lays eyes on it, her pulse roars in her ears.

her grip tightens around her phone.

her breath feels too loud in the silence.

chae-eun exhales sharply, her breath cutting through the thick silence. she takes a step closer, eyes sweeping over the room, over the dust-covered shelves, the rusted tools, the scattered papers that look like they haven’t been touched in years.

then, finally, her gaze lands on the door.

her brows pull together. “what is this place?”

myah forces herself to swallow, her throat dry. she doesn’t take her eyes off the heavy metal slab in front of them.

"that’s the door," she says quietly.

chae-eun’s lips press into a thin line. "yeah, i see that, but what the hell is it doing down here?"

myah exhales, forcing herself to look away. her heart is still hammering against her ribs, but the door remains silent.

no scraping.

no breathing.

just stillness.

like it’s waiting.

for what, she doesn’t know.

"i don’t know," myah admits, turning toward one of the shelves, running a hand over the thick layer of dust. "but whatever this place was, my grandparents didn’t want anyone finding it."

chae-eun moves toward the wooden table in the center of the room, dragging her fingers along the deep grooves scratched into the surface.

"these marks…" she trails off, inspecting them closer. "they’re everywhere."

myah forces herself to step closer. she hadn’t wanted to look too hard before—hadn’t wanted to think about what could have made them.

but now, standing over the table, she can see it clearly.

deep, uneven claw marks, carving into the wood like someone, something, had been desperate.

the same kind of scratches she had seen on the door upstairs.

a chill runs down her spine.

"you think they kept animals down here?" chae-eun asks, voice quieter now, more careful.

myah doesn’t answer right away.

because no.

no, she doesn’t think this was for animals.

not normal ones, anyway.

"i don’t know," she says again, shaking her head.

chae-eun exhales, stepping away from the table. she moves toward the far side of the room, where a rusted filing cabinet stands against the wall, barely holding itself together.

"there has to be something down here," she mutters, pulling one of the drawers open. "some kind of record, something that explains what this place is."

the drawer groans as it slides out, and a few old folders slump to the side, their papers yellowed with age.

myah watches as chae-eun carefully picks one up, flipping it open.

silence hangs between them as she scans the page.

then, slowly, she frowns.

"what?" myah asks.

chae-eun’s fingers tighten around the folder. "these aren’t just random records." she turns the page, eyes narrowing. "they're logs. someone was keeping track of something."

myah steps closer, peering over her shoulder.

the handwriting was neat and structured, every entry dated.

but the details,

the details are what make her stomach churn.

"‘specimen five: increased aggression. requires further restraint.’" chae-eun reads aloud, her voice flat. she flips another page. "‘specimen two: attempts at communication remain unsuccessful.’"

myah feels cold.

she swallows.

"they weren’t keeping animals down here," she murmurs.

chae-eun looks up at her.

her grip on the folder tightens.

"no," she says, voice barely above a whisper.

"they weren’t."

chae-eun flips through more of the pages, her fingers moving quickly, her breathing steady but sharp-edged. myah watches the flicker of her eyes as she scans line after line, absorbing information, but her face gives nothing away.

instead, it’s the way her jaw tightens, the way her fingers press just a little too hard into the paper, like she doesn’t want to believe what she’s reading, but she can’t ignore it.

myah swallows. her own hands feel clammy.

"what else does it say?" her voice is quiet, but the words feel too loud in the thick silence of the basement.

chae-eun flips another page. her lips part slightly as her eyes dart over the text, scanning, searching, then she freezes.

her breath hitches.

myah’s stomach drops.

"what?" she demands. "what is it?"

chae-eun says nothing.

she just turns the folder so myah can see.

myah’s eyes skim the page, past the dated entry, past the detailed notes, until she lands on a single line, a name she never expected to see here.

takahashi.

her entire body goes cold.

"no," she whispers.

but it’s there.

clear. undeniable.

a log. a record.

underneath the name, written in precise, clinical handwriting,

status: containment successful.

myah's pulse pounds in her ears.

"they—" she chokes on the word. her thoughts are racing, crashing into each other, a tangled mess of confusion and something worse.

her grandparents, her family, had kept records like this?

"myah," chae-eun's voice is firm, grounding. "you need to breathe."

but she can’t.

because this changes everything.

she thought this was just a locked door.

just another secret buried in the foundation of the house.

but this?

this is proof.

proof that her grandparents weren’t just hiding something.

they were documenting it.

tracking it.

and whatever was behind that door,

it had a status update.

which means,

it’s still here.

the realization slams into her like a punch to the gut.

she stumbles back, her shoulder hitting the edge of the wooden table, her fingers gripping the surface as she tries to steady herself.

chae-eun closes the folder with a snap.

"we need to leave," she says, her voice sharp, urgent. "now."

but before myah can respond,

click.

a sound, low and metallic.

the unmistakable noise of a lock shifting.

something behind the door, the heavy metal one sealed shut,

just moved.

the air thickens.

neither of them breathe.

a long, stretching silence,

then, scratch.

slow. deliberate.

something dragging across the metal.

myah’s blood turns to ice.

"we’re leaving," chae-eun says again, grabbing myah’s wrist this time, pulling her toward the stairs.

but myah can’t move.

because this time,

this time, it isn’t just the scratching.

this time there’s a voice.

low. smooth. barely a whisper, but unmistakably human.

"is someone there?"

authors note: i apologize for how long this took for me to get out, i rewrote this part like seven different times and nothing really felt right until this version. im already working on the next chapter and let me just say its about to be really interesting 🫣 anyways who do you guys think was the voice on the other side of the door???

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[1343401]

echos of the sea - chapter seven

pairing: bts x reader

status: ongoing

word count: 11.2 k

warnings: depictions of violence, kidnapping, death, family trauma, insecurities, mentions of blood

prev | next | m.list

the lantern flickers, casting long, uneven shadows across the captain’s quarters. the sharp tang salt and stale rum is thick in the air, coating everything it touches. no one speaks. tension settles like a storm waiting to break.

namjoon leans against the heavy oak table, arms crossed over his chest, expression unreadable. hoseok sits on a crate, one leg bouncing, fingers absently toying with the dagger in his hands. jungkook stands by the door, stiff and bristling, fists clenched tight at his sides.

the weight of the silence is suffocating.

finally, namjoon exhales, slow and measured. “so. she’s not the princess.”

jungkook’s jaw tightens. “she’s still useful.”

namjoon doesn’t react right away, just watches him, calculating. “how?”

jungkook straightens slightly, the tension in his shoulders coiling even tighter. “they were close. at the ball, on the balcony.” his voice is controlled, but there’s something sharp beneath it, something he’s barely holding back. “it wasn’t just for show. he sought her out.”

hoseok lets out a quiet scoff, the sound barely audible over the creaking of the ship. “you sure about that?”

jungkook’s eyes snap to him. “i know what i saw.”

hoseok twirls the dagger between his fingers, the blade catching the light. “and what exactly did you see?”

jungkook steps forward, jaw clenched. “the prince didn’t just look at her, he held her like she was his.” his voice is sharp, edged with something unreadable. “and when we took her? he fought for her.”

hoseok tilts his head, unimpressed. “and?”

jungkook’s fingers twitch at his sides. “it means she’s not just some maid. she’s important to him.”

hoseok raises a brow, smirking slightly. “important how? you think she’s his secret lover?”

jungkook’s glare sharpens. “i think he’ll come for her.”

namjoon finally moves, reaching for the bottle of rum on the table. he doesn’t pour himself a drink, just turns it slowly in his hands, deep in thought. “that’s a bold assumption.”

jungkook doesn’t flinch. “it’s a calculated one.”

namjoon glances at him. “you don’t even know if he’s realized she’s missing yet.”

jungkook’s throat works as he swallows, but his expression doesn’t waver. “the screams from the balcony say otherwise.” his voice is edged, tight with something unspoken. “he sent men to chase us to the docks to retrieve her.”

namjoon’s grip on the bottle tightens slightly, but he says nothing. hoseok lets out a low whistle, leaning back against the crate. “so the prince does care, after all.”

jungkook exhales sharply, shaking his head. “i don’t know if he cares about her. but he definitely cares that we took her.”

down with a dull thud, the sound swallowed by the steady rocking of the ship. “so what you’re saying,” he starts, voice slow, measured, “is that we still have leverage.”

jungkook nods once. “stronger than we thought.”

hoseok hums, stretching his arms behind his head. “but that only matters if the prince actually comes after her.” he glances between them, a lazy smirk curling at his lips. “and if we don’t throw her overboard before then.”

jungkook’s jaw tightens. “she’s worth more alive.”

namjoon studies him for a moment, sharp eyes flickering with something unreadable. “you’re awfully defensive of her.”

jungkook doesn’t blink. “i’m being practical.”

hoseok snorts. “sure.”

namjoon leans forward, elbows on his knees. “you were the one who said she was close to the prince at the ball.”

“she was,” jungkook says, voice clipped. “courtgoers were talking about it. the prince barely even spared a glance at the princess, but her?” he shakes his head. “he was looking at her.”

namjoon taps his fingers against the table, deep in thought. “so if we let her go, and the prince finds out she was with us…”

“it’s a waste.” jungkook crosses his arms. “if we keep her, it gives us time to figure out what she’s worth.”

namjoon exhales slowly, rubbing his temple. then, after a long pause,

“fine.”

hoseok raises a brow. “that’s it?”

namjoon’s lips curl into something almost amused. “for now.” his gaze flickers back to jungkook. “but if she causes trouble, she’s your responsibility.”

jungkook doesn’t hesitate. “fine.”

namjoon pushes himself to his feet. “good. now get some rest. things will be clearer in the morning.”

hoseok watches as namjoon strides off, then shakes his head with a chuckle. “you really think she’s worth all this trouble?”

jungkook doesn’t answer right away. his fingers drum against the table, his gaze lingering on the door to her quarters.

“we’ll find out.”

hoseok watches jungkook for a beat, eyes sharp with something unreadable. then, with a scoff, he leans back in his chair, twirling the dagger once more before slamming the tip into the wood. “just don’t get too attached.”

jungkook’s jaw tightens. “i’m not.”

hoseok hums, unconvinced. “sure.” he tilts his head toward the door. “but you’ve got that look in your eyes.”

jungkook’s fingers still against the table. “what look?”

“the same one you had when namjoon first brought you in,” hoseok muses, tapping his fingers against the hilt of his blade. “that same stubborn, reckless loyalty.”

jungkook exhales sharply, pushing off the table. “it’s not like that.”

hoseok’s lips twitch. “if you say so.”

jungkook ignores him, turning on his heel and heading for the door. but as his hand hovers over the handle, he hesitates just for a second.

hoseok catches it. “careful, jungkook,” he calls lazily. “people like us don’t get to keep things.”

jungkook doesn’t respond. instead, he shoves the door open and disappears into the dark.

the rocking of the ship wakes jiah up, heart pounding. the scent of salt and damp wood fills her lungs, the gentle sway making her stomach twist. not from seasickness, but from the crushing weight of realization.

this isn’t how it’s supposed to go.

her fingers clutch the thin blanket draped over her, her breath uneven. she knows this story. she knows every twist, every carefully crafted arc, every choice that leads to yiseo’s grand romance.

but yiseo isn’t here. i am.

her stomach tightens.

yiseo is the one who’s supposed to be taken. she’s supposed to have the enemies to lovers arc with namjoon. she’s supposed to hate him, fight him, and then, much to jiah’s dismay, slowly fall for him. there are moments written into the story, perfectly timed shifts in their relationship.

but now…

jiah swallows hard. does that even happen anymore?

if she’s here, does that mean she’s taken yiseo’s place. does that mean namjoon’s story has changed? does that mean yiseo’s love story is gone?

her chest feels tight, her mind racing through the plot. she tries to piece it together, tries to predict where this divergence leads.

in the book, after yiseo gets taken, the prince is determined to get her back. him and his general set off after the pirates. they try tracking down the pirates relentlessly, but as days turn into weeks the search seems to be in vain. the oceans, vast and unrelenting, stretch before them like an endless dream, yet their resolve does not waver. they chase shadows, whispers of the pirates’ whereabouts, until the sea becomes their only world.

now seokjin isn’t chasing after yiseo.

he’s chasing after me.

except he’s not.

jiah clenches her fists, nails pressing into her palms. she knows better than to believe that. this is different than the one she’s spent countless nights reading about. this seokjin doesn’t chase people. he doesn’t throw himself into the fire for anyone, not even the woman he’s supposed to marry.

so why would he come for her?

a stolen moment in the market. a fleeting conversation at the ball. that’s all they had. she was never meant to be anything more than a passing face in his perfectly structured world.

he isn’t coming after her.

he probably hasn’t even spared her a second thought.

and namjoon? jiah doesn’t even know if he cares that she’s here.

and that pisses her off.

because she knows him. not personally, not like the pirates do, but she knows him. she read his story, followed every page, every word, every carefully crafted arc that made him the perfect enemies to lovers lead. he was supposed to be sharp tongued and insufferable, infuriating in a way that made her heart race.

but this?

this wasn’t the namjoon she expected. this namjoon barely acknowledges her existence. no snide remarks, no heated stares, no tension crackling between them like an unspoken challenge. just cold, detached indifference, like she’s not even worth the effort.

and maybe that should be a relief. maybe she should be grateful that she doesn’t have to deal with his impossible attitude, his arrogance, his infuriating way of always having the last word.

but she’s not.

she’s angry.

because in the book, namjoon fought with yiseo. challenged her. drove her insane until she was forced to meet him at his level, until their hatred twisted into something deeper. something raw and consuming.

but now yiseo isn’t here. she is.

and namjoon doesn’t even look at her.

like she’s nothing. like she doesn’t even exist.

and she hates that it bothers her.

and then there’s the worst part. the part that makes her head spin.

do i even want this storyline?

the thought lingers, heavy and suffocating, curling around her ribs like a vice. this isn’t how it was supposed to go. this isn’t her story. it was never supposed to be her story.

jiah presses her palm to her forehead, forcing herself to take a slow breath. her thoughts are spiraling, crashing into each other like waves against the hull, each one more frantic than the last. if she’s already changed this much, if yiseo isn’t here, if she is the one in her place, then what happens now? does yiseo still get her ending? does she even want this?

or worse, does she even have a choice anymore?

focus.

if she’s really trapped in this story, if she’s replaced yiseo, then she needs to figure out what happens next.

the book had a pattern, a structure. every moment was carefully placed to lead to the next. if she follows it, if she can anticipate what’s coming then maybe, just maybe she can survive this.

so what happens now?

in the original story, yiseo spends days resisting. refusing to eat, refusing to speak. namjoon doesn’t care. he lets her waste away in silence, treating her like an inconvenience rather than a captive. she tries to escape. fails. every time, she’s dragged back, her wrists bruised from struggling, her pride scraped raw. but slowly, in the quiet moments between resistance and failure, she earns the crew’s respect. not through charm, not through kindness, but through sheer defiance. standing her ground. proving her worth in ways that have nothing to do with royalty.

then the storm hits. violent and unrelenting, the kind that swallows ships whole. she nearly drowns, swallowed by the sea’s fury. and namjoon, cold, unyielding Namjoon, is the one who saves her.

after that, something shifts between them.

jiah exhales slowly, gripping the edge of the cot beneath her.

will the same things happen to me?

or has her presence already thrown everything off course?

and then there’s jungkook.

in the book, he’s loyal to his captain first. he doesn’t care about yiseo, doesn’t pay her much attention. but last night—

jiah’s throat tightens.

last night, he looked at her like she belonged to him.

that’s not in the book.

and then there’s jimin.

jimin was supposed to be a threat in this story.

but he wasn’t.

not to her.

she shivers, wrapping her arms around herself.

so many things have already changed.

the door to her small quarters creaks open, a slow, deliberate sound that sends a shiver down her spine. jiah stiffens, fingers curling into the thin blanket beneath her as the dim candlelight flickers against the wooden walls. the salty air is thick, pressing down on her chest, but it’s nothing compared to the weight that settles in her stomach when she hears

"awake already?"

jungkook.

his voice is casual, almost lazy, but there’s something else buried beneath it, something that coils around the words like a tightening noose. dark. possessive. like he’s already decided she belongs here, belongs to him.

he steps forward, slow and unhurried, and the golden light catches the sharp line of his jaw, the glint in his eyes. they’re darker than she remembers, like the depths of the ocean at night. bottomless, unreadable, dangerous.

jiah swallows hard. "what do you want?"

jungkook tilts his head, and for a moment, he just watches her, gaze dragging over her like he’s trying to memorize every detail. she shifts uncomfortably beneath it, but she doesn’t look away. she won’t.

his lips curve. not quite a smirk, not quite a smile. something in between. something that sends her pulse skittering in her throat.

"just checking on you."

he says it like it’s nothing, like it’s a courtesy, but the way he lingers in the doorway, the way his fingers flex at his sides, tell her otherwise.

"you were tossing in your sleep."

her breath catches.

was i?

she doesn’t remember dreaming, but her body aches, like she spent the night running, fighting.

"i'm fine," she says quickly.

jungkook steps closer and she stiffens, back pressing harder against the wood but he notices.

a flicker of amusement crosses his face, but it doesn't reach his eyes.

"you keep looking at me like i'm going to hurt you," he murmurs.

her throat is dry.

"aren’t you?"

he lets the question hang between them, his silence more unnerving than an answer.

then, slowly, he raises a hand.

she flinches.

it's barely a movement, just the slightest jerk of her shoulders, a hitch in her breath, but he notices.

his fingers graze the wall beside her head, slow and deliberate, his touch featherlight but unmistakable. the wood creaks under the weight of his palm, sealing her in. jiah can feel the heat radiating off of him, the bare inches of space between them thick with something she refuses to name.

his eyes flicker, catching the way her fingers curl into the fabric of her dress, the way her throat bobs as she swallows. the space between them seems to shrink, though neither of them move.

jiah hates that he sees it. hates that he knows.

her pulse thrums against her skin, a frantic rhythm she can't control. she forces herself to stay still, to meet his gaze, but the damage is already done. he saw her flinch.

and judging by the way his lips curve, just barely, he won’t forget it.

"i saved your life," he reminds her, voice quiet but sharp.

she doesn’t hesitate. "i didn’t ask you to."

his jaw tightens. the flickering lantern overhead casts his face in shifting shadows, carving sharp lines into his cheekbones, the tense set of his mouth.

"you should be more careful with your words, princess."

her breath stutters.

his voice is lower now, softer, but no less dangerous. it curls around her like mist, like the hush before a storm.

"this ship is full of men who don’t care whether you asked for anything."

he leans in, his breath a ghost of warmth against her skin, and she swears the whole ship rocks with the movement.

"you’d rather be at their mercy?"

she meets his gaze, unflinching. "i’d rather be free."

a muscle in his jaw jumps. something flashes through his eyes. quick, raw, and unreadable. it makes her stomach twist, but she doesn’t look away.

then, just as quickly, it’s gone.

jungkook exhales sharply through his nose, the air between them shifting. he pushes off the wall, stepping back, his expression unreadable.

"get dressed," he says, voice clipped as he turns for the door.

jiah exhales shakily, willing her heartbeat to slow.

"why?"

he stops, glancing back at her.

"captain wants to see you."

the knot in her chest tightens.

she swallows hard, forcing herself to move. she doesn’t have much to change into—just the same dress she was taken in, now wrinkled and stiff with salt. she smooths it down with shaking hands, her mind racing.

outside, the waves crash against the hull, steady and unrelenting, as if the sea itself is reminding her she’s not supposed to be here.

she swallows hard, forcing herself to move. she doesn’t have much to change into. just the same dress she was taken in, now wrinkled and stiff with salt. she smooths it down with shaking hands, her mind racing.

captain as in namjoon. the namjoon.

the one who was supposed to be yiseo’s enemy-to-lovers counterpart. the one who, by the end of the book, would have melted just enough to fall for the heroine.

but jiah isn’t yiseo.

and she isn’t supposed to be here.

so what does that mean for him?

for the story?

for her?

jungkook doesn’t say anything as he leads her up to the main deck, but she can feel his presence behind her, close enough to remind her that she’s not going anywhere without his say.

the moment they step into the sunlight, she has to squint, the sudden brightness making her vision swim. the salty breeze stings against her skin, sharp and bracing, carrying the scent of brine and aged wood.

the ship is alive with movement.

crew members move with practiced ease, hauling ropes, scrubbing the deck, shouting orders over the crash of waves. the wood beneath her feet groans with every shift of the ship, the towering masts above her swaying ever so slightly. sails snap in the wind, their heavy fabric catching the morning light, casting shifting shadows across the deck.

a man near the stern grips a rope between his teeth as he knots it with one hand, laughing at something another sailor says. barrels are rolled across the planks, the rhythmic thud of boots against wood adding to the ever-present hum of activity.

everything about it feels lived-in, practiced. like a well-oiled machine, each moving part essential.

and she is the only thing out of place.

she grips the railing for balance, the reality of her situation slamming into her all over again.

no land in sight.

no escape.

just the endless stretch of open ocean, the rhythmic creak of the ship, and the salt-stained wind whipping through her hair.

namjoon stands near the helm, arms crossed, his broad frame silhouetted against the dim morning light. even at a distance, he radiates authority, the kind of presence that demands attention without needing to ask for it. his expression is unreadable, sharp eyes fixed on the man beside him, a leaner figure, all coiled tension and restless energy, idly twirling a dagger between his fingers. the blade catches the light as he speaks, something sharp and smug in the way he moves, the way his lips curl.

jiah swallows hard.

she shouldn’t be here. shouldn’t be standing on this deck, trapped in a story that isn’t hers.

but namjoon isn’t looking at her. neither of them are.

not yet.

still, her breath catches, fingers tightening around the railing. because she knows it’s only a matter of time.

before she can dwell on it, namjoon turns.

his eyes land on her immediately.

and he smirks.

"finally awake, your highness?"

jiah stiffens, heat flashing through her chest at the nickname.

he starts toward her, boots heavy against the wood, each step deliberate.

jungkook tenses beside her, but namjoon barely spares him a glance. his focus is entirely on her.

"we didn’t get a proper introduction," he says smoothly. "but then again, i suppose you already know who i am."

jiah forces herself to meet his gaze. "you’re captain namjoon."

his smirk widens, approval glinting in his eyes. "smart girl."

his gaze drags over her, assessing. calculating.

"apparently, you’re not who we planned to take."

jiah doesn’t answer, jaw locking.

"but we’ll just have to adjust," he continues, voice casual, almost amused. "you’ve certainly caused quite a stir."

her fingers tighten on the railing. "let me go."

namjoon laughs.

it’s deep. warm. mocking.

"let you go?" he echoes, as if the very idea is ridiculous.

he steps even closer, towering over her now. she refuses to back away.

"and what exactly would i get in return?"

her heart pounds, but she lifts her chin. "avoiding a war sounds like a decent trade."

his brows lift, and then another smirk. "a war? you think you’re that important?"

"you wouldn’t have taken me if i wasn’t."

his smirk falters for just a second, and she knows she’s struck something.

but then, faster than she can react, he moves, leaning in, so close she can see the sharp glint in his eyes, the amusement, the challenge. his voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down her spine.

"you’re in my world now, princess," he murmurs.

his breath brushes against her skin, warm, steady. calculated.

but she doesn’t shiver. doesn’t flinch. doesn’t give him the reaction he’s waiting for.

his smirk widens, slow and knowing. like he’s already figured her out. "better start acting like it."

princess.

the word drips from his tongue, laced with mockery, deliberate in the way it cuts. like he already knows she doesn’t belong, like he’s testing how far he can push before she cracks.

her fingers curl around the railing, nails pressing into the damp wood.

namjoon doesn’t step back.

he stays there, too close, closer than he needs to be. close enough that she can see the faint scar cutting across his collarbone, the way his shirt hangs open just enough to reveal the curve of muscle beneath golden skin.

close enough that she can smell him, salt and leather, a trace of smoke, something rich and dark beneath it. something that doesn’t belong to the sea, something that lingers, heady and intoxicating.

his presence is suffocating. commanding. overwhelming.

and she hates it.

she hates the way he carries himself, like he’s already won. she hates the way his expression never wavers, how he looks so sure of himself, so untouchable.

but most of all, she hates how much he looks like him. the version of him from the book. the ruthless, cunning captain who was supposed to break yiseo down piece by piece, bending her until she fit into his world.

but yiseo isn’t here.

jiah is.

and namjoon is looking at her like she’s something worth unraveling. like she’s a puzzle he plans to take apart, piece by careful piece.

her stomach twists.

"what do you want from me?" she forces out, her voice steady despite the way her pulse hammers beneath her skin.

namjoon finally steps back, just slightly, but his eyes don’t leave her. dark and unreadable, sharp as the edge of a blade.

"that depends."

he tilts his head, studying her like she’s some rare artifact, something to be appraised. something to be played with.

"what are you willing to give?"

jiah stiffens.

the words are a game, a trap dressed as a question, baiting her into an answer she’ll regret. she knows it. knows the way men like him operate, how they circle their prey, how they press just hard enough to see where the cracks begin.

before she can reply, another voice cuts through the space between them.

"stop toying with her, cap."

the tone is smooth. bored. but there’s something else beneath it, something searching.

jiah turns.

the man who spoke steps forward, eyes sharp despite his disinterest. he looks her over once, quick and assessing, before turning back to namjoon with a sigh.

she swallows hard, throat suddenly dry, but namjoon speaks before she can.

"we’re keeping her."

the words are simple. final.

jungkook, who’s been silent until now, tenses beside her. his fingers twitch at his sides, but he doesn’t speak right away. when he does, his voice is tight.

"for how long?"

namjoon’s smirk doesn’t falter.

"for as long as she’s useful."

jiah’s hands clench into fists.

"and if i’m not?"

namjoon doesn’t hesitate. doesn’t blink.

his smile is razor sharp.

"then i suggest you make yourself useful, princess."

heat flares up her spine, anger curling beneath her ribs.

she wants to hit him. wants to shove him back, wipe that smirk off his face.

wants to scream “take me back, let me go. you took the wrong person.”

but none of that will work.

because she knows namjoon.

knows how he thinks, how he operates.

knows that men like him don’t give in to pleas or demands. they only respect power.

so she does the only thing she can.

she lifts her chin, steadying her breath, forcing her expression into something unreadable. something cold.

"fine," she says smoothly, as if she isn’t rattled. as if she isn’t one wrong move away from breaking.

"what do you need?"

namjoon’s smile flickers.

just slightly.

like he wasn’t expecting that.

like he’s intrigued.

his gaze flickers to the man beside him.

"find something for her to do."

his crewmate sighs, running a hand through his hair. "you’re making me deal with her?"

namjoon shrugs. "you’re good at breaking in new recruits."

the man mutters something under his breath before jerking his chin toward her.

"come on, princess. let’s see if you can actually be useful."

jiah doesn’t move right away.

because she can feel it.

namjoon’s gaze, still heavy on her, still assessing.

calculating.

dangerous.

her pulse stutters.

but she doesn’t let it show.

instead, she turns without another word.

forces herself to follow the other man across the deck.

but even as she moves, even as she puts distance between them, she feels it.

the weight of namjoon’s stare, lingering, burning into her back.

and she knows.

this, whatever this is

is far from over.

the pirate leads her below deck, his grip on her wrist firm but not bruising. the wooden steps creak beneath their weight, the dim lanterns casting flickering shadows along the walls. the scent of damp wood and salt thickens the air, mingling with the faintest trace of something metallic. blood, maybe, or rust.

jiah swallows hard, forcing herself to stand tall despite the fatigue weighing on her limbs.

he doesn’t say a word until they’re deep in the underbelly of the ship, where the sounds of the waves are muffled, where the rocking is softer but the air feels heavier.

he finally stops in front of a small, dimly lit space cluttered with crates and barrels. the air is thick with the scent of damp wood and aged spice, the faint creak of the ship settling around them. he leans against a stack of cargo, arms crossing over his chest as he turns to face her.

"so?" his voice is light, almost teasing, but there’s an edge beneath it. "what can you do, princess?"

jiah flinches at the word, irritation flaring in her chest.

"stop calling me that," she snaps.

he raises a brow, unimpressed. "why? it suits you."

she glares at him. "i am not a princess."

he tilts his head, considering her. "maybe not by title," he muses. "but you act like one. you’re delicate, soft. unfit for a place like this."

she grits her teeth. he doesn’t know anything about her. doesn’t know that she’s worked twelve-hour shifts in shitty diners, burned herself on stovetops, scrubbed grease from the floor until her nails cracked just to afford rent. he doesn’t know that she’s spent her life dragging herself forward, scraping by on nothing, that softness was never an option.

"i can clean," she mutters, voice clipped. "cook. sew."

hoseok’s expression doesn’t change. "so, a maid, then?"

her stomach twists.

because that’s what she is in this world. or at least was. because here,

here she’s not even that.

"i can work," she insists, lifting her chin. "just tell me what you need."

hoseok watches her for a long moment, the lantern light flickering in his dark eyes. then, with a quiet scoff, he pushes off the wall.

"fine," he says, gesturing vaguely to the space around them. "prove it."

"prove what?"

"that you can work." his lips curl into something that almost resembles a smirk. "let’s see how long you last."

he doesn’t say it with malice.

but there’s something in his tone, something knowing, that makes her stomach churn.

because it sounds like a challenge.

and she knows he doesn’t expect her to last at all.

“fine,” she says cooly. “then stop talking and let me work.”

his brows lift slightly, like he wasn’t expecting that. but then the smirk returns, a flicker of amusement in his dark eyes.

"if you say so, princess."

before she can snap at him again, he moves. swift and effortless, like he belongs to the sway of the ship in a way she never could. he grabs a bucket, fills it with seawater, shoves it into her hands. a brush is pressed into her grip a second later, rough bristles scraping against her palm.

"deck needs scrubbing," he says, already turning away. "don’t stop until the wood shines."

jiah scowls, “seriously?”

he barely glances over his shoulder “and don’t even think about slacking off.”

then he’s gone, disappearing up the steps, leaving her standing there with a heavy bucket and the weight of his expectations pressing down on her.

her fingers tighten around the handle.

asshole.

the ship rocks beneath her feet, the scent of salt thick in the air, the murmur of voices and crash of waves a constant backdrop. around her, the crew moves like a well-oiled machine. climbing rigging, coiling ropes, shouting orders.

fine.

she drops to her knees, dipping the brush into the water before dragging it across the wood. it’s rough, splintering in places, and the salt stings against the cuts on her hands, but she grits her teeth and keeps going.

the water seeps into her already damp clothes, the salt stinging her hands where the skin is raw. the bristles of the brush are coarse, scraping against her fingers as she works.

the sun beats down overhead, relentless, turning the deck into a scorching stretch of wood that radiates heat beneath her knees. sweat beads along her hairline, slipping down her spine, soaking into the already-damp fabric of her dress. she swipes at her forehead with the back of her hand, but it does nothing to stop the way her skin sticks uncomfortably to the coarse material.

the waves crash against the side of the ship, a steady, mocking rhythm, their unyielding force a cruel reminder of just how trapped she is. no land, no escape, no one coming to save her. just the endless expanse of ocean stretching in every direction, swallowing any hope she might have left.

no one pays her any mind.

the crew moves around her with practiced ease, stepping over her, around her, barely sparing a glance in her direction. voices rise and fall. commands shouted, laughter exchanged, boots thudding against the planks but she isn’t part of their world. she’s just another set of hands, another body meant to do what she’s told.

except for jungkook.

she feels his eyes on her.

not hovering, not close enough to intervene but watching.

she doesn’t understand why.

is he waiting for her to fail? to crumble under the weight of exhaustion and inexperience? or is it something else? a test, a warning, something she can’t quite name?

she doesn’t have the energy to care.

because her arms ache, the repetitive motion of scrubbing burning through muscles she hasn’t used like this before. her back screams with every shift, her shoulders tense and tight from the awkward angle. the salt stings against the raw patches on her hands, the bristles of the brush digging into her torn skin, but she bites down on the pain, forces herself to keep going.

the alternative isn’t an option.

but she still has no idea how she’s supposed to survive this.

when the sun finally dips below the horizon, the sky bleeds into deep shades of amber and indigo, casting long shadows across the deck. the heat lingers in the wood, in her skin, in the ache of her muscles that protest every slight movement. her arms feel like lead, fingers trembling from exhaustion, the sting of salt and raw skin a constant, throbbing presence.

she hears his footsteps before she sees him.

measured, unhurried.

the pirate crouches beside her, one knee pressing into the deck as he drags his fingertips along the freshly scrubbed wood. she watches, breath caught in her throat, waiting, though for what, she isn’t sure.

he exhales through his nose.

"not bad," he mutters.

the words aren’t kind. they’re not even close to praise. but something in the begrudging approval makes something in her chest tighten, an odd flicker of satisfaction curling low in her stomach.

but then he stands, stretching his arms overhead before tossing the brush back at her without a second glance. she barely catches it, her fingers closing around the worn handle on instinct.

"get some rest," he says. "we start again at dawn."

her grip tightens.

she should just nod. should just take what little relief she’s being given and drag herself to whatever corner of the ship she’s expected to sleep in.

but she doesn’t.

instead, she lifts her chin, ignoring the way her entire body protests the movement, forcing steel into her spine.

"i’ll be ready."

he pauses.

his gaze flickers to her, unreadable in the dim light.

for a moment, he just looks at her.

then, a quiet scoff, barely more than a breath.

he shakes his head, muttering something under his breath as he turns away.

jiah doesn’t hear it.

but she swears,

for just a second,

his lips almost twitch into a smile.

seokjin is furious.

the kind of fury that tightens like a vice around his chest, hot and suffocating, pressing against his ribs with every breath. it coils beneath his skin, sharp and restless, demanding an outlet he refuses to give it.

the room feels smaller with it, thick with the weight of his anger. the flickering candlelight does nothing to soften the hard set of his jaw, the rigid line of his shoulders. he doesn’t sit. doesn’t move from where he stands, fingers splayed against the heavy wooden table as he stares down at the map in front of him.

but there is nothing to see.

because there is nothing there.

no leads. no trail. no answers.

only silence.

only the same useless, tired excuses, “the pirates vanished into the night, no one has seen them since.”

his nails press into the grain of the wood. useless. all of them.

yoongi shifts beside him, arms crossed, watching. his expression is unreadable, but there’s something else there. something pointed, something edged with quiet, simmering frustration.

"we need a plan," he says, voice measured. "charging blindly into this is—"

"you think i don’t know that?" seokjin snaps, lifting his head, his eyes flashing.

yoongi doesn’t flinch. doesn’t look away.

"then act like it," he says, calm and unwavering.

seokjin exhales sharply through his nose, turning away. pacing. his fists clench at his sides, the fabric of his tunic pulling taut across his shoulders. logic means nothing right now. reason means nothing. because reason won’t bring her back.

he should have anticipated this. he should have known better. the princess was always reckless, always too self-assured, too convinced of her own invincibility. but it’s not her he’s thinking about. not her face that lingers in his mind, wide-eyed and terrified, stolen away into the night.

it’s jiah.

yoongi watches him, something unreadable flickering behind his gaze. when he speaks again, his voice is quieter.

"this isn’t like you," he says. "you don’t let emotions cloud your judgment."

seokjin’s jaw tightens.

yoongi tilts his head, slow and deliberate, studying him the way he studies battle formations, searching for a weak point.

"so tell me," he murmurs, voice just shy of mocking. "why are you so angry over a maid?"

the air shifts.

seokjin stills.

his fingers twitch at his sides.

the candle wavers, throwing jagged light across his face, illuminating the sharp set of his cheekbones, the taut line of his mouth.

he doesn’t answer.

because there is no answer.

or maybe, maybe there is.

but he refuses to give it voice.

the silence stretches.

thick. suffocating.

yoongi doesn’t press, but his eyes are steady, waiting.

seokjin exhales sharply, turning away, forcing his hands to unclench. "she was taken from under my watch," he says, voice controlled, clipped. "that alone is reason enough."

yoongi hums, unimpressed. "a single maid? since when do you care about things like that?"

"i don’t," seokjin snaps before he can stop himself.

and yoongi smiles.

not wide, not gloating, just a slight curve of his lips, sharp and knowing.

"i know," he says simply.

seokjin's pulse pounds.

his teeth clench.

he wants to argue. wants to tell yoongi he's wrong, that this is nothing, that she is nothing, just a servant who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

but the words don't come.

because it would be a lie.

and yoongi would see right through it.

the general sighs, pushing off the table, rolling out his shoulders. "you're wasting time," he says, back to business, as if they hadn't just been standing at the edge of something dangerous. "if we're going to find them, we need to move now."

seokjin inhales slowly. forces the tension from his shoulders.

he doesn't have time for this.

he doesn't have time for her.

all that matters is getting her back.

and when he does,

he'll figure out the rest later.

yoongi doesn’t respond right away. he just watches, arms crossed over his chest, expression unreadable. the flickering candlelight throws shadows across his face, sharpening the sharp, assessing glint in his eyes.

seokjin knows that look.

knows that yoongi is weighing his words, measuring his reaction, calculating what this really means.

it grates on him.

"you have a fiancée," yoongi says at last, voice even, controlled.

seokjin’s jaw tightens. "and?"

yoongi tilts his head. "and you should be worried about her."

something inside seokjin snaps.

"the princess isn’t her," he bites out, sharp and cold.

yoongi’s expression doesn’t shift, but seokjin knows him well enough to catch the slight twitch of his fingers, the subtle flex of his jaw.

irritation.

good.

let him be irritated.

because this is different.

seokjin has never cared about princess yiseo. never felt anything beyond obligation, beyond duty. she’s the perfect match, the one meant to stand by his side, and yet,

she has never made his pulse stutter.

never left him raw with frustration and something else he doesn’t want to name.

never haunted him the way jiah does.

yoongi exhales through his nose, slow and measured. "you don’t even know if she’s still alive."

seokjin’s fingers twitch.

yoongi’s gaze sharpens, catching the movement, cataloging it like a hawk.

he steps closer, dropping his voice. "that is what I mean, hyung. you don’t act like this. you don’t lose your temper. you don’t—" he exhales, the irritation curling in his chest breaking through. "—care."

seokjin stiffens.

yoongi holds his gaze, unyielding. "so tell me. why her?"

the words claw at seokjin’s throat, but he shoves them down, buries them under ice.

he turns sharply, pushing past yoongi without another word.

because the truth is—

he doesn’t have an answer.

yoongi doesn’t stop him.

doesn’t call after him, doesn’t demand an explanation.

but seokjin feels his stare, sharp and unrelenting, digging into his back as he strides away.

he pushes past the guards, past the lingering nobles who shrink away at the storm in his expression. his steps echo through the stone corridors, his mind a mess of tangled thoughts he refuses to acknowledge.

but no matter how fast he walks, how hard he tries to bury it, one thing lingers.

yoongi’s question.

why her?

it should be easy to dismiss. she’s a maid, an outsider, a nobody. a person he shouldn’t have even spared a second glance.

but the second she was gone,

his hands clench into fists.

the second she was gone, it felt like something ripped out of him.

he exhales sharply, trying to force the tension from his muscles, trying to think.

the pirates were ghosts. no tracks, no trails, no patterns to follow. namjoon was too smart for that. and if seokjin couldn’t find him…

his teeth grind together.

then he’d have to draw him out.

he stops abruptly, pivoting on his heel. the guards stationed outside his chambers snap to attention, but he waves them off.

"fetch the council," he orders. "wake whoever you have to. i want a meeting now."

they don’t hesitate. they rush off, boots pounding against the stone.

seokjin inhales slowly, steadying himself.

if he can’t find her—

his jaw tightens.

then he’ll make sure she’s returned to him.

whatever it takes.

the ship is never truly silent, even at night. the waves gnaw at the hull, relentless and hungry, their rhythm a constant reminder that they are at the mercy of the sea. ropes creak under the shifting wind, strained and swaying, whispering secrets into the dark. the lanterns flicker with every gust, casting long, wavering shadows across the deck.

somewhere, muffled through the wood, the crew is still awake. rough voices slurred with rum, laughter spilling into the night like the embers of a dying fire. there’s a certain ease to it, the kind that comes after a successful raid, after full bellies and heavy coin purses.

but here, away from the others, away from the warmth of camaraderie,

the air is different. heavier.

the salt tastes sharper. the silence between the sounds stretches thinner.

hoseok stands by the railing, arms crossed, his posture easy, relaxed. but jungkook isn’t fooled. his gaze is locked on the dark horizon, jaw set, expression unreadable.

still. watchful.

jungkook knows that look.

his shoulders tense, fingers flexing against the railing.

he’s being watched.

"you’re acting different," hoseok says, voice low.

jungkook doesn’t react. he doesn’t let himself react.

"don’t know what you mean," he mutters, forcing indifference.

hoseok exhales, a sharp sound. "please." he turns to face jungkook fully now, eyes flickering with something pointed. "don’t insult me. it’s her, isn’t it?"

jungkook’s grip tightens against the railing, fingers curling around the worn wood. the salt-stained surface digs into his palm, grounding him, keeping him still when everything inside him bristles at hoseok’s scrutiny.

he keeps his expression even. steady. unaffected.

"who?"

hoseok doesn’t answer right away. he doesn’t need to. the look he gives him is enough, flat, knowing, unimpressed. like he can see right through him, past the forced indifference, past the carefully measured tone.

jungkook exhales through his nose, slow and controlled, but it does nothing to steady the hammering in his chest. his pulse betrays him, loud and insistent, like it wants to claw its way free.

his eyes flicker toward the lower deck. toward her.

she should be asleep by now, exhaustion weighing her down after hours of scrubbing, after proving, again and again, that she could survive this place.

but he wonders.

wonders if she’s still awake.

if she’s curled up somewhere, arms wrapped around herself against the night’s chill. if her body aches, if her fingers are still raw from the day’s work. if her mind is racing the way his is now, caught in an endless loop, unable to rest.

his jaw tightens.

he shouldn’t care. he knows he shouldn’t.

but knowing doesn’t stop the way his thoughts keep circling back to her. doesn’t stop the pull, slow and steady, like a current dragging him toward something he shouldn’t want.

hoseok doesn’t miss the way jungkook’s gaze lingers.

his eyes narrow, sharp in the moonlight. “you’re too interested,” he says, voice edged with something unreadable.

jungkook finally looks away, jaw tight. “and you’re too suspicious.”

hoseok lets out a quiet scoff, pushing off the railing. he doesn’t drop it. doesn’t look away. “she’s not one of us.”

there’s no malice in his tone. no outright hostility. just a simple fact, laid bare between them.

jungkook grits his teeth. “neither are you.”

it’s a cheap shot. he knows it, and jungkook almost expects him to lash out, to remind him exactly who holds the upper hand.

but hoseok just watches him, unreadable.

because the truth lingers between them like smoke.

hoseok chose this life.

jungkook was saved by it.

and jiah,

jiah was thrown into it.

against her will.

the words land like a blade between them, sharp and deliberate. hoseok stills, but only for a second.

then, he laughs. low and humorless. “careful.” his voice is lighter now, but jungkook doesn’t miss the edge beneath it. “you’re starting to sound like you actually care.”

jungkook doesn’t answer.

because he doesn’t.

he can’t.

but the silence stretches between them, thick with something unspoken.

hoseok tilts his head, studying him, like he’s putting something together.

then he exhales through his nose, shaking his head. “whatever you’re thinking,” he says, voice dropping lower, “stop.”

jungkook tenses.

“she’s not one of us,” hoseok repeats. slower this time. more deliberate. “and we both know she never will be.”

jungkook doesn’t reply.

doesn’t move.

but his grip tightens against the railing again, knuckles white in the dim light.

hoseok lingers a second longer, gaze flickering over him once more before he finally turns, footsteps fading into the quiet hum of the night.

jungkook stays where he is.

still.

silent.

but his pulse is a storm in his veins, and his thoughts, his thoughts,

they refuse to settle.

he stays like that for a long time.

long after hoseok disappears below deck, long after the echoes of laughter from the crew fade into the wind.

the ship sways beneath him, steady and unyielding, but jungkook feels unmoored.

because hoseok is right.

she isn’t one of them.

she wasn’t meant for this life.

but when he closes his eyes, he doesn’t see a girl out of place, fragile and lost.

he sees her shoulders squared in defiance; chin lifted despite the exhaustion weighing her down. he sees her fingers raw from scrubbing the deck, trembling but never stopping. he sees the way she stood in front of namjoon, unflinching, fire in her eyes even when she should have been afraid.

she should be afraid.

and yet,

his grip tightens on the railing, jaw clenching.

he doesn’t care.

he shouldn’t care.

but even now, his thoughts drift toward the lower deck.

toward her.

is she asleep? curled into herself for warmth, aching from a day spent working to prove herself? does she dream of escape, of home wherever that is?

or is she still awake?

thinking. wondering.

just like he is.

jungkook exhales sharply, shoving the thoughts away.

it doesn’t matter.

hoseok’s warning lingers in his mind, heavy and undeniable.

she isn’t one of us.

she never will be.

his fingers drum against the railing, restless.

he stays there, watching the horizon, until the first hints of dawn begin to bleed into the sky.

taehyung moved quickly.

he had no other choice.

the ship was unfamiliar, but darkness cloaked him, and the sounds of the sea masked his footsteps as he slipped below deck. he needed to change, needed to make sure no one would recognize him if they looked too closely.

his fingers skimmed the rough wooden walls as he moved deeper, breath shallow, ears straining for any sign of movement. most of the crew was still above, drinking, gambling, laughing over whatever riches they had taken from their last raid. but that wouldn’t last forever. he had to act now.

a faint glimmer caught his eye. a flickering lantern left near an open crate. taehyung crept forward, kneeling to rummage through its contents. his pulse leapt when his hand closed around the hilt of a dagger.

perfect.

he dragged it out, examining the blade in the dim light. it was sharp enough. without hesitation, he brought it to his hair, sawing through the dark strands. the locks fell to the floor in uneven clumps, but he didn’t care about precision. he just needed to change. to become someone new.

when he was done, his hair was jagged, shorn shorter than it had ever been.

but it wasn’t enough.

taehyung’s mind raced, thinking back to the docks, to the tricks he had picked up from old sailors. how they hid their identities when they needed to disappear. he scanned the room, eyes catching on a barrel in the corner, marked with a sigil he recognized.

oak bark. perfect.

he pried the lid off, wincing as the scent hit him, earthy and bitter. but it would work. quickly, he grabbed a handful, crushed the bark between his palms, and mixed it with the water left in a nearby jug. the liquid darkened to a murky, coppery hue.

taking a steadying breath, he tipped his head forward and poured.

the mixture seeped into his hair, streaking it into uneven shades of golden-brown. it wasn’t perfect, but it would do. in the dim light of the ship, no one would question it.

he straightened, wiping excess dye from his neck. his reflection in the metal of the dagger was unrecognizable. rough, messy, not the stable boy who had once dreamed of something bigger.

good.

he couldn’t be that boy anymore.

not if he wanted to survive. not if he wanted to protect her.

his fingers tightened around the hilt of the dagger.

no matter what it takes.

taehyung took a slow breath, forcing his hands to steady. the weight of the dagger in his grip felt grounding, even as his pulse pounded in his ears.

he didn’t have time to waste.

carefully, he wiped his hands clean against his already-dirty tunic and stepped back into the corridor, slipping into the shadows before anyone could spot him.

the ship groaned with the movement of the waves, the wood beneath his feet shifting slightly. voices rumbled above deck, muted laughter, the occasional shout, but down here, it was quieter.

jiah.

he swallowed hard, gripping the dagger tighter. he hadn’t seen her since she was dragged aboard, and the uncertainty gnawed at him. was she hurt? locked away? had she already been forced into servitude, scrubbing the deck under some bastard’s watchful eye?

his jaw tightened. he had to find her.

but first, he needed to secure his place here.

he couldn’t help her if he was caught. couldn’t protect her if they tossed him overboard the second they realized he didn’t belong.

his best chance was to blend in, to slip into the rhythm of the crew without raising suspicion. he had spent years watching the pirates that drifted through the docks, listening to their stories, studying their movements. now, it was time to put that knowledge to use.

he needed supplies. a proper weapon. a place to sleep.

but most importantly,

he needed to find out who held the power here.

who he had to fool.

his feet carried him further down the corridor, toward the storeroom where he had seen a few pirates disappear earlier. if he was lucky, he could snatch a weapon, maybe some clothes to replace his own. something that made him look less like an outsider.

but as he turned the corner, he barely had time to react before a figure stepped into his path.

taehyung’s breath caught.

the man was taller, lean but strong, his sharp features cast in shadow from the dim lantern light. and his eyes, dark and piercing, immediately locked onto taehyung like a predator sizing up prey.

taehyung forced himself to stand his ground.

the pirate tilted his head, gaze flickering over him.

“you new?”

the question was casual, but the weight behind it was anything but.

taehyung’s fingers twitched around the hilt of his dagger.

this was it.

his first test.

he forced a smirk, shifting his stance to mimic the confidence he had seen in other pirates.

“been here,” he lied smoothly. “just kept my head down.”

the pirate hummed, unconvinced.

taehyung’s pulse roared in his ears.

then, after a long beat, the man shrugged.

“smart.” he moved past him, uninterested.

taehyung let out a slow breath, relief barely taking hold before the man’s voice came again,

“you want to stay on this ship?”

taehyung glanced back.

the pirate’s smirk was sharp.

“you’d better prove you belong.”

and then he was gone, leaving taehyung standing there, the unspoken threat lingering in the air.

he exhaled, fingers still tight around his dagger.

right. blend in first.

jiah second.

his stomach twisted at the thought of her—alone, unaware that he was here.

but he’d get to her.

he had to.

taehyung kept his head down, hands moving with practiced ease as he coiled a length of rope, careful to make himself look useful. invisible.

he had survived the first day. no one had questioned him yet.

but he knew better than to think he was safe.

especially when he felt his eyes on him.

taehyung didn’t have to look to know who it was.

jungkook.

the man he had faced countless times in the dead of night, voices hushed beneath the creak of the docks. the man who had pressed him for information, who had slipped him gold in exchange for whispers of royal movements, of weak spots in the palace’s defenses. the man who had always left before the sun could rise, before the weight of his choices could settle.

jungkook, who now stood just a few feet away, watching him with an intensity that sent ice through his veins.

taehyung’s fingers curled into the rough fabric of his borrowed clothes.

did he know?

had his betrayal only one night ago already been broadcasted to the crew?

taehyung had spent the past day watching the pirate he fought, waiting for the slip, the accusation, the moment someone grabbed him by the collar and dragged him to the captain.

but it never came.

so why was he looking at him like he knew something was off.

taehyung swallowed hard, forcing himself to move, to keep his body loose, unbothered. he reached for a coil of rope, pretending to busy himself with it, pretending not to feel the weight of jungkook’s stare burrowing into his skin.

but his mind was racing.

jungkook shouldn’t recognize him. not like this.

his face was different. his hair was different.

but secrets traded in shadows were a dangerous thing.

and jungkook had always been sharp enough to cut through lies.

the weight of his stare was heavy, pressing against him like a blade at his back.

his pulse kicked up, but he didn’t let it show.

instead, he focused on his work, forcing his muscles to stay loose, his movements unhurried. he couldn’t afford to slip, not now.

but jungkook didn’t look away.

taehyung could feel it. the scrutiny, the slow unraveling of whatever fragile disguise he had managed to weave.

jungkook knows.

or maybe not knows, but suspects.

because there was no reason for his attention to linger like this. no reason for the way his expression had hardened, gaze sharp as he studied taehyung from across the deck.

the realization sent a jolt of cold down his spine.

he needed to get away.

without drawing attention, taehyung adjusted his grip on the rope, shifting as if he were simply repositioning himself, then turned on his heel.

but before he could disappear into the shadows,

“you.”

taehyung froze.

his stomach twisted, breath catching in his throat.

slowly, he turned back around, schooling his expression into something neutral as he met jungkook’s gaze.

up close, the scrutiny was worse.

jungkook wasn’t just looking at him. he was studying him. dark eyes flickering over every detail. his stance, his face, the way his fingers twitched at his sides. searching. picking him apart, piece by piece.

taehyung held his ground, even as the weight of that stare made his skin prickle.

“what?” he said, keeping his tone flat, edged with disinterest.

jungkook’s head tilted, something unreadable flickering in his expression.

“you new?”

the same question as before.

but this time, from someone who wouldn’t be so quick to accept a lie.

taehyung’s pulse pounded in his throat. his fingers twitched at his sides, but he kept his voice steady.

“been here,” he muttered, the same answer he had given before. “just kept my head down.”

jungkook didn’t react right away.

he just stared. unwavering. unreadable.

taehyung could hear the crash of the waves, the distant voices of the crew, the pounding of his own heartbeat. too loud. too fast.

jungkook’s eyes flickered.

for a fraction of a second, something passed through them. something sharp. something knowing. something like recognition.

taehyung felt the blood drain from his face.

jungkook's gaze sharpened, the shift almost imperceptible but taehyung felt it.

his breath turned shallow. his fingers curled at his sides, ready to reach for the dagger tucked into his belt if it came to that.

"where'd you come from?" jungkook asked, voice deceptively casual.

but there was something underneath it. something pointed.

taehyung forced himself to shrug. "around."

jungkook hummed. a low, thoughtful sound.

"around." he repeated, dragging the word out like he was testing it, like he didn’t quite believe it.

the space between them felt smaller. suffocating.

taehyung knew this feeling.

he had faced jungkook before, standing on the docks under the cover of night, slipping coins into his palm in exchange for secrets, whispering names and movements and places to avoid.

but now, there was no gold. no distance. no guarantee of safety.

"what’s your name?"

taehyung's jaw tightened.

he had been careful. he hadn't spoken to anyone unless necessary, hadn't drawn attention to himself. had hoseok told the crew about his betrayal?

his mind raced through possibilities, searching for an escape.

"tan," he said finally. short. clipped. something nondescript enough not to raise more suspicion.

jungkook let the name settle between them. his expression didn’t change, but his fingers tapped once against the hilt of his sword.

"tan, huh?"

the way he said it made taehyung’s stomach drop.

it wasn’t disbelief.

it was interest.

and that was somehow worse.

jungkook's lips curled, just barely, the ghost of something unreadable flickering across his face.

"well then, tan," he murmured, stepping back. "keep your head down, yeah?"

his voice was smooth. too smooth.

like he was giving him a warning.

taehyung swallowed hard, forcing himself to nod.

he turned without another word, walking away with steady steps, willing himself not to look back.

but he could feel it.

jungkook’s eyes, still watching him.

taehyung didn’t let himself breathe until he was out of sight.

he turned a corner, slipping behind a stack of barrels, pressing his back against the wood as he forced the tension out of his shoulders. his hands were steady at his sides, but his pulse was a thunderous drum in his ears.

jungkook knew.

not entirely. not yet.

but he felt something was off. taehyung had seen it in the way his expression tightened, in the way his eyes lingered, in the way he said his name, dragging it out like he was turning it over in his mind, like he was placing it somewhere he had heard before.

he squeezed his eyes shut.

i should’ve been more careful.

but it was too late for that now.

his fingers curled into his palms. if jungkook had recognized him, he hadn’t acted on it. he could’ve pressed harder, could’ve dragged him by the collar to the quartermaster, could’ve ended this before taehyung even had the chance to figure out what to do next.

but he hadn’t.

and taehyung didn’t know if that made things better or worse.

because it meant that jungkook wasn’t certain yet.

but it also meant that he would be watching.

he exhaled sharply, forcing his thoughts to slow. panic wouldn’t help him now. he had made it this far. he had blended in. he had managed to survive another day.

but tomorrow?

his jaw clenched.

tomorrow, he would have to be smarter.

because jungkook was sharp. sharp enough to pick him out of a crowd, sharp enough to pick at the loose threads of his story, sharp enough to unravel him piece by piece until he had nothing left to hide behind.

keep your head down, jungkook had told him.

taehyung swallowed hard.

he didn’t know if he still had the choice.

jiah stumbles into the small, cramped space that serves as her room, barely mustering the strength to shut the door behind her. her body feels like lead, weighed down by exhaustion, by the ache that lingers in every muscle. her hands throb, raw from scrubbing, her back burns from the relentless sun, and her legs threaten to buckle beneath her with every step.

she doesn’t remember the last time she was this tired.

no, that’s not true. she does.

late nights after double shifts at that dingy little café, dragging herself home long after the streets had emptied. the hours she spent on her feet, serving tables, scrubbing counters, smiling through the exhaustion because rent was due, because tuition wasn’t going to pay itself.

but this?

this is worse.

because this isn’t just exhaustion. this is survival.

she exhales shakily, forcing herself to move toward the cot, already anticipating the relief of sinking onto it, of letting her body go limp for just a moment. she doesn’t even care about the stiff mattress, about the way the ship creaks and sways beneath her. sleep, for the first time since she set foot on this cursed vessel, feels within reach.

she barely even notices the stack of clothes in the corner.

at first.

but as she passes by, her fingers brush against the fabric, and she stops.

her brows knit together.

slowly, she reaches down, lifting the garments. they’re soft but well-worn, the material sturdy, practical. she shakes them out, and it doesn’t take long for her to realize they’re massive.

too big for her, clearly meant for a man.

confusion flickers in the haze of her exhaustion. did the crew leave these for her? was this some unspoken gesture, some acknowledgment that she was at least useful enough to be given proper clothes?

the scent of the clothes hits her hard.

her breath catches.

it’s faint but unmistakable, woven into the very fabric. salt and smoke, deep and earthy, laced with something warmer, something rich and familiar.

something that makes her stomach twist, that sends unease curling at the base of her spine.

she knows this scent.

it’s the kind that lingers, clings to skin and clothes, that buries itself into memory until it’s impossible to forget. the kind she’s smelled before—too close, too familiar, a presence she can’t quite place but knows she should.

her fingers tighten around the fabric.

who left these here?

but exhaustion drags at her thoughts, dulls the sharp edge of suspicion. the questions are there, lingering just beneath the surface. who left these? why? but they slip through her grasp like sand through open fingers. she’s too tired to chase them, too drained to follow the twisting paths her mind wants to take.

whoever it was, they were already gone.

and right now, that’s all that matters.

her fingers fumble with the laces of her dress, her movements clumsy, sluggish. the fabric clings to her skin, damp with sweat and stiff with dried seawater. she peels it off, wincing as the rough material scrapes against her sore arms, her aching shoulders. every inch of her feels battered, weighed down by the day’s labor, by the sun, by the unrelenting strain of keeping herself together.

the dress lands in a crumpled heap at her feet, and she doesn’t look at it.

instead, she reaches for the borrowed clothes, slipping the shirt over her head. the fabric is softer than she expected, worn thin in places, but clean, blessedly clean. it falls past her hips, swallowing her frame. the trousers are just as oversized, cinched tightly at the waist, the cuffs pooling around her ankles.

she exhales, pressing her fingers against the loose folds of fabric, letting the warmth settle against her skin.

it’s strange, wearing something that doesn’t belong to her, something so obviously not hers. there’s an unfamiliar weight to it, a foreignness that lingers, but at the same time… it’s almost comforting. the fabric carries traces of heat, of body warmth that isn’t hers, and the scent clings stubbornly, woven into every fiber.

salt and smoke. something faintly metallic, like steel warmed by the sun. something deeper, richer, leather, maybe, or the faintest trace of spice.

she doesn’t know why it feels familiar.

she only knows that it does.

the thought unsettles her.

her hands move absently, adjusting the sleeves that fall far past her wrists, rolling the fabric up so her fingers are free. but as she shifts, as she pulls the trousers higher on her waist, the unease creeps back in, curling at the edges of her awareness.

because these aren’t just any clothes.

they belong to someone.

someone on this ship.

someone close enough to leave them for her, to think to leave them for her.

and yet, she never saw who. never heard them come in, never noticed their presence.

her pulse quickens.

her breath catches.

and for the first time since stepping onto this cursed ship, since realizing she had no way out, she feels something cold slither down her spine.

a reminder.

she is not alone.

but as she shifts, adjusting the sleeves that hang past her wrists, the unease creeps back in.

because someone left these here.

someone, him.

whoever he is.

before she can dwell on it, before she can even begin to untangle the knot forming in her chest,

the footsteps come.

slow. deliberate. each step measured, unhurried, carrying the weight of someone who knows exactly where they’re going. someone who isn’t searching, isn’t wandering.

someone who means to be here.

they stop just outside her door.

jiah goes rigid, breath locking in her throat, blood roaring in her ears. her fingers tighten around the too-long sleeves of the borrowed shirt, her knuckles going white.

the silence that follows is worse.

thick and suffocating, pressing in from all sides. she can’t even hear the usual creak of the ship, the whisper of waves against the hull. it’s as if the world outside this room has disappeared, leaving only this moment, this impossible stretch of time where she can do nothing but wait.

her pulse hammers.

one second.

two.

three.

then—

the door creaks open.

slowly, the wood groaning beneath the weight of movement, the dim light from the hallway spilling into the cramped space. a shadow stretches across the floor, long and uneven, cast by the lantern swinging just beyond the doorway.

her stomach knots.

she can’t move, can’t breathe.

because whoever is standing there, whoever has come for her, is just beyond the threshold.

and they aren’t saying a word.

authors note: hey, i hope everyone is doing amazing !! this part is lowkey also very fillerish, after all of the action of the last chapter i had to take a step back and start setting up the next major events !!

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[1343401]

requiem of the broken - prologue

pairing: bts x reader

status: ongoing

word count: 3.1 k

warnings: depictions of violence, 18+, death, non con, mentions of blood, vampires, selling of people

prev | next | m.list

the world was cloaked in shadow. a fog of rot and decay settled over the land, curling around the crooked spires of stone buildings, their outlines barely visible against the endless gray sky. the air was thick with an unnatural stillness, a silence that lingered like death itself. the sun had long since been swallowed by the dark clouds, casting a pall over the cities that had once thrived with life. now, only whispers of a time forgotten remained, as if the world itself was holding its breath, waiting for the inevitable.

vampires ruled now.

the nobility, their skin pale and ashen, their eyes gleaming with a hunger that could never be satisfied. they had been born of blood, forged in darkness, and their fangs were sharp, always ready to pierce the flesh of the humans who still clung to life. their power was absolute, their reign eternal. the cities were their playgrounds, the people their puppets. humans, once masters of the land, had become mere livestock, herded and caged like animals.

there were few humans left now, scattered across the land like forgotten relics. the race had been bred out, erased from history by the vampires who thrived on their blood. the women, those rare few who had the ability to reproduce, were the most coveted. they were kept in breeding houses, places where they were examined, tested, chosen to bear the offspring of the vampires. their lives, their bodies, no longer belonged to them. they were vessels, nothing more.

the breeding houses were cold, dark places, built deep within the heart of the cities. they stood like dark cathedrals, their spires reaching into the heavens, their doors wide open to the darkness. inside, the women were kept in small, stone-walled rooms, their lives reduced to a series of examinations and tests. at the age of eighteen, they were taken, led through long, empty halls, their hearts heavy with fear. they were brought before the vampires, their fates decided by the cold, calculating eyes of the nobility.

the girls were examined one by one. their bodies stripped bare, their bloodlines inspected with cold precision. the vampires were indifferent to their suffering, their eyes empty of mercy. those who failed the examination were discarded, thrown into the feeding programs, where they were sold to the highest bidder. their bodies were fed to the vampires, drained of all life, their blood fueling the eternal hunger that could never be satisfied.

there were a few, however, who were deemed worthy. these women were taken into the world of the nobility, given a place at the table of the vampires. they were not free, not by any measure, but their lives were less bleak than those who had failed. they wore beautiful gowns, their bodies adorned with jewels and silks, their rooms rich with comfort. but even they were not truly free. they were still tools, their blood and their wombs the only things of value.

the vampires had long since stopped being human. their eyes were empty, their hearts cold. they cared only for power, for the blood that sustained them, for the control they held over the humans. there was no love, no compassion, no mercy. there was only hunger.

the humans lived in fear, their lives reduced to nothing more than a constant struggle for survival. some tried to flee, to escape the clutches of the vampires, but they were always hunted, always brought back. there was no safe place, no sanctuary, no escape. the vampires’ reach was endless, their power all-encompassing.

in the city of seongjin, the heart of the vampire kingdom, the breeding houses were a symbol of power, a reminder of the dominance the vampires held over the humans. the name of the city itself had become a curse, a whisper on the lips of those who still remembered what it had once been. now, it was a place of darkness, a place where the vampires reigned, and the humans suffered.

the city streets were dark, empty, save for the occasional flicker of movement in the shadows. there were whispers, murmurs of rebellion, of hope, but they were nothing more than echoes. the vampires ruled with iron fists, their influence spreading like a disease, suffocating any spark of resistance. the humans had been broken, their spirits crushed beneath the weight of centuries of oppression.

the humans were nothing but tools to be used, their lives measured in blood. but there were those among them who still dreamed of something more, who whispered of a rebellion, of a world where they were no longer slaves. those whispers, though, were always crushed. the vampires listened, always. and they had no mercy.

the world had been broken. the humans had been lost. and the vampires had claimed it all.

the nobles, the high-ranking covens of vampires who lived in their lavish estates, were the true rulers. their names were spoken with reverence, their power unmatched. they controlled the breeding houses, deciding who would live and who would die. they decided who would be given a life of luxury and who would be sold for food. their whims were law, and there was no one to challenge them.

the coven of the damned had risen in silence, their power growing with every passing year. in the past few centuries a new power had taken over. a coven had risen from the ashes of an old world, their power unfurling like the wings of a phoenix. but this was no rebirth. this was a reign. the world trembled beneath their feet, crushed under centuries of bloodlust and greed. the vampires ruled, and with them, they had claimed the humans, those few who were left to be fed upon, and the select few women, their purpose far darker. among them was kim namjoon, their leader. his presence dominated any room he entered, his sharp jawline cutting through the air with an air of regality. namjoon’s gaze could freeze the very blood in your veins, his eyes glowing faintly when hunger took hold. and yet, there was something mesmerizing about him. something that, once captured in his gaze, left you with no escape.

he wasn’t alone, though. at his side, as always, was kim seokjin, the eldest among them. where namjoon exuded command, seokjin brought elegance, his beauty bordering on the celestial. his features were so perfect they could only have been sculpted by the gods, and his dark hair, sleek and always in place, framed his face like the softest of veils. seokjin’s deep brown eyes shimmered red when hunger overtook him, an alluring, dangerous reminder that beauty was not just skin deep. yet, despite the intoxicating allure of his charm, there was nothing kind about the way he looked at you. he was a predator. refined, yes, but no less lethal for it. he walked in perfect synchronization with namjoon, each step a promise of dominance.

together, they were a force. an unstoppable pair. but the coven was more than just these two. min yoongi was their shadow, the embodiment of mystery and danger. while namjoon and seokjin basked in the power of the light, yoongi thrived in the shadows. his dark, messy hair—a streak of silver marking his age—fell across his face, hiding the icy blue eyes that glowed with hunger. yoongi’s silence was more powerful than any scream. he watched from the edges, waiting. waiting for the right moment, the right victim. his clothing, dark and gothic, fit the nature of a creature whose mind was always calculating, always measuring risk. his power was in the unseen, the quiet moments before the storm. he wasn’t a man of words, but a man of action, his presence felt long before it was ever seen.

but there was also jung hoseok, who was not the same creature that the world saw in the light. his golden-brown eyes gleamed, burning with an intensity that could only be called dangerous. where the others carried themselves like kings, hoseok was a tempest, bright and full of fire, but beneath that brightness lay an ice-cold resolve. his hair, a chaotic mess of red and black streaks, was always wild, matching the turbulent energy that pulsed beneath his skin. his smile, so warm, so inviting, was enough to disarm even the most cautious soul. yet, hoseok’s smile hid the truth: he was a hunter, with instincts sharper than the blade he wielded. when he moved, it was like a storm breaking free of its chains. he, too, was a predator, but he wore the face of a friend before he sunk his teeth in.

park jimin, on the other hand, exuded a beauty so delicate, so refined, it was almost too perfect for this world. his porcelain-like skin gleamed in the darkness, contrasting against his dark, silky hair that was always styled to perfection. jimin’s eyes, golden, like the deepest of amber, would shimmer with a predatory hunger whenever he desired. his smile, sweet as it seemed, always hinted at something darker, something far more dangerous. he was their seducer, the one who could entrance any human with just a glance. but it wasn’t just his beauty that made him dangerous; it was the way he used it, the way he toyed with his prey. jimin was a creature of temptation and death, his elegance hiding the brutality of what lay beneath. in his presence, it was hard to know if you were safe or if your time was simply running out.

kim taehyung was unlike any of them, in that he didn’t need to be anything less than himself to be a force of nature. his beauty was the stuff of legends. sharp, defined features, violet eyes that seemed to pierce through your soul, and a presence that was nothing short of magnetic. taehyung could entrance anyone with a glance, his hair dark and shimmering with hues of blue and purple, like the night sky reflecting the stars. but it wasn’t just his beauty that made him dangerous. it was his unpredictability. taehyung was a creature of extremes. his calm could suddenly break, turning him into a predator you never saw coming. he wore the finest clothing, long, dark coats with intricate detailing, but his true power wasn’t in what he wore; it was in his ability to command any room, any situation, with a simple word or look.

and then there was jeon jungkook, whose presence was as imposing as the rest, yet even more brutal. his dark eyes, always so piercing, would glow an ominous red whenever hunger overtook him. his rough, tousled hair, mixed with his chiseled jawline and muscular frame, gave him an almost feral appearance, one that screamed power, that demanded respect. jungkook didn’t hide his nature as the others did. he was a predator, and there was nothing delicate about him. he was ruthlessness incarnate, never apologizing for his thirst, never hesitating to claim what he wanted. his skin, pale against the defined muscles of his physique, marked him as someone who had transcended human frailty. he wasn’t just a vampire, he was a force to be reckoned with.

together, they were a terror, a coven of such dark power that the world itself trembled in their wake. their hunger knew no bounds. their thirst was never quenched. but in the quiet moments when the blood had been drained and the chaos had subsided, they were left with only one thing: the search for something far rarer than any human they had ever consumed.

a human woman. one who could carry their bloodline forward.

the breeding program had been scarce. in the years that had passed, there had been few women who had been found worthy of such an honor. but there were whispers, rumors that a new one had been born. someone special, someone who could bear the next generation of vampires. and the coven needed her. for in a world where vampires had no way to reproduce on their own, the survival of their kind lay in the hands of these few women. and they were willing to do whatever it took to find her.

for now, they waited, their eyes scanning the world, searching for the next one. but when she was found, when she finally appeared, they would know. and then, there would be no stopping them.

the room was thick with silence, the air heavy and stale. the girls sat in tight rows on the cold stone floor, their faces pale and fragile under the dim, flickering candlelight. the older girls, those who had been here longer, leaned against the walls, their eyes glazed with the hollow weight of the days spent in this place.

nobody moved as kim yuri’s voice echoed softly through the room, carrying with it the promise of something darker, something unavoidable. she spoke of the vampires. of their hunger, their search for a woman who could carry their bloodline, of the breeding programs and the feeding programs, of the girls who had come before them and had never returned.

“…they’ll stop at nothing,” yuri murmured, her voice a low whisper that seemed to slither through the cracks in the stone. “they’ve waited too long. the coven will come for us. all of us. and we won’t have a choice. they’ll take us, make us what they need… use us for their blood, for their offspring, and then…”

her voice trailed off into a chilling silence, and for a moment, the girls around her were all still, eyes wide, trapped in the same suffocating fear that seemed to have no end.

but just as the weight of the story pressed down on them, a voice, sharp, defiant, cut through the air like a blade.

“stop.”

yuri’s words died in her throat as a girl, no older than yuri herself, stood and stepped into the center of the room. her eyes were burning with a fire that cut through the darkness, her stance unyielding, her voice trembling only slightly but holding a force that could not be ignored.

“you’re scaring them,” minji said, her voice firm despite the way her hands fidgeted at her sides, the anxiety curling in her gut. she was no stranger to fear, but the constant need to keep everyone from breaking under it weighed on her heart. “they don’t need to hear this.”

yuri blinked, a flicker of surprise crossing her face, but then she smirked, her lips curving in a cold, almost predatory way. she could sense the shift in the room—the unease growing even sharper now. “oh?” she asked softly, stepping closer, her voice lowering. “and you think they don’t already know what’s coming for them, minji?” she looked at the younger girl, her gaze piercing, full of mockery. “you think they don’t hear the whispers of their fates every day?”

the other girls shrank back, their heads lowering even further. some held their breath, unwilling to look up. but minji didn’t flinch.

“i know,” she replied, her voice tight with the effort of holding back the terror that threatened to consume her. “we all know. but there’s no need to make it worse.”

yuri scoffed, clearly unmoved by the challenge. “you think your pretty little words are going to change anything?” she snapped, her eyes narrowing, a dangerous gleam flickering in the dark depths of her gaze. “they’re going to be taken. they’re going to be used. that’s all we are to them. food. breeding stock.”

minji’s jaw clenched as she stepped closer, her fists clenching at her sides. she had to keep it together for them, for everyone in this room. “stop pretending like you’ve got all the answers. just because you’ve been here longer doesn’t mean you know everything. we all know what they want from us. but we don’t have to live in fear of it every single day.”

“fear is all we have left,” yuri sneered, her voice dripping with cold bitterness. “you can’t pretend we’re not living in the shadow of it. you think hiding away from the truth is going to protect you?” she glanced at the other girls, her words becoming crueler. “you think if you just ignore the truth, they’ll spare you?”

minji took another step, her breath shallow but steady. “i’m not hiding from it,” she snapped, her voice shaking but growing louder. “i’m not hiding from anything. but i refuse to let you make them think there’s no way out. you’re not the only one who knows what happens here. but they don’t need you to break them. i won’t let you.”

the room was dead silent as minji’s words hung heavy in the air, each girl silently weighing the force of what she’d just said. even yuri seemed to pause for a moment, her smirk faltering slightly as the quiet tension stretched between them.

the older girl’s eyes flickered with a strange, cold amusement. “you’re just a dreamer, minji. just like the rest of them.”

minji’s gaze never wavered, even as the weight of yuri’s words lingered. “maybe i am,” she replied quietly. “but if we don’t hold on to hope, what do we have left?

the silence stretched for a long moment, thick with the tension of unspoken things. the younger girls around them watched with wide eyes, their hearts pounding in their chests as they tried to process what had just happened.

finally, yuri’s lips curled into a sharp smile, one that didn’t reach her eyes. “we’ll see how long that hope lasts,” she said softly, turning on her heel and walking away, leaving the room to settle back into the heavy quiet.

as she left, minji stayed standing, her heart still racing. she didn’t know how to fix this place, how to stop the cycle of fear that gripped every girl here. but for now, she would hold on to something. anything. she wasn’t sure how long they’d have to wait, or how long they’d survive, but she wouldn’t let them be consumed by despair, not yet.

not while there was still a chance.

authors note: heyyy so like i told myself i wasn’t gonna start a bunch of fanfics out of fear that i’d end up not finishing them but like guys i literally just watched nosferatu and i’ve been nonstop thinking about that aesthetic for a fanfic so like i needed to do this. just a heads up this is gonna be really dark from the get go and also will probs be slower updates since i am still working on my other two works and plan on prioritizing those !!

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[1343401]

requiem of the broken - m.list

synopsis: park minji's entire existence had been confined to the cold, sterile walls of the breeding facility. a place where women were no more than vessels for the insatiable hunger of the vampiric elite. she had known nothing but fear, awaiting her fate: to be chosen for breeding, or sold as food to the bloodthirsty. but when she is selected by the coven of the damned, she is thrust into a dark, twisted world of power, lust, and unimaginable cruelty. now, minji is not just prey, she is the object of their relentless, carnal desires, a pawn in a deadly game of dominance. as the vampires take turns bending her to their will, minji must decide: will she submit to their hunger, or will she burn the world down in a desperate, blood-soaked rebellion of her own? in the coven's grip, there's no mercy, only the unrelenting thirst for power and pleasure that threatens to consume her whole.

pairing: bts x reader

started: 02.09.25

status: ongoing

word count: 3.1 k

warnings: depictions of violence, 18+, death, non con, mentions of blood, vampires, selling of people

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taglist: @canarystwin @sathom013 @gracefulsakura98 @ihatesnakeu7 @dachshunddame @multifandomfreakster-blog @dawnzephyr @justasadb1tch @princesscallie @seomta @mar-lo-pap @chroniclesofbts @wannaghostbts @kpopdreamer95

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[1343401]

works in progress ⋆｡𖦹 °🐋⋆｡˚♡

what i am currently working on !! feel free to leave any requests (please message me rather than leaving a comment otherwise i’m less likely to see them)

→ echos of the sea - chapter nine < 1 k words

→ captive desires - chapter three ≈ 5 k words

→ requiem of the broken - chapter one ≈ 10 k words (editing)

→ beneath buring skies - oneshot ≈ 6.4 k words

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[1343401]

about me ⋆｡𖦹 °🐋⋆｡˚♡

get to know more about 1343401 !!

→ name: amara

→ age: 19

→ pronouns: she/her

→ mbti: infj

→ sign: aries sun, leo moon, sagittarius rising

→ bias: tae

→ wreckers: literally all six of the other members

→ other groups: i stan a bunch of other groups (primarily 3rd&4th gen !! my ults bedsides bts tho are nct’s chenle, red velvets seulgi, stayc’s isa, and aespas winter !!)

→ goals: i am currently studying medicine and hope to have a career in it one day !!

→ writing since: 2025 !! i've done creative writing in elementary and middle school but echos of the sea has been the first work i've ever released for fun !!

→ favorites: matcha, sanrio, formula 1, strawberries, pink, concerts, smiskis <3

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[1343401]

faq // rules ⋆｡𖦹 °🐋⋆｡˚♡

answers to some of my more frequently asked questions as well as guidelines + request rules !!

→ byi ˖𓍢ִִ໋𓇼⋆

❀ this blog is 18+

❀ most work will contain mature themes

❀ may contain darker themes / darker content

❀ do not post my work on any other platform

→ general ˖𓍢ִִ໋𓇼⋆

❀ hate is not tolerated

my blog is a safe space for everyone except maps/pedos/etc. homophobia, racism, transphobia, sexism, xenophobia, etc will not be tolerated !!

❀ dark content

some of my work can get a little bit darker. any trigger content will be tagged with tw [trigger] appropriately. because i do not plan my fics out fully a chapter might go into something darker that i originally planned. that means that some works might have the tw added to the m.list warnings part way through, however every chapter will be properly tagged before i post it.

❀ update schedule

i currently do not have a set update schedule. i am a full time student with multiple jobs so there may be periods of times where i am not posting as much. i will try my best to keep you guys updated but please do not get frustrated with me if my updates take longer/are slightly shorter.

→ requests ˖𓍢ִִ໋𓇼⋆

❀ i do take requests as long as they are appropriate. please do not send me requests with any of the following

appearance specific reader (how ____ reacts to reader being short)

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❀ if you request something that i am not comfortable writing i will not follow through with that request.

❀ please note that i can write slow so if it takes awhile for your request it has nothing to do with you personally (unless you requested something listed above) i am just working on other projects first

❀ my favorite things to write are period/historical pieces, fantasy/royalty, and hybrid fanfics but i am willing to write basically anything as long as it doesn't violate what is listed above :)

❀ please do not send the exact same request to me and another author !!

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[1343401]

echos of the sea - chapter five

pairing: bts x reader

status: ongoing

word count: 10.1 k

warnings: depictions of violence, kidnapping, death, family trauma, insecurities, mentions of blood

prev | next | m.list

*reupload, i accidently deleted the previous version

the ballroom was a sea of gold and light, a world so breathtakingly extravagant that it almost didn't feel real.

chandeliers hung from the arched ceiling, their countless crystals catching the flickering candlelight and scattering it across the polished marble floors. the walls were lined with towering columns, each one carved with intricate patterns of curling ivy and gilded with delicate accents of gold leaf. rich tapestries depicting ancient battles and victories hung between them, their deep reds and blues adding warmth to the vast space.

music filled the air, sweeping violins, the deep hum of cellos, the playful trill of flutes, melodies blending seamlessly into the hum of conversation and laughter. noblemen in embroidered coats and silk sashes stood in tight clusters, swirling wine in crystal goblets as they spoke in hushed, knowing tones. women glided past in gowns of deep emerald, royal blue, and shimmering silver, their jewels winking in the candlelight, their smiles practiced and poised.

servants moved soundlessly between them, their trays laden with golden goblets of champagne and delicate plates of sugared fruits. the scent of spiced wine, roses, and warm candle wax lingered in the air, thick and intoxicating.

jiah had never seen anything like it.

even in her world, where history's grandest palaces still stood, nothing compared to this.

this wasn't just a party. this was power made manifest. every shimmering gown, every perfectly placed decoration, every delicate note of music had been designed to impress, to remind everyone in attendance exactly who ruled over them.

and jiah was standing right in the middle of it.

she swallowed hard, resisting the urge to shrink back toward the door.

six days.

it had been six days since she woke up in this world. six days since she realized she was trapped inside a story she'd read hundreds of times.

six days of trying to understand who she was supposed to be here, where she fit into this world that wasn't hers.

tonight should have been simple, get the princess ready for the ball and maybe if she got lucky, be allowed to work it for a few hours. or at least that what she was told. tonight however she was here as yiseo's guest, dressed in a borrowed gown, an outsider allowed a glimpse into the world of the elite.

tonight wasn't simple at all.

tonight was the night everything would change.

the pirates were coming.

the plan was already in motion. if they succeeded, in just a few hours the crown princess would be gone, and the kingdom would be thrown into chaos.

and jiah,

what happens to you, jiah?

she bit the inside of her cheek. she had no answers.

the book barely mentioned the palace servants beyond their function. they were nameless, faceless characters. set pieces, not people.

jiah's only role in the book was to be support for yiseo before the story begins, so what happens to her when the story changes?

do i just disappear?

the thought made her stomach lurch.

jiah forced herself to move, to step further into the ballroom, even as the weight in her chest grew heavier.

no one paid her any attention.

of course they didn't.

she didn't belong to this world.

she was a ghost here, invisible and untethered, clinging to a story that didn't belong to her.

and yet, she felt real.

her hands, wrapped in silk gloves, were warm. her heart was beating, pounding against her ribs. she could hear, smell, taste everything around her.

if this isn't real, then why does it feel like it is?

jiah exhaled shakily, pressing a hand to her stomach as she wove between the nobles. she was supposed to be enjoying this, wasn't she?

this was a ball. a once-in-a-lifetime event. a night of music, of elegance, of impossible beauty.

but she felt sick.

because no matter how much she wanted to believe that this was just a dream, that this world wasn't real, she couldn't.

not when she could feel the cold marble beneath her shoes. not when she could hear the clinking of glasses, the rustle of silk, the low murmur of voices.

not when she knew what was coming.

because once yiseo was taken, jiah had no idea what would happen next.

was her part in this story done? would she wake up tomorrow and find herself back home, in her own bed, as if none of this had ever happened?

or would she still be here lost, unimportant, and forgotten?

she didn't know what scared her more.

she caught her reflection in the towering mirrors that lined the ballroom's walls.

the girl staring back at her didn't look like a maid.

the gown yiseo had insisted she wear clung to her frame like it had been made for her, the soft ivory fabric falling in delicate waves to the floor. her dark hair had been partially pinned up, strands carefully curled to frame her face, tiny pearls woven through them. her lips were tinted a soft rose, her lashes darkened just enough to make her eyes stand out.

she looked like one of them.

but she wasn't.

jiah clenched her hands at her sides, the silk of her gloves crinkling slightly.

who are you in this world, jiah?

a ghost. a mistake. a person who wasn't supposed to exist here.

she let out a slow breath, steeling herself.

it didn't matter.

tonight, she just had to pretend.

she had to act as if she belonged, smile when required, dance if asked.

and when the night was over, when the pirates struck, when yiseo was taken—

she would figure out what happened next. tonight she would just be noh jiah. not the servant. not the all knowing reader, just herself.

the ballroom was alive with movement, the very air pulsing with the rhythm of the music and the steady murmur of conversation. jiah wove her way between nobles, careful to keep her steps light, her expression composed.

the courtly dances had begun.

on the ballroom floor, men and women stepped into their formations, their movements synchronized with the orchestra's lively tune. their gowns billowed as they twirled, silk and chiffon catching the golden light. the men, dressed in their finest coats and polished boots, led with perfect precision, their gloved hands poised, their posture effortless.

it was mesmerizing to watch, the seamless elegance, the way their laughter barely disrupted the smoothness of their movements. everything was calculated, every gesture refined.

but beneath the surface, jiah could sense it. this wasn't just a dance. it was politics, a display of power disguised as entertainment. the way a lord's hand lingered a little too long on a lady's waist, the way a noblewoman tilted her head just so when she laughed, it was all part of the game.

jiah felt like an intruder in a world where every step, every glance, every word held meaning she couldn't quite decipher.

she curled her fingers into the folds of her gown, exhaling slowly.

just blend in.

the music swelled, filling the vast room with sweeping violin notes. servers slipped between guests, refilling glasses with spiced wine and offering trays of candied fruits and roasted almonds. chandeliers flickered overhead, casting waves of golden light that shimmered against the polished floors.

jiah tilted her head back slightly, drinking in the sight.

it's beautiful.

the music shifted, its soft crescendo filling the ballroom with a hum of anticipation. the instruments, strings, woodwinds, and brass, rose in gentle harmony, the notes fluttering like the wings of butterflies. the dancers glided across the floor, their movements synchronized in perfect rhythm, but something about the scene felt almost dreamlike to jiah, as if the music itself had a way of distorting time.

she had been trying to keep her thoughts occupied, but the pressure of the evening still weighed heavily on her. everything about this world felt so foreign to her. the opulence, the unspoken expectations, the glimmer of wealth and privilege in every corner. for a fleeting moment, she had almost forgotten why she was here.

a shift in the music, a deepening of the sound, drew her attention. the tempo slowed, the symphony hinting at something grander approaching, and jiah instinctively turned her head toward the source of the change.

at the top of the grand staircase, the air in the ballroom seemed to shift. the orchestra’s melody softened, almost instinctively, as if the music itself was aware of the arrival of someone important. jiah barely noticed the subtle change at first, too caught up in scanning the room, still processing the extravagance around her. but then, a hush swept through the crowd like a slow-moving wave, drawing her attention upward.

her eyes landed on him.

her breath caught. no way.

the man from earlier. the stranger she’d met in the market. the one who had looked at her like she was something more than just another face in the crowd. the one who had made her pause, unsettled her, made her wonder.

he stood at the top of the staircase, framed by the golden glow of the chandeliers, his deep navy coat striking against the opulent backdrop of the ballroom. gold embroidery traced along the lapels, catching the light as he moved. his black hair, effortlessly tousled, softened the sharp angles of his face, but there was no mistaking the authority in his posture, the quiet strength in the way he carried himself.

"prince seokjin of gunseok," the announcer's voice boomed across the ballroom, breaking the thick silence. it was formal, but there was an edge of reverence to it, a weight to his title that seemed to echo in the air.

jiah stared, her mind scrambling to make sense of it. she had known. of course she had known that this ball was meant to introduce the crown prince. but somehow, she hadn’t pieced it together until now. she hadn’t wanted to.

she didn’t want to believe it. but now, hearing the name ring across the ballroom, there was no denying it. her stomach twisted. she should’ve realized earlier. the way people had moved around him in the market, the way he had spoken with that effortless confidence, as if he was used to people listening. of course he was the prince.

it was obvious. painfully obvious.

jiah forced herself to breathe, but her fingers clenched at her sides as she watched him descend. his presence commanded the room in a way that went beyond his title. it wasn’t just the expensive tailoring, the gleaming medals pinned to his chest, or the sheer look of him though, she admitted, he was striking. it was something deeper, something intangible. he had the kind of presence that made people take notice, made them pause mid-conversation just to watch him pass.

the room had been full of nobles, full of men dressed in fine silks and jewels, but none of them had managed to capture the room the way he did. his every step was measured, unhurried, yet deliberate. there was no arrogance in his movements. he didn’t need to be arrogant. he didn’t have to do anything at all. the room simply gravitated toward him.

even jiah, against her better judgment, found herself unable to look away.

her thoughts raced as she tried to reconcile the man she had met in the market with the prince now standing before her. he had seemed almost... normal, back then. A bit guarded, yes, but not unreachable. But this version of him, the prince, felt like someone completely untouchable.

she swallowed, looking around. everyone else in the room was just as transfixed. whispers ran through the crowd, quiet murmurs of admiration and speculation. women straightened their postures, smoothing down their skirts, adjusting their jewelry, hoping to catch his attention. men watched him with a mix of respect and envy.

and seokjin? he barely seemed to notice.

his expression remained unreadable as he descended the last few steps, dark eyes scanning the crowd with careful detachment. jiah couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but she could tell he was used to this. used to the weight of a hundred gazes clinging to him like vines, used to being watched, measured, expected to be something greater than just a man.

for a fleeting moment, his gaze flickered across the ballroom, passing over her. jiah stiffened. it was brief. so quick she might have imagined it, but for that fraction of a second, she felt something sharp and unsettling coil in her chest.

then, just as quickly, it was gone.

she exhaled, turning away, forcing herself to focus on something, anything else. this was ridiculous. it wasn’t as if he even remembered her. why would he? she was just one face in a sea of hundreds.

and yet, something about seeing him again, here, in the center of all this grandeur, made it impossible to ignore. their encounter at the market had been brief, insignificant in the grand scheme of things, but she couldn’t shake the strange sense of recognition that prickled at the back of her mind. maybe it was just because she wasn’t used to this world yet, because everything still felt unreal, like she was watching scenes play out from a story rather than living in them.

and this was a scene, wasn’t it? the moment she had read about so many times, the one that had once made her believe in love, in fate, in the kind of instant connection that could change everything. in whispers of the sea, this was where it all began. the first glance, the breathless tension, the world narrowing down to just two people meant for each other.

jiah held her breath as seokjin moved toward yiseo, the moment stretching out in slow motion, weighted with expectation.

this was it.

when she was younger, she had clung to this scene, rereading it over and over again, letting the words carve themselves into her memory. in whispers of the sea, this moment had been magic. the prince, regal and untouchable, would lay eyes on the princess for the first time, and something between them would shift. an invisible force pulling them together.

she had felt it, even through the pages.

this was the kind of love that had made her heart ache when she was younger, the kind that had made her press the book to her chest late at night, longing for something she didn’t have the words for.

love wasn’t supposed to be logical. it wasn’t supposed to be careful or distant. it was supposed to ignite.

she knew this moment should feel that way now.

seokjin’s steps were slow and deliberate, each movement so precise it seemed choreographed. the music swelled, the entire room seemed to hush just slightly as he approached yiseo, and for a second, jiah felt that same anticipation building in her chest, the way it had all those years ago.

she watched yiseo straighten, watched the way she lifted her chin just a fraction, the way her lips parted slightly—waiting.

waiting for the story to unfold as it should.

but as seokjin reached her, something felt... off.

jiah stiffened, eyes darting between them.

seokjin bowed first. deep, graceful, regal.

yiseo’s response was just as elegant. she curtsied, a practiced movement, the kind that had been rehearsed in front of mirrors and instructors for years.

and then...

nothing.

no spark. no hesitation. no sharp intake of breath.

seokjin straightened, looking down at yiseo with polite detachment, as though she were just another guest at the ball.

jiah frowned.

wait… what?

where was the tension? the moment of recognition? the invisible tether pulling them together?

yiseo must have felt it too, because she tilted her head, lips curling into a carefully measured smile. she said something—jiah couldn’t hear what—but it had the cadence of flirtation, the kind of soft, lilting remark that was supposed to be met with intrigue.

but seokjin’s expression didn’t change.

his response was short. Polite. And then silence.

jiah’s brows furrowed.

what is happening?

this wasn’t how it had gone in the book. in whispers of the sea, seokjin had been captivated by yiseo from the very first glance. the air had crackled between them. the moment had been charged with something beyond words.

but now?

it was just... awkward.

seokjin was unreadable, his face betraying nothing beyond mild courtesy. he wasn’t looking at yiseo like she was the most mesmerizing woman he had ever seen. he wasn’t even looking at her like she was interesting.

he looked, well bored.

yiseo’s fingers twitched at her side. her smile faltered for just a fraction of a second before she recovered, saying something else, voice light, pleasant, trying.

but seokjin only nodded.

the conversation was stilted, lacking warmth, lacking intrigue, lacking anything.

and then, without so much as a lingering glance, seokjin took a step back.

a step back.

jiah sucked in a breath.

seokjin was leaving.

he had made his introductions, exchanged a few words, and now he was ready to move on, as if this meeting was no different from the dozens of other polite exchanges he’d had tonight.

jiah’s heart pounded against her ribs.

no, no, no this isn’t right.

yiseo was supposed to hold his attention. she was supposed to be the woman who shattered his careful composure, the one who made him forget reason and duty and fall headfirst into something bigger than himself.

but instead, she was just... another guest at the ball.

jiah’s fingers curled into the fabric of her dress.

seokjin turned slightly, eyes scanning the crowd, already moving past yiseo.

he wasn’t in love. he wasn’t falling.

and the worst part?

he didn’t even look like he wanted to.

yiseo stood frozen for a beat longer, her expression unreadable. but jiah caught the way her fingers curled against the silk of her gown, the way her shoulders stiffened before she exhaled and turned back toward the crowd, face smoothing back into effortless charm.

she was still a princess. she still had a role to play.

but jiah could see it, the flicker of confusion in her eyes.

because this wasn’t right.

jiah could still hear the lingering murmurs in the air, a few hushed whispers questioning what had just happened—or rather, what hadn’t happened. but the moment had already begun to fade, swallowed up by the music and the effortless grace of the court as they carried on, pretending they hadn’t just witnessed something deeply off script.

yiseo was still standing there, poised, unshaken to the untrained eye. but jiah wasn’t fooled. she could see it in the way her fingers curled slightly at her sides, in the way her lashes fluttered just a fraction longer than necessary when she blinked.

jiah wanted to go to her.

she barely knew yiseo, barely understood her in the grand scheme of things, and yet something inside her twisted at the thought of leaving her to stand there alone, to swallow down the reality that the moment she had spent her whole life preparing for had amounted to nothing.

but there was nothing jiah could do.

comforting her now, stepping forward and reaching out, would only draw attention. yiseo was too proud for that. and jiah wasn’t supposed to care.

so she turned away.

and immediately felt it.

a weight, pressing against the back of her neck. a steady, unrelenting gaze.

someone was watching her.

jiah hesitated before following the pull, before turning her head just enough to scan the room, searching,

and then she saw him.

general min.

he was standing in the shadows of a marble column, half-veiled by the dim candlelight, but there was no mistaking him. his uniform was dark and severe, a stark contrast to the gilded excess of the ballroom. he didn’t blend in, but he wasn’t trying to stand out, either. he was simply there, quiet and commanding all at once.

his eyes were the same as she remembered, soft as dusk, yet sharp as steel.

and just like before, they were locked on her.

jiah’s breath hitched slightly, her mind jolting back to hours earlier, to the brief but lingering exchange in the halls.

he had seen her then.

and he was seeing her now.

the halls of the palace were eerily quiet.

jiah’s steps echoed against the polished floors, swallowed quickly by the vastness of the space around her. the flickering candlelight cast elongated shadows along the walls, turning the intricate carvings into something almost alive. she wasn’t sure how long she had been wandering, only that the weight pressing against her chest refused to lift, no matter how many turns she took, no matter how many corridors she passed through.

her pulse was still unsteady from earlier, from the reality of what was about to unfold. she had read whispers of the sea enough times to know what should have happened tonight, how this was the moment seokjin and yiseo’s fates were meant to intertwine, how love was supposed to spark like a flint striking steel the moment their eyes met.

but she wasn’t in the book anymore.

jiah exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down her face. she needed to clear her head.

but then, just as she turned another corner, she stopped short.

someone was there.

standing at the end of the hall, leaning against the stone wall with an air of practiced indifference, was general min.

for a moment, he didn’t acknowledge her, didn’t move, didn’t even seem to care that she had stumbled into his space. his arms were crossed over his chest, his gaze fixed on some unseen point in the distance, and jiah considered simply backing away before he even noticed her.

but then, without warning, his eyes flickered toward her.

it was piercing. unsettling.

because in that moment, she felt seen in a way she hadn’t since arriving in this world.

his gaze swept over her, not with the leering curiosity of the nobles or the idle amusement she had grown used to, but with something quieter. heavier.

“you look lost,” he remarked, voice low, even.

jiah let out a short, humorless laugh. “you have no idea.”

his eyes didn’t waver. if anything, they softened, just slightly.

he didn’t ask her anything else, didn’t probe, didn’t push. but he didn’t look away, either.

the silence between them stretched, and for once, jiah didn’t feel the need to fill it.

it was brief. fleeting.

but it lingered.

even now, as she stood in the middle of the glittering ballroom, her pulse still unsteady from locking eyes with him across the room she could still feel it.

the ballroom was still alive with movement, laughter, and the low hum of conversation, but she felt like she had been yanked out of its rhythm, standing just outside of it all. the weight of general min’s gaze across the room was impossible to ignore, and for a moment, she was back in the corridor, back in that quiet moment that should’ve meant nothing but didn’t.

it was strange.

general min was someone she should be wary of. he was one of seokjin’s most trusted men, a figure of authority, a general with a reputation carved from both strategy and ruthlessness. he wasn’t known for being cruel, not exactly, but he wasn’t known for kindness, either. he was sharp edges and cold calculation, a man who saw weakness and exploited it before it could become a threat.

and yet…

when he looked at her, she didn’t feel small. she didn’t feel like just another nameless girl plucked from obscurity and thrown into a world that didn’t belong to her.

she felt seen.

the realization unsettled her.

she swallowed, breaking their stare first. it wasn’t like she had a reason to be standing here, locked in some strange, silent exchange with him. she needed to move, to do something, anything, before she started drawing attention.

jiah turned on her heel and slipped deeper into the crowd, letting the swell of bodies swallow her whole.

she walked aimlessly, weaving through clusters of nobles who barely spared her a glance. the scent of expensive perfumes mixed with the faintest traces of wine, the candlelight reflecting off the endless gold and silk that surrounded her. everything was extravagant, almost painfully so, and yet she couldn’t shake the unease settling deep in her bones.

nothing about tonight was playing out the way it should have.

seokjin and yiseo’s meeting had been underwhelming.

there had been no spark, no whispered promises in the space between breaths, no lingering touches or unspoken understanding. in whispers of the sea, this moment had been the moment, the kind that made readers believe in fate, in love at first sight, in two souls recognizing each other even before words were spoken.

but instead, it had been awkward. polite. distant.

yiseo had tried. jiah could see it in the way she tilted her chin, in the carefully placed smiles, in the delicate way she had reached out just slightly as if trying to bridge the gap between them.

but seokjin had given her nothing.

not coldness, not indifference, but nothing.

like he wasn’t even aware that this was supposed to be the start of something.

like he was following a script he had no real investment in.

and maybe that was what unsettled jiah the most.

because if this, one of the most pivotal moments in the book, could go so terribly off course, then what else could change?

what else would?

her grip tightened slightly at her sides as she exhaled, forcing herself to keep moving.

there was no use dwelling on it now. whatever was happening, whatever wasn’t happening, she’d just have to figure it out as it came.

still, the uncertainty gnawed at her.

jiah was so caught up in her own thoughts that she barely noticed when she brushed past another guest.

a hand caught her wrist, firm but not forceful, grounding her before she could pull away.

her breath hitched.

she turned.

and found herself once again staring into the eyes of general min.

his grip was light, barely there, but it sent a jolt of awareness through her all the same.

jiah barely had time to register it, the brief press of fingers against her wrist, before it was gone. fleeting, like a whisper against skin, but enough to make her freeze.

her breath hitched.

the ballroom carried on around them, oblivious. laughter still spun through the air, glasses still clinked in elegant cheers, and yet, in this moment, in this sliver of space between them, everything else seemed to fade into static.

“you should be more careful.”

his voice was quiet, but it cut through the noise, threading through her veins like something sharp and inevitable.

her gaze snapped up, locking onto his.

general min.

his fingers had already slipped from her wrist, but the ghost of his touch lingered, heat curling at the edge of her skin.

jiah’s pulse stuttered. she wasn’t sure if it was from his words, or the way he looked at her, steady, unreadable, dark eyes like ink spilled across parchment.

there were rumors about him, whispers that slithered through the cracks of the palace walls. some said he was ruthless, others said he was calculative, a man who played the game of war like a musician played an instrument.

precise, deliberate, deadly.

but standing here, beneath the weight of his gaze, jiah didn’t feel like she was in danger.

no, it was something else entirely.

“careful?” she echoed, arching a brow.

his expression didn’t change, but there was something about the way he looked at her, something almost amused, as if he had already anticipated her response.

“you’re in a room full of people who would eat you alive if given the chance,” he murmured, voice smooth, even. “seems like a good time to be careful.”

jiah swallowed.

he wasn’t wrong.

this ballroom, draped in silk and gold, was a battlefield in its own right. the nobles hid their blades behind their smiles, their arsenals disguised as charm and courtesy. one misstep, one wrong word, and you could be destroyed before you even knew it.

but she already knew that. she had known it the moment she stepped foot in here.

so why did it sound different, coming from him?

jiah tilted her head, holding his gaze. “you say that like i’m not already aware.”

he let out a slow breath, something like a scoff barely audible beneath it. not quite mocking, not quite impressed.

“awareness is one thing,” he said. “survival is another.”

her fingers curled at her sides.

this was the second time tonight someone had reminded her that she didn’t belong. first seokjin, now yoongi, both men seeing straight through the gown, the jewels, the illusion of belonging.

but yoongi… yoongi was different.

his words weren’t meant to wound, nor were they meant to coddle. no, they felt more like an observation. a simple truth laid bare, daring her to either accept it or defy it.

jiah inhaled slowly, leveling him with a steady look.

“duly noted,” she said. “i’ll be sure to watch my back, general.”

something flickered in his eyes then, something unreadable, but it was gone before she could name it.

he nodded once, slow. “good.”

and just like that, he was already moving past her, disappearing into the crowd like a shadow slipping between candlelight.

jiah exhaled, turning away, her heart still an unsteady rhythm beneath her ribs.

this was ridiculous.

it wasn’t as if he even remembered her. why would he? she was just one face in a sea of hundreds.

so why did it feel like he had seen right through her?

the sea never forgets.

that was what captain namjoon had told them before they left the ship, his voice calm, deliberate, a reminder rather than a warning. no matter how far inland they ventured, they belonged to the sea first. the palace, the kingdom, the grandeur of it all, it was nothing but a gilded cage, a monument to excess and arrogance. tonight, they would slip through its cracks like water through clenched fingers.

jungkook moved first.

the city was alive with celebration, lanterns swaying in the breeze, laughter spilling from taverns, and music threading through the air like a siren’s call. jungkook barely spared it a glance. the revelry made their job easier—too many distractions, too much wine drowning the senses of guards who should have been more alert. fools.

he moved like a shadow, his crew slipping through the winding streets behind him. they kept close to the alleys, avoiding the pools of lantern light that could betray their presence. each step was calculated, each breath controlled. it was almost too easy.

“pathetic,” one of the men behind him muttered as they passed a pair of drunken guards, laughing over their cups, completely oblivious to the intruders stalking past them. jungkook didn’t disagree, but he shot the man a look that silenced him. stay focused.

as they neared the palace walls, the easy part ended. towering stone stretched high above them, its surface slick with the remnants of an earlier rain. moonlight gleamed against the damp rock, highlighting the challenge ahead. but jungkook had scaled worse.

“you know the drill,” he whispered. his crew nodded, and within seconds, they were moving. ropes unfurled, hooks latched onto the stone with practiced ease, and one by one, they ascended.

jungkook climbed fast, his muscles burning in the best way as he hauled himself over the ledge and onto the castle’s outer wall. below, the city sprawled out like a glittering sea, oblivious to the storm approaching. he grinned. fools.

behind him, hoseok followed, nimble as ever. two others trailed them, taemin and sungho, younger, less experienced, but eager. jungkook barely spared them a glance. they had been chosen for a reason. if they faltered, it wasn’t his problem.

higher and higher they went, scaling the palace wall with the ease of men who had done this a hundred times before. jungkook reached the top first, pulling himself over the ledge and pressing his body low against the cool stone.

from here, he could see the entire courtyard, glowing under lantern light. rows of trimmed hedges lined the stone pathways, guards stationed at predictable intervals, their attention fixed forward. not one of them thought to look up.

arrogance.

jungkook smirked, fingers tightening around the hilt of his dagger.

he flicked his hand in a sharp signal. move.

the others followed, slipping over the edge and landing soundlessly.

they crouched in the shadows, watching. listening.

inside, the palace was alive with music and laughter, the hum of conversation floating through the open courtyard doors. the ball was in full swing. nobles twirled in gowns spun from gold, glasses of wine tilted in careless hands, oblivious to the men weaving through the darkness beyond their lavish world.

jungkook and his crew spread out, keeping low as they made their way toward the entrance.

one objective. get in, grab the princess, get out. no unnecessary bloodshed. no mistakes.

a guard shifted near the archway, the silver of his breastplate glinting under the lanterns.

jungkook was on him in an instant.

a hand over his mouth. a dagger pressed to his throat.

a single struggle. a choked gasp. then silence.

hoseok caught the body before it could hit the ground, lowering it carefully.

one down.

the others followed suit, swift and methodical. a sharp twist of a wrist, a muffled groan. shadows swallowing bodies whole.

within moments, the entrance stood unguarded.

jungkook straightened, rolling his shoulders as he glanced back at hoseok.

“this is embarrassing,” hoseok murmured, adjusting the cuffs of his coat. “i thought royal security would be more of a challenge.”

jungkook huffed a quiet laugh. “guess we overestimated them.”

he turned toward the grand doors, the sounds of the ball spilling out into the night.

a smirk tugged at his lips.

too easy.

without hesitation, he stepped inside.

the palace loomed before them, grand and ostentatious, its balconies dripping with gold embellishments, its windows tall and arched like the entryways to a dream. jungkook knew better. this place was a cage, no matter how gilded.

slipping inside was a matter of timing. servants moved in and out, carrying trays and silks, too busy preparing for the night’s festivities to notice the figures lurking in the periphery. when the moment was right, jungkook and his men entered, ducking into a dimly lit corridor.

now came the real challenge.

inside, the air was thick with the scent of candle wax and expensive perfume. laughter echoed through the halls, the sounds of celebration filtering from the grand ballroom beyond. they moved quickly, taking out stragglers as they went. silent kills. clean work. jungkook barely spared them a second glance.

they reached a fork in the hallway. jungkook glanced up, catching sight of a balcony just ahead. perfect. from there, he could watch the ballroom, see his target.

but before he could take another step, a voice rang out. “intruders!”

shit.

three guards rushed toward them, swords drawn. jungkook barely had time to snarl out an order before the fight broke loose.

steel clashed against steel, the sharp ring of battle slicing through the once-quiet hall. jungkook dodged the first strike aimed at him, fluid as water, and countered with brutal efficiency. his dagger finding home between ribs. a twist, a pull, a gurgled cry. down.

another came at him, blade flashing. jungkook blocked, their weapons screeching against each other. the guard was strong, but strength without speed was nothing. jungkook feinted left, then drove his elbow into the man’s throat. he staggered back, choking. one heartbeat later, jungkook’s sword sliced across his chest. down.

he turned just in time to see one of his crew, young sungho struggling, a guard nearly overpowering him. jungkook didn’t hesitate, he yanked a dagger from his belt and threw it. the blade found its mark in the guard’s neck.

sungho gasped for air, eyes wide. jungkook grabbed him by the shoulder, hauling him upright. “focus.”

the last guard standing hesitated, eyes darting between his fallen comrades and the blood-slicked pirates. jungkook smirked. “run.”

the man bolted.

“not the cleanest entrance,” hoseok muttered, wiping his blade.

jungkook scoffed, rolling his shoulders. “doesn’t matter. we’re in.”

jungkook moved swiftly through the corridors, his steps silent against the polished marble floors. the air inside the castle was different, heavy with candle smoke and the distant echoes of laughter and music. he exhaled, steadying himself as he reached the next point of their route. ahead of him, the corridor split into two paths, one leading deeper into the servants’ wing, the other toward the grand ballroom’s outer terraces.

hoseok leaned against the wall, adjusting the grip on his blade. his usually bright expression was dimmed by the weight of the night, but there was something sharp in his gaze, anticipation maybe.

“we’ve waited for this,” hoseok murmured, eyes flicking toward jungkook.

jungkook didn’t answer right away. he knew hoseok expected some kind of agreement, some affirmation that he felt the same fire in his blood. but the truth was, he didn’t care about any of it. kings and queens, thrones and politics, none of it mattered to him. he wasn’t here for some grand cause, wasn’t driven by vengeance or belief. he followed orders, took his cut, and lived another day. that was all.

“guess we have,” jungkook said finally, rolling the tension out of his shoulders.

hoseok smirked, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “you really don’t give a damn about any of this, do you?”

jungkook glanced at him, amused. “do you?”

hoseok chuckled, low and quiet. “i care about getting paid.”

that, at least, was something they could agree on.

jungkook exhaled, shifting his stance. “stay here. keep the path clear.”

hoseok gave a lazy salute. “yeah, yeah. go be a hero.”

jungkook scoffed but didn’t reply, already slipping into the shadows. he moved toward the terrace, where the cool night air spilled in through open archways. the music from the ballroom was clearer now, voices blending with the delicate strains of string instruments. he exhaled, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves.

almost there.

he stepped onto the balcony, the moon casting silver light over the sprawling palace gardens below. from here, he could see inside the ballroom, golden chandeliers, swirling silks, a world so far removed from his own it felt unreal. his gaze swept over the room, searching.

he saw the prince's eyes locked on a girl talking to a servant.

not the princess.

someone else.

the girl ran out of the ballroom but what intrigued jungkook the most was that prince seokjin did something he hadn’t expected.

he left the princess.

and followed her out.

his grip tightened on the stone railing.

this just got interesting.

jiah barely had a moment to process everything before a tray nearly collided with her shoulder. she stepped back just in time, but the maid carrying it wasn’t as lucky—her balance wavered, glasses clinking precariously as she scrambled to regain control.

“oh i’m so sorry, miss!” the girl blurted, cheeks flushed. she was young, maybe a year or two younger than jiah, dressed in the typical uniform of castle staff, her dark hair pinned in a rushed attempt at neatness. “i didn’t see you there.”

“it’s fine,” jiah said quickly, steadying the tray before it could tip. “are you alright?”

“yes! yes, i just—” the maid stopped, a flash of recognition and then concern passed over her delicate features. “where is taehyung? he should to be here by now.”

jiah blinked. “what?”

“taehyung,” the maid repeated, as if she expected jiah to understand. “the proposal? the only reason the royal family would ever allow you to attend this kind of event?”

her stomach dropped. “the what?”

the maid’s eyes widened in horror, her mouth parting slightly as if she’d just realized she’d said something terribly, terribly wrong. “oh! oh, no, you didn’t know?”

“proposal?” jiah echoed, the word foreign and absurd on her tongue. her heart pounded so loudly she barely heard the music anymore. “what proposal?”

“i—” the maid’s hands tightened on the tray. “nothing! forget i said anything.”

but jiah couldn’t forget. the words echoed over and over in her head, twisting, reshaping, until the realization hit her like a punch to the gut.

taehyung was proposing.

tonight.

that was why she was here. that was why she had been allowed into this world of silk and gold, why no one had questioned her presence. six days. she had been in this world for six days, and now she was apparently getting married?

her stomach churned. the walls of the ballroom suddenly felt like they were closing in, the weight of expectation pressing down on her chest. she needed air. she needed to get out of here.

without another word, jiah turned and bolted. she barely registered the surprised glances thrown her way as she weaved through the crowd, skirts brushing against polished floors. her pulse roared in her ears, drowning out everything else. she wasn’t supposed to be here. she wasn’t supposed to be part of this.

she stumbled onto the balcony, bracing herself against the cool stone railing. the night air hit her like a slap, crisp and sharp, but it wasn’t enough to ground her. she squeezed her eyes shut, inhaling deeply, trying to force her mind into some semblance of calm.

she was supposed to be at home. in her world. not here, not in some palace, not being handed off like a prize to a man she barely knew.

she pressed a hand to her stomach, swallowing hard.

she was going to be sick.

she pressed a trembling hand to the stone railing, her fingers cold against its smooth surface. the air carried the scent of jasmine, mingling with the faint traces of perfume from the ball, and for a moment, it was enough to make her feel dizzy, as if the weight of the night might collapse on her chest. this isn’t real, she thought, over and over again. this isn’t my life.

jiah stood on the balcony, the cool night air brushing against her skin, but the chill did little to alleviate the tension that coiled in her chest. she could hear the muffled hum of music, the clink of glass, the quiet buzz of conversations from the ballroom below, but it all felt distant, far away, as if she weren’t even a part of it. this world, this palace, it didn’t belong to her. she was just a shadow, lingering on the fringes.

tonight, yiseo would be taken.

the thought weighed heavily on her heart. she had read it time and time. she practically knew the scene by heart. the pirates would strike tonight, and the brutality of it had been clear in every word. they would come for yiseo, and there was nothing anyone could do to stop them. it wasn’t just a raid. it was a statement. the pirates had no mercy. they took what they wanted and left destruction in their wake.

in her time as a maid, jiah had heard she had heard stories pirates. hearing about how the crew had once stormed an entire village, leaving it burning behind them. how they had struck without warning, with no regard for anyone who stood in their way. yiseo, for all her beauty and her royal status, would be no different.

jiah’s breath hitched as her mind ran wild with the thought of it. she had only just gotten to know yiseo, and though the bond between them was fleeting, it was real enough. yiseo was no longer just the two dimensional princess jiah once read about. to jiah she was just a girl, forced in a role she didn’t choose, caught in a world of expectation. yet, even so, jiah couldn’t shake the feeling that something was being stolen from her, something she couldn’t get back.

the pirates. they were coming. and all jiah could do was wait.

before jiah could think of a way to stop them, she felt a familiar tug at the back of her mind. the sensation had started as a whisper, a faint sensation that crept into her thoughts at random moments. but tonight, it was different. tonight, it was louder, stronger, almost primal. the voice. the same voice she had heard before, beckoning her like a lure, drawing her in. this time, it wasn’t soft and melodic, like a song drifting on the wind. this time, it felt desperate, frantic. as though it knew something terrible was coming.

the voice seemed to echo through her chest, vibrating with a raw, aching power. it was no longer just a sound. it was a presence, an entity, something alive and aware. it pulled at her insides, twisting them with a sense of urgency she couldn’t ignore. she tried to resist, tried to tell herself it was just the world around her, the strange magic of the place. but it wasn’t. it was calling her. to her.

"jiah"

the voice was coming from somewhere just beyond her reach, a hidden corner of her mind she didn’t want to explore. but there it was, louder than ever, demanding her attention, demanding her action.

"jiah"

her heart pounded in her chest as her gaze darted to the edge of the balcony. she didn’t know why, but her body began to move, step by step, as if it were no longer her own. the voice was guiding her, pulling her forward.

the palace gardens down below no longer seemed far away. it was as if she were seeing them through a veil. she took another step toward the edge, her breath shallow, her hands clammy against the cold stone. the voice, sweet and terrible, was all she could hear. jiah my love, it seemed to say. follow me. it was an invitation she couldn’t refuse, an unspoken promise. the air around her thickened, pressing in like a weight on her chest. the walls of the palace, the sounds of the ballroom, the cold breeze, they all faded into nothingness. it was just her, and the voice.

without thinking, her foot lifted. she was close. so close.

she had never felt anything like this before. sure she had felt the pull multiple times since coming to this world, but after the first night the pull was no longer as strong. the pull most nights felt like a nudge but this, this was a shove. the pull, the hunger in her chest, the need to follow it, to leap. her body shook, not from fear, but from the intensity of the sensation. it was like she had stepped into a dream, or perhaps a nightmare, where nothing was real but the call of the voice, where the only thing that mattered was surrendering to it.

“stop!” a voice called behind her.

it pierced through the haze in her mind, cutting through the pull of the voice like a knife through water. her body froze, every muscle locking in place, and she blinked rapidly, trying to clear the fog from her mind. she turned to find him standing there, in the doorway. his figure was framed by the soft light of the ballroom, but it wasn’t the light that caught her attention. it was the intensity in his eyes. they were fixed on her, sharp, focused, like he had known what she was about to do before she even realized it.

seokjin.

his voice, harsh and commanding, had shattered the trance she’d been under, but the remnants of the pull still lingered, like a distant echo in her chest. her fingers trembled as they gripped the stone railing. the voice, that horrible, beautiful voice, was still there, quieter now, but it hadn’t faded entirely.

seokjin took a step forward, his gaze dark and unyielding, pinning her in place before she even had the chance to react. there was something terrifying in the way he moved. unhurried, but with the absolute certainty of a man who wouldn’t allow disobedience.

then, in one swift motion, he reached out.

his fingers wrapped around her wrist, firm and unrelenting, and before she could even think to resist, he yanked her back with a force that sent her stumbling straight into his chest. the impact knocked the breath from her lungs, the solid warmth of him stark against the chill of the night air. His grip was strong, possessive, as if daring her to slip away again.

jiah gasped, her free hand instinctively bracing against the fabric of his jacket, the heat of his body searing through it. She could feel everything. the rise and fall of his chest, the way his breath came in controlled, measured beats, the undeniable strength that radiated from him like an unspoken warning.

his other hand moved, his palm pressing against the small of her back, holding her close, holding her still. a shiver ran through her at the feeling of it. of him. His touch wasn’t gentle, wasn’t careful. It was demanding, laced with something dangerous. something possessive.

his breath ghosted against the shell of her ear as he finally spoke, his voice so low and raw that it sent a jolt down her spine.

“don’t.”

one word. but it wasn’t a request. It wasn’t a plea.

it was a command.

jiah swallowed hard, her pulse hammering against her ribs as she fought to process what was happening, what had almost happened. she could still feel the phantom pull of the voice, but it was drowned out now, suffocated beneath the weight of him. seokjin was everywhere, his presence overwhelming, his grip on her wrist unyielding, as if he wasn’t just pulling her back from the edge of the balcony but from something far, far worse.

she barely dared to breathe, trapped between his chest and the stone railing behind her.

his fingers flexed around her wrist, his touch rougher now, a silent reprimand. It wasn’t anger, not quite. but there was something in his expression, in the way his jaw tightened and his brows furrowed, that made her breath hitch. it was concern, yes, but not for the maid she was supposed to be.

no.

it was something deeper. something about her.

a muscle ticked in his jaw, his grip on her unwavering as he pulled her even closer. so close she could see the flicker of something unreadable in his eyes, something dangerous.

jiah’s heart pounded, her skin burning where his fingers pressed into her wrist, where his palm seared against the small of her back. the tension between them was unbearable, suffocating. she could barely think, barely breathe.

she had almost

almost.

her chest heaved as she stared up at him, her lips parting, but no words came. she didn’t know what to say. she didn’t know how to say it.

his fingers tightened ever so slightly, just enough to remind her of his hold. of his presence.

something had changed tonight.

something had shifted between them, something raw and consuming.

and she wasn’t sure she could undo it.

seokjin wasn’t letting go.

not of her wrist. not of her back. not of whatever had settled between them, thick and electric, something neither of them could seem to shake.

he was still too close, his breath warm against her temple, his body a solid presence against hers. she could feel the heat of him, the quiet strength in the way he held her in place, not forceful, not harsh, but certain.

like he had decided something.

like he knew something.

jiah’s stomach twisted. she needed to move. she needed to say something, to break whatever moment this was before it spiraled into something she couldn’t control.

"you shouldn’t be here," she managed, her voice barely above a whisper.

seokjin didn’t move. didn’t react. if anything, his grip tightened, his thumb ghosting over the inside of her wrist, an absent, devastating touch that sent a shiver up her spine.

"neither should you," he murmured.

her breath caught.

he was looking at her now, really looking at her, his dark eyes searching hers like he was trying to piece something together, like he was trying to figure her out.

and jiah,

jiah didn’t know if she wanted to be figured out.

"the princess will be looking for you," she tried again, more desperate this time, more breathless. remind him. remind him who he’s supposed to care about.

but the words barely left her lips before he tilted his head, gaze flicking down to her mouth, then back up again.

"maybe i don’t care."

jiah’s stomach dropped.

it wasn’t just what he said, it was the way he said it. the way his voice dipped, rich and smooth, like he knew exactly what effect he had on her. like he was waiting for her reaction.

like he wanted to see how far he could push this.

"maybe i’d rather be here," he continued, voice softer now, more deliberate. "with you."

the world around them blurred, the sounds of the ocean, the distant laughter from the ballroom, everything fading into the background.

she could only hear him.

only feel him.

"don’t," she whispered, though she wasn’t sure if she was telling him or herself.

but seokjin only leaned in, just slightly, just enough for her breath to catch, for her knees to go weak.

"why not?"

it was a challenge. a question wrapped in something heavier, something undeniable.

her fingers twitched at her sides. she should step away. she should push him off. she should—

but she didn’t.

she stayed.

and seokjin,

oh seokjin noticed.

his grip on her wrist loosened just enough to shift, his hand sliding lower, until his fingers brushed against the inside of her palm, testing, teasing.

jiah sucked in a sharp breath, her pulse a frantic drum against her ribs.

this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. in the book, seokjin’s world had revolved around yiseo, only yiseo. he had been devoted, unshakable.

but right now, he wasn’t looking at yiseo.

he was looking at her.

and the weight of that realization was enough to make her dizzy.

jiah’s pulse thundered in her ears, drowning out every rational thought screaming at her to move, to step back, to breathe. but how could she, when seokjin was still there. watching her, waiting, his fingers ghosting over the inside of her palm like he was testing just how much she could take before she broke?

"you—" she started, but her voice betrayed her, coming out too soft, too shaky.

seokjin’s lips quirked.

oh.

oh, he knew.

he knew.

her breath caught in her throat as he shifted, closing that final inch of space between them. his chest brushed against hers, solid and warm, the scent of him, something sharp and clean, something undeniably him, wrapping around her like a second skin.

"you what?" he murmured, his voice dipping lower, threading its way through her ribs, settling deep in her stomach.

jiah’s fingers curled into fists.

get it together.

she forced herself to look up, to meet his gaze, to remind herself of who he was. of what he meant to this world. to yiseo.

but seokjin didn’t look like a man who belonged to someone else.

he looked like a man who had decided, in this moment, that nothing else mattered except her.

and that realization was more dangerous than anything she’d faced since waking up in this world.

"this—" she tried again, swallowing hard. "this isn’t—"

but seokjin just watched her, the weight of his gaze pressing against her skin, his hand still wrapped around her wrist, still holding her steady.

jiah’s pulse pounded against her ribs, a frantic, unsteady rhythm that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with the way seokjin’s fingers curled around hers. firm. warm. deliberate.

his touch sent heat searing up her arm, burning in a way that made her stomach tighten, made her breath come out just a little too shallow. she tried to ignore the way her body reacted to him, but it was impossible when he was right there, close enough that she could see the way the candlelight cast golden shadows across his sharp jaw, the way his dark eyes flickered with something unreadable.

something that unnerved her.

something that thrilled her.

"i should go," he murmured, but his thumb skimmed over the inside of her wrist, slow and unhurried, like he wasn’t in any hurry to make good on that promise.

jiah swallowed hard.

"then go," she whispered, but her voice betrayed her, soft and breathless, and seokjin caught it like a predator catching the scent of something weak.

his lips twitched.

"should i?"

jiah hated how her stomach flipped, how her fingers twitched in his hold instead of pulling away.

he was too close.

his scent, clean and sharp, something like cedarwood and smoke, wrapped around her, settled into her skin, made her feel light headed in a way that had nothing to do with the ocean breeze rolling in from the balcony.

"i…" she started, but seokjin was already shifting, his head dipping lower, his breath fanning across her cheek.

"tell me to leave," he murmured again, low and dangerous, and jiah had to clench her fists to keep herself from leaning into him.

"i…"

she couldn’t.

she couldn’t.

because the truth was,

she didn’t want him to.

the realization sent panic lurching through her chest, sent her body tensing, because this wasn’t supposed to happen. seokjin wasn’t supposed to look at her like this, like he was intrigued, like he was tempted.

like he was considering something reckless.

"thought so," he murmured.

"what’s your name?"

her stomach clenched.

the question was simple. harmless. it shouldn’t have felt like a trap.

but with the way he said it, low and smooth, like he was testing the way it would taste on his tongue, it was dangerous.

jiah wet her lips, suddenly hyper-aware of the way his gaze flicked down, the way his grip on her fingers didn’t loosen.

"it doesn’t matter," she whispered.

seokjin hummed.

"doesn’t it?"

his thumb brushed over her wrist, lingering for a second too long, and gods, he was doing this on purpose.

"it’s late," she tried again, weak, unconvincing. "you really should go back to the princess."

his eyes flashed.

"maybe," he said, tilting his head. "but maybe i’d rather be here with you."

jiah’s breath stilled.

her fingers twitched in his grip.

seokjin smiled.

he noticed.

"tell me your name," he murmured again, softer this time. too soft. too dangerous.

jiah’s mind screamed at her to lie. to give him any other name, to create distance, to stop whatever this was before it started.

but when she opened her mouth,

"jiah."

the name slipped out like a secret, unbidden, a betrayal shaped by her own lips.

seokjin’s expression shifted.

his fingers tightened, just slightly, just enough.

"jiah," he repeated, slow, deliberate, like he was trying it on for the first time.

like he was committing it to memory.

her stomach dropped.

his thumb skimmed up the inside of her wrist, the touch barely there, but it sent a sharp, traitorous shiver up her spine.

"relax," he murmured.

and then he slid his fingers between hers

her breath caught.

his grip wasn’t tight, wasn’t possessive.

it was teasing.

testing.

like he was waiting to see if she’d pull away.

like he wanted to see if she could.

but she didn’t move.

she couldn’t move.

seokjin exhaled, a slow, heavy sound, his breath skimming along her cheek, and gods, he was so close now, his body a solid, steady heat against hers.

"you know," he murmured, voice thick, velvet-smooth, "if you keep looking at me like that, i might start to think you want me to stay."

jiah’s stomach plummeted.

she hadn’t even realized she was staring.

her eyes darted to his lips. a mistake, a mistake, a mistake, because the moment she did, she saw the way they parted, the way his tongue flicked out, just barely, just enough.

she jerked her head away, sucked in a sharp breath, tried to calm the riot in her chest.

seokjin laughed, low and quiet, entirely too pleased.

"relax, jiah," he murmured, and oh.

oh, that was a problem.

because he’d never said her name before.

not like that.

not like it was something he wanted to taste.

her breath stilled.

his fingers brushed against her cheek.

and for a moment,

for a single, terrifying moment,

she thought he might kiss her.

authors note: okok so i did accidently delete this chapter my bad. but anyways just to repeat what the old note said, i hope you guys enjoyed it, it is a little slow, i wanted to include more but i didn't want to have a 24 k chapter. school is starting up for me again so uploads will probs slow down a bit but don't worry i will still be working on this as well as captive desires. thank you sm for the support !!

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[1343401]

echos of the sea - chapter six

pairing: bts x reader

status: ongoing

word count: 14.2 k

warnings: depictions of violence, kidnapping, death, family trauma, insecurities, mentions of blood

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taehyung’s heart was already pounding by the time he reached the ballroom. he hadn’t even been running, but something in his chest was tight, pressing against his ribs, an unease that had been sitting in the back of his mind all night.

he wasn’t supposed to be nervous. this was just another job. something he could walk away from once it was over, no different from all the other things he had done to scrape by.

but that was before jiah had gotten involved.

he moved through the crowd with quick, purposeful steps, scanning every face, every dark head of hair, every unfamiliar set of eyes. she had to be here. she had always been here, lingering on the edges of the world she didn’t belong to.

except now. now she was gone.

his pulse kicked up, and his movements became sharper, more precise. he passed a group of nobles deep in conversation, skirts swishing and silk gloves brushing against wine glasses. the scent of spiced wine and perfume clung to the air, thick and stifling.

where the hell was she?

he was so focused on searching that he almost didn’t hear his name.

“hey, taehyung!”

he stopped short, spinning toward the voice.

one of the castle staff was balancing an empty tray on her hip, her dark hair slightly disheveled, her face flushed from moving between guests all night.

“did jiah ever find you?” she asked, tilting her head.

his stomach clenched.

“what?”

the girl blinked. “she was looking for you earlier. well, not really looking, more like standing around in a daze, but same thing, right?”

taehyung stepped closer, lowering his voice. “where is she?”

the maid hesitated, shifting her weight. “oh. uh… well, i might have let something slip.”

his blood turned to ice.

“what did you say?”

the maid glanced around as if to make sure no one was listening, then leaned in slightly. “i thought she already knew, but i kind of mentioned that taehyung was proposing tonight. and she, um. freaked out.”

his breath left him in a sharp exhale.

“she what?”

the maid winced. “yeah. she didn’t take it well. she looked like she was about to be sick and then bolted for the balcony.”

taehyung barely heard the last part. his mind was already spinning, calculating. jiah was alone on the balcony.

and the pirates…

his stomach twisted violently. this wasn’t supposed to happen. the princess was the one who was supposed to be out there, alone, waiting for prince seokjin. that was the plan.

taehyung turned quickly, scanning the ballroom again.

his eyes found princess yiseo almost immediately.

she was still on the dance floor, twirling beneath the golden chandeliers, laughter on her lips as she moved in perfect time with the music.

she was still here.

his chest tightened.

and then, like a nightmare unfolding in slow motion, he saw it.

prince seokjin wasn’t rushing. he never did. every step was measured, every movement effortless, the weight of his crown woven into the way he carried himself. golden embroidery glinted under the chandeliers; his face unreadable as he cut through the sea of partygoers.

he was heading for the balcony.

no. no, no, no.

taehyung’s pulse roared. his mind scrambled, trying to fix this, to stop this, to stop him, before everything fell apart.

the pirates were waiting.

they thought yiseo would be the one to step out onto that balcony. they thought seokjin would follow, lovesick and oblivious, right into their hands. it was supposed to be simple. clean. perfectly timed.

but jiah was out there instead.

taehyung clenched his jaw. he needed to think. to act.

seokjin was getting closer.

his steps slowed, just barely, his gaze flicking toward the open balcony doors. to anyone else, he looked composed. but taehyung knew better. he saw the tension in his shoulders, the twitch of his fingers before he smoothed them out.

seokjin knew something was wrong. maybe he’d seen jiah leave too suddenly. maybe he’d been watching her all night without realizing it. maybe some deep, unshakable part of him was already bracing for disaster.

taehyung had to stop him. he took a step forward, and then he saw them.

just beyond the ballroom’s grand windows, barely visible in the shadows of the garden, a figure moved. then another. dark silhouettes slipping between the hedges, waiting for their moment. waiting for seokjin.

no. not just seokjin.

jiah.

they weren’t hesitating. they weren’t waiting for the scene to play out as planned. they were adjusting, adapting, ready to strike now.

taehyung swore under his breath. he couldn’t go to seokjin anymore. he was too late. if he wasted another second, jiah would be gone before he could stop it.

he turned on his heel and moved.

not for the prince.

for the pirates.

yoongi saw it happen before he even meant to look.

seokjin, standing too close. her, staring up at him like she wasn’t sure whether to run or stay. a quiet exchange passing between them, something heavy, something charged.

yoongi exhaled sharply, tilting his head back against the wall behind him. of course. of course.

seokjin had always been like this. he didn’t have to try. he didn’t have to chase. women just looked at him and fell at his feet, drawn in by his effortless charm, his golden looks, his name. the crown prince of a kingdom, the face of a thousand love letters, the man who could have anyone and still never seemed satisfied.

and now, of all the girls in the world, it had to be her.

yoongi’s fingers twitched at his side.

she wasn’t supposed to catch his attention. he wasn’t supposed to notice the way candlelight turned her dark eyes warm, wasn’t supposed to care when she smiled at someone else, wasn’t supposed to find himself lingering at the edges of rooms just to see what she’d do next.

but he did.

he did, and now seokjin was looking at her the same way he looked at every girl he’d ever wanted. like she was his for the taking.

yoongi’s jaw clenched. it wasn’t fair. not that yoongi believed in fair, not in a world where men like seokjin were born to have everything and men like him had to carve out their own place with blood and steel. but still.

she was something different. something unexpected. something rare.

and it burned, just a little, to know that seokjin would take her without ever realizing what he had.

princess yiseo had poems written about her. songs composed in her name. men lost sleep over the thought of her.

but standing there, watching her shift under seokjin’s gaze, yoongi knew the truth.

yiseo could have a thousand love songs, a thousand poets bending words into beauty for her sake, and she still wouldn’t compare.

yoongi didn’t even realize his grip had tightened on the hilt of his sword until his knuckles ached.

he forced himself to relax, to breathe, to remind himself that it didn’t matter. it shouldn’t matter. what was one more girl in seokjin’s orbit? what was one more fleeting interest for the prince, who collected admiration like war trophies and discarded them just as easily?

but then she shifted, weight shifting from one foot to the other, and something about the movement struck him harder than it should have. she wasn’t like the others. she wasn’t standing there wanting seokjin’s attention, wasn’t leaning into the charm that so many others had fallen for. if anything, she looked caught, like she’d been pulled into something she hadn’t meant to be a part of.

and that was what made yoongi’s irritation sharpen into something uglier, something personal.

because seokjin could have any girl he wanted. he could have a princess, a noblewoman, any one of the countless admirers who wrote him letters and dreamed of his name. but instead, without even meaning to, he had her.

the one girl yoongi had found himself noticing when he shouldn’t.

his fingers twitched again, but he didn’t move. didn’t let himself.

because what was the point?

seokjin was seokjin.

and yoongi, yoongi had never been the kind of man to reach for things he had no business wanting.

the night air was crisp, the scent of salt thick on the wind. laughter and music spilled from the ballroom behind them, but out here, on the balcony, the world felt quieter. heavier.

and then the doors slammed open.

jiah startled, but seokjin was faster. his hand was gone from hers in an instant, his body shifting in front of hers, shoulders squared, stance solid. a shield.

her heart pounded.

the man standing in the doorway was tall, broad shouldered, dressed in dark pirate garb that contrasted sharply with the glittering decadence of the ballroom behind him. the open collar of his shirt revealed a sliver of tanned skin, the loose fabric doing nothing to hide the strength in his build. tousled brown hair framed sharp features, his eyes dark, focused. assessing.

he didn’t look at seokjin. he looked at her.

his gaze dragged over her, lingering for just a second too long before he let out a low hum, lips curling at the corners.

“well,” he said, “you’re prettier than i expected.”

jiah blinked.

seokjin, however, stiffened. “excuse me?”

the man ignored him entirely. his focus remained on jiah, eyes gleaming with something like intrigue. “not that i thought you’d be ugly, of course. but you know how it is, people exaggerate. all those songs about your beauty, all those poems… i figured there had to be some embellishment.”

her lips parted.

oh.

he thought…

he thought she was the princess.

jiah knew the story well enough to know if she didn’t get out of there quick, things would get ugly fast.

but i’m not yiseo, jiah thought. i’m not some important noble or princess. i’m just playing the part of  a servant wearing cloth she shouldn’t be at an event she shouldn’t be allowed to attend

yet a part of jiah was intrigued. in whispers of the sea, yiseo had been too in her head to be a reliable narrator. this scene was basically four lines. the pirate, jong-something if jiah  remembered correctly, shows up, fights the prince, wins, and takes the girl. the book never spoke of the pirate’s wit.

seokjin, standing like a storm about to break, was far less amused. “who are you?”

the pirate let out a soft chuckle, finally glancing at him. “you don’t know?”

seokjin’s expression darkened.

“right, right,” the man mused, crossing his arms. “royalty never bothers learning the names of the people they terrorize, do they?”

jiah barely smothered her laugh.

seokjin did not look amused.

but before he could bite back, the pirate turned his attention back to her, stepping forward, just slightly, just enough to test the space between them. “so tell me, princess,” he murmured, head tilting, “do you live up to all those stories?”

“i—”

“she’s not the princess.”

seokjin’s voice was sharp, cutting through the tension like a blade.

the pirate blinked. frowned. looked at jiah again, gaze narrowing.

then, slowly, his smirk returned.

“oh,” he said, dragging out the syllable like he was tasting it.

his eyes gleamed.

“now this is interesting.”

the pirate tilted his head, eyes sweeping over jiah once more, slower this time, like he was trying to figure out exactly what he’d walked into.

his smirk deepened.

“so if you’re not the princess,” he drawled, “then who are you?”

jiah opened her mouth, but seokjin stepped in before she could speak.

“none of your concern.”

the pirate exhaled a quiet laugh, amused. “really?” he mused, shifting his weight. “because from where i’m standing, it feels like my concern.”

seokjin’s jaw tightened. “step back.”

the pirate didn’t. if anything, he stepped closer.

jiah could feel the shift in the air, thick with tension, electric with the kind of energy that only came when two people were seconds away from throwing punches.

“not very polite, are you?” the pirate mused, gaze flicking over seokjin like he wasn’t even the slightest bit concerned. like he was barely worth acknowledging. “must be exhausting, standing so stiff all the time. do you ever relax? smile, even?”

“do you ever shut up?” seokjin shot back.

the pirate grinned.

“only when i’m too busy doing something else.”

jiah sucked in a breath.

oh, this was getting bad.

“so?” the pirate prompted, shifting his attention back to her. “if you’re not the princess, then what are you doing on this balcony? at a royal party? with him?”

he said it like he and seokjin were on two entirely different planes of existence. like seokjin was some untouchable figure of power, and he—he was something else entirely. something freer. something dangerous.

and for the first time in her life, jiah wasn’t sure which one of them she was supposed to fear more.

“she’s a guest,” seokjin said, voice clipped. “and she’s leaving.”

“oh?” the pirate hummed. “funny, because she doesn’t look like she’s leaving.”

his gaze flickered back to jiah, sharp and knowing. “she looks like she wants to hear what i have to say.”

he wasn’t wrong.

jiah should probably be worried about that.

but before she could decide how to respond, seokjin shifted again. subtle. just a fraction, but enough. enough to shield her, enough to block the pirate’s line of sight.

it was a warning.

a declaration.

mine.

the pirate exhaled a soft laugh, amused.

then, in a move so quick jiah barely had time to register it, he reached for the dagger at his belt, flipped it in his hand, twirled it between his fingers with an ease that made it abundantly clear that he was very good with it, before catching it by the hilt and tossing it straight into the air.

seokjin tensed, ready for a fight, but the pirate caught it effortlessly on the way down, smooth and controlled, as if the entire display had been for nothing but his own amusement.

Or, jiah realized, hers.

his grin widened.

“so what do you say, princess?” he mused. “stay and talk to a real man for a while?”

he glanced at seokjin.

“or let the prince keep pretending he can keep you all to himself?”

the tension snapped.

seokjin moved first.

his fist flew toward the pirate’s jaw, sharp and deliberate, but the other man was fast. he ducked, sidestepped, laughed as he twisted out of reach, the sound infuriatingly smug.

"touchy," the pirate mused, twirling the dagger again. "relax, your highness. i’m just having a little fun."

seokjin lunged.

this time, he got a solid hit. his knuckles connected with the pirate’s ribs, forcing a sharp grunt from his lips. but the other man recovered fast, fast enough to return the favor, shoving seokjin back with a well-placed strike to his side.

jiah stumbled, barely managing to avoid getting caught between them as the fight escalated. it was fast, brutal, a series of swift movements, seokjin, all precision and control, and the pirate, all sharp edges and unpredictability.

somewhere in the chaos, she tried to move.

tried to step away, to slip out of reach,

but a hand caught her wrist.

"ah, ah," the pirate chided, barely sparing her a glance as he wrenched her back toward him. "not so fast, princess, you stay here."

seokjin’s expression darkened.

"let her go."

the pirate smirked.

"make me."

he barely had time to finish the sentence before seokjin drove forward again, this time aiming lower, trying to knock the other man off balance.

it almost worked.

almost.

but the pirate was quick, faster than jiah had expected, faster than she suspected seokjin had anticipated, and at the last second, he twisted, grabbed seokjin by the front of his coat, and yanked him forward.

seokjin staggered.

the pirate grinned.

jiah barely managed to keep up.

it all happened too fast, the shift in the air, the blur of movement, the sharp sounds of fists colliding with flesh. she couldn’t even tell who was winning, only that seokjin was fighting like his life depended on it.

like her life depended on it.

the pirate, for all his arrogance, was good. frustratingly so. he moved with an ease that suggested experience, his footwork swift and practiced, every dodge and counter seamlessly fluid. but seokjin was better. his strikes were precise, calculated, honed by years of discipline. where the pirate fought with reckless confidence, seokjin fought with purpose.

he landed another hit, a brutal punch to the jaw that snapped the pirate’s head to the side.

for a second, jiah thought it was over.

but then the pirate laughed.

"damn," he muttered, rolling his shoulders as he wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth. "you hit harder than i expected."

and then he struck back.

the shift was immediate. seokjin had barely a moment to react before the pirate surged forward, slamming his knee into his stomach and using the momentum to shove him backward. seokjin staggered, but he didn’t fall.

"you’re good, princey," the pirate continued, circling him now, the dagger still twirling between his fingers. "but i gotta admit, i was expecting more."

seokjin’s jaw tightened.

"drop the blade," he ordered, voice sharp. "if you’re so confident, fight me fairly."

the pirate feigned a thoughtful expression. "hmm. tempting." he tossed the dagger once, catching it with ease. "but no."

seokjin lunged again, forcing the pirate to shift, his grip on the blade adjusting. their movements became sharper, more dangerous. seokjin weaving through the attacks with practiced ease, the pirate countering every strike with frustrating precision.

jiah felt useless, caught between them with no idea what to do. she needed to run, needed to get out and get help before one of them got hurt—

a hand snatched her waist.

"ah, ah," the pirate chided, barely sparing her a glance as he yanked her closer. "i thought i told you to stay princess."

seokjin snapped.

"release her”

the pirate grinned, attempting to pull jiah in even closer if it was possible. 

the next hit came before he could blink. seokjin drove forward with brutal force, slamming his forearm against the pirate’s throat and forcing him back against the railing. the shift was immediate, the smirk wiped from the pirate’s face, replaced with something sharp, something dangerous.

"you really are touchy," he muttered, voice strained. "i like it."

seokjin pressed harder. "you’re going to leave."

"hmm." the pirate tilted his head, the sharp edge of his smirk returning. "nah."

before seokjin could react, he moved.

the motion was quick, effortless, a sharp twist, a shift of weight, and suddenly seokjin was the one pinned, his back slamming against the railing, the pirate’s forearm digging into his chest.

jiah gasped.

the pirate, utterly unfazed, leaned in slightly. "fun as this is," he murmured, "i didn’t actually come here to fight."

his gaze flicked to jiah, slow and deliberate.

"i came for her."

seokjin saw red.

"you’re not taking her anywhere."

his voice was pure steel, sharp and unwavering, but the pirate only grinned, the tilt of his head almost lazy.

"funny," he mused, "i don’t remember asking for permission."

his grip on seokjin barely wavered, even as the prince braced against the railing, trying to shove him off. but the pirate was stronger than he looked. lean muscle packed with undeniable power, honed by a life spent navigating rough waters and ruthless battles.

and jiah.

jiah could barely breathe.

"let go of him," she said, her voice trembling despite her best efforts.

the pirate glanced at her, feigning curiosity. "oh? and if i don’t?"

jiah didn’t have an answer. she had no weapon, no way to fight back, only the desperate urge to do somethingbefore seokjin got hurt.

but the pirate wasn’t looking for an answer.

instead, his fingers twitched and in a movement so fast it barely registered, he flipped the dagger.

seokjin stiffened as cold steel pressed against his throat.

jiah froze.

"there we go," the pirate murmured. "that’s better."

seokjin’s jaw clenched, his entire body taut with tension, but he didn’t move. didn’t dare. the blade was small, more of a threat than a true weapon, but in the pirate’s hands, it might as well have been a sword.

"what do you want?" jiah forced out, pulse thundering in her ears.

"same thing as always," the pirate said, as if it were obvious. "gold. freedom. a good drink." his gaze flickered to her again, slower this time, something unreadable beneath the amusement. "and maybe," he mused, "a pretty thing to take back to the ship."

jiah recoiled. "i’m not—"

"oh, you are," he interrupted, grin widening. "gorgeous, actually. not sure why you were hiding out here, but lucky me, huh?"

seokjin jerked against the blade, fury rippling through every inch of him. "don’t talk about her like that."

the pirate only laughed. "don’t like sharing?"

"let her go."

"and again," the pirate sighed, "you keep thinking i take orders from you."

his hand twitched, just the slightest shift, but enough for seokjin to move.

it happened in a blink.

seokjin twisted, shoving forward with his full weight. the motion was so sudden the pirate lost his footing, stumbling just enough for seokjin to slam his elbow into his ribs. the dagger slipped, and seokjin lunged, driving him backward in one fluid motion.

jiah staggered away, heart hammering as the two men collided again.

but this time,

this time, the pirate didn’t laugh.

this time, he looked pissed.

"alright," he muttered, shaking out his wrist. "no more playing nice, then."

and then he attacked.

the fight became brutal. less like a battle of skill and more like sheer, raw force. the pirate was ruthless, striking without hesitation, forcing seokjin onto the defensive. seokjin blocked what he could, countered where possible, but the pirate fought dirty. quick jabs to the ribs, sharp kicks to throw him off balance, every move designed to weaken his opponent instead of overpowering him.

and it worked.

seokjin was fast, trained, disciplined. but the pirate fought like a man who had learned survival the hard way. and worse, he was still smiling.

"what’s wrong, princey?" he taunted, sidestepping another strike. "not used to a fair fight?"

"fair?" seokjin spat, breath heaving. "you brought a knife."

"so did you."

"what"

the pirate lunged and before seokjin could react, he snatched the dagger from his belt.

"see?" he said, flipping it between his fingers. "fair."

seokjin cursed.

"alright," the pirate mused. "i think i’ve had my fun." he shot a glance toward jiah, expression thoughtful. "ready to come with me, princess? or do i have to start getting creative?"

jiah’s blood turned to ice.

"over my dead body," seokjin snapped.

the pirate smirked. "if you insist."

and then he swung.

seokjin dodged, barely.

the dagger slashed through empty air, missing his throat by mere inches. the pirate moved with terrifying speed, relentless in his pursuit, every strike aimed to disable, not kill.

seokjin knew he was at a disadvantage. he was a prince, trained in combat, yes, but trained for duels, for honorable fights where his opponent followed the same unspoken rules. but pirates didn’t have rules. they had survival, and that made them dangerous.

but seokjin wasn’t about to lose.

he shifted, using the pirate’s momentum against him. the next time the blade came down, he twisted, forcing the pirate’s arm to veer off course before slamming his elbow into his side. the pirate grunted, stumbling back, but the smirk never left his face.

"not bad," he admitted, rolling his shoulder like this was all some casual sparring match. "but not good enough."

before seokjin could react, the pirate kicked.

seokjin felt the impact rip through his ribs as he was sent backward, his body slamming into the railing with bone-rattling force. pain exploded across his back, breath ripping from his lungs in a sharp gasp.

"seokjin!" jiah’s voice was barely audible over the roar in his ears.

he barely had time to recover before the pirate was on him again.

seokjin ducked as the dagger came down, metal scraping against the stone where his head had been just seconds ago. he tried to counter, but the pirate was faster, already anticipating his move.

"getting tired, your highness?" the pirate taunted, twisting the dagger in his grip. "you’re slowing down."

seokjin didn’t answer. just grit his teeth and launched forward, trying to disarm him,

but he made one fatal mistake.

he underestimated just how fast the pirate was.

in a blink, he was the one being flipped, his back hitting the stone hard enough to make his vision blur. before he could so much as breathe, the pirate’s knee was digging into his chest, pinning him down.

"now, now," the pirate hummed, pressing the dagger to his throat, "let’s not make this any harder than it needs to be."

seokjin’s hands shot up to grab his wrist, trying to shove the blade away, but the pirate held firm.

"i really should kill you," he mused, almost lazily. "but then again…where’s the fun in that?"

his grip shifted and before seokjin could react, he was gone.

jiah barely had time to scream before she was snatched.

one moment she was watching seokjin fight for his life, the next, she was yanked back, an arm locking around her waist, a hand clamping over her mouth.

"shh, princess," the pirate murmured into her ear, way too amused for someone who had just fought a prince. "don’t make this difficult."

jiah struggled.

panic surged through her veins as she kicked,fought, but the pirate barely reacted. he lifted her like she weighed nothing, already backing toward the edge of the balcony.

seokjin staggered to his feet, eyes wild with panic. "let her go!"

"sorry, your highness," the pirate grinned, hoisting jiah higher against his chest. "i think i’ll be keeping this one."

"jiah!"

she screamed. a raw, desperate sound as the pirate took his final step,

and then they were falling.

jiah's scream tore through the night air as gravity yanked them down. her stomach lurched, panic clawing up her throat,

but the pirates had planned this.

instead of slamming into the courtyard below, they crashed into something softer, a thick canopy stretched between two posts, designed to break their fall. the impact still rattled through jiah’s bones, the wind knocked from her lungs as they bounced, her vision spinning wildly,

and then the pirate moved, shifting their weight just enough to send them sliding off the edge.

they landed in a crouch, the pirate barely stumbling as he adjusted his grip on her. jiah had no time to react before he was running, her body still locked against his as he tore through the castle grounds like he owned the place.

"put me down!" she struggled, kicking against his hold, but he didn’t even stagger.

"now, why would i do that, princess?"

"stop calling me that!"

he laughed. actually laughed, as if this was nothing more than a game to him. jiah twisted, trying to break free, but his grip was ironclad.

above them, shouts rang out. "find them!"

seokjin.

jiah’s chest clenched. her head snapped up just in time to see the prince on the balcony, hands braced against the railing, his expression furious.

"jiah!"

she reached for him instinctively, but it was too late. the pirate had already ducked into the shadows, weaving through the palace grounds with terrifying speed.

"let me go!" she demanded again, thrashing harder.

"keep squirming like that, and i might drop you," the pirate mused. "not that i’d mind. could always carry you over my shoulder instead."

jiah froze.

he must’ve felt her hesitation, because his smirk pressed against her ear. "that’s what i thought."

she wanted to kick him in the teeth.

instead, she forced herself to focus. she needed to think, needed to find a way out of this before—

a whistle cut through the air.

the pirate grinned. "right on time."

jiah barely had time to process before they were moving again, toward the walls, toward a rope dangling down from the battlements.

"no! no, no, no," she twisted, trying to break his hold. "you are not—"

"i am," he said cheerfully, securing his grip before leaping for the rope.

jiah shrieked.

the world lurched as they swung upward, her stomach flipping violently, the castle dropping away beneath them. wind tore through her hair as the pirate climbed effortlessly, one arm hauling them up while the other held her steady against him.

"don’t look down," he offered, as if that was helpful.

"i hate you," she seethed.

"aw, princess," his tone was mock-offended. "we’ve only just met."

before she could snap at him, they reached the top of the wall.

"go, go, go!"

other figures moved in the darkness, pirates, already in motion. jiah barely got a glimpse of them before she was being hauled over the edge, the pirate barely breaking stride as he ran again.

the docks.

jiah's breath hitched.

they were heading for the docks.

"someone stop them!"

shouts rang out behind them. castle guards.

the pirate laughed under his breath. "bit slow, aren’t they?"

"they’re armed," jiah shot back, hearing the distant clang of swords. "you’re outnumbered."

"mm," he hummed. "you’d think that would matter."

they rounded the final corner and jiah saw it.

the hwa yang yeon hwa.

the book did little to describe how massive the ship truly was. it loomed ahead, lanterns glowing in the dark, its sails unfurled and ready to leave. ropes dangled from the deck, waiting for their crew to climb aboard.

"no—!" jiah fought again, trying to slow them down, but the pirate didn’t let her go.

"don’t worry, princess," he said, tone far too smug. "you’ll love it aboard."

and with that, he jumped.

seokjin stood at the edge of the balcony, chest heaving, knuckles white against the railing as he watched the pirate ship vanish into the horizon.

his mind was a storm. rage and disbelief crashing together in violent waves, drowning out every other thought. blood dripped from his temple, warm as it trailed down his cheek. his lip was split. his ribs ached from where the pirate had landed a brutal hit, but he barely felt it. pain was a distant thing, muted beneath the sheer force of his anger.

because she was gone.

jiah was gone.

his fingers curled into fists.

these pirates.

his pirates.

the ones he had spent years hunting. the ones who had taken from him before, who had torn his brother from his grasp and left him chasing ghosts. the ones who had eluded him time and time again, slipping through his fingers like smoke.

and now—

now they had her.

his pulse roared in his ears, his breaths sharp and uneven as the weight of it all crashed down on him.

he should have seen this coming.

he should have known.

but instead, he had been standing there, distracted. caught up in the way she looked at him, in the way she felt in his arms, in the way she—

“you’re bleeding.”

the voice came from behind him, low and measured, slipping through the shadows like it belonged there.

seokjin didn’t flinch. didn’t turn.

yoongi.

of course he was here.

silent as ever, watching from the edges of the battlefield until the dust had settled.

“i’m fine,” seokjin bit out.

he wasn’t.

but that wasn’t the point.

yoongi stepped closer, slow and deliberate, until he was at seokjin’s side. his presence was grounding. cool in contrast to seokjin’s fire.

they stood in silence for a long moment, both of them watching the empty horizon.

then…

“this is dangerous,” yoongi said, voice calm but firm.

seokjin exhaled sharply through his nose. “don’t.”

yoongi didn’t move. “you know i’m right.”

seokjin finally turned to look at him, and the flickering torchlight cast shadows across his sharp features, highlighting the unwavering certainty in his expression.

yoongi wasn’t stopping him.

he was warning him.

and that only made seokjin’s resolve burn hotter.

"i don’t care."

yoongi sighed. “you’re thinking with your emotions.”

“and you’re acting like this isn’t personal.” seokjin’s voice was sharp, laced with something dangerous. “don’t pretend you don’t see it. these are the pirates. the same ones who took my brother.”

yoongi’s gaze didn’t waver. “i know.”

and he did.

but knowing and acting were two different things.

“this is different,” yoongi continued. “you’re letting it cloud your judgment.”

seokjin let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “so what? you expect me to just let them go?”

yoongi tilted his head slightly, studying him. “you’re not thinking. you’re reacting.”

seokjin’s jaw clenched.

of course he was.

how could he not?

yoongi had always been level headed, always approached things with cold precision, always saw things in ways that seokjin didn’t.

but right now,

right now, seokjin didn’t want to be logical.

not when every instinct in his body screamed at him to act.

“i’m going after her,” he said again, quieter this time but just as unshakable.

yoongi sighed, glancing away for the first time, as if weighing his words.

when he finally spoke, his voice was softer.

“this doesn’t end well for you.”

seokjin swallowed down the frustration rising in his throat. “i’m not asking for permission, yoongi.”

a pause.

“i know.”

because yoongi knew him.

and he knew there was no stopping this.

so instead, he simply let out another slow exhale before turning his gaze back to the horizon.

“…then let’s do this right.”

taehyung had already made his choice.

he made it the moment he saw jiah struggling in the pirate’s grasp, the moment he saw the sheer terror in her eyes before she disappeared into the night. he made it when he saw seokjin bleeding and furious, when he realized exactly who had taken her. when he realized it was his fault she was out there at all.

and now, as he crouched low behind a stack of cargo barrels, hidden in the shadows just beyond the docks, he made it again.

he wasn’t going to let her go alone.

his breath came shallow, heart hammering against his ribs as he watched the pirates load the last of their supplies onto the hwa yang yeon hwa. they moved quickly, efficiently, passing crates between each other like they had done this a hundred times before. the ship was grander than he expected. larger, sturdier, with massive sails that rippled in the night breeze.

his pulse quickened.

this was the king of thieves’ ship. the most feared pirate in all the seas. the one kingdom's had spent years hunting. the one he had spent months slipping information to in exchange for coin. the one whose crew he had thoughtlessly betrayed just hours ago.

the night was chaos.

taehyung had seen it all unfold from the shadows, his heart hammering as he ran through the palace corridors, trying to reach the figures in time. jiah had been on the balcony with the prince, and the moment he spotted the pirate ship on the horizon, dread coiled in his stomach.

he knew what was coming.

his breath was ragged as he sprinted through the open courtyard, dodging startled servants and guards rushing toward the commotion. he could hear shouting in the distance, clashes of steel, frantic orders barked into the night. the pirates were already the inside city. inside the walls. inside the palace.

his boots skidded against the marble floor as he turned the corner, his eyes locking onto the balcony just above. he saw seokjin there, saw the way he had turned toward jiah, his expression unreadable. but before he could scan the area for the pirate he saw, before he could even process the moment, before he could call out to her,

a dark figure emerged from the shadows.

no.

taehyung’s stomach dropped as he saw the glint of steel, the sharp movement of a hand snatching jiah’s wrist.

she barely had time to react before she was gone.

pulled back into the darkness.

the pirate moved too fast. one second, jiah had been standing there, her body tense with urgency, and the next, she had vanished.

taehyung felt something inside him snap.

“guards!” his voice was raw, desperate as he turned toward the palace entrance, his chest heaving. “the pirates—!”

the words barely left his lips before a hand slammed into his ribs.

taehyung choked on the impact as he was sent sprawling backward, his back hitting the cold stone with a dull thud. he gasped for air, but before he could recover, a shadow loomed over him.

not just any shadow.

him.

the man who moved like a phantom, the one who had always been a ghost of a warning in whispered rumors.

taehyung had never seen his face before, but he knew exactly who he was.

the man with the golden smile.

the pirate with the dead eyes.

the captain’s right hand.

jung hoseok.

a name few knew. the name had never been spoken aloud. he had only ever been a whisper. a nightmare that drifted through the seas like a curse.

taehyung barely had time to brace himself before hoseok struck again.

a fist slammed into his jaw, snapping his head to the side. pain exploded behind his eyes, but he gritted his teeth, forcing himself to move. he rolled before the next blow could land, scrambling to his feet just as hoseok lunged again.

steel flashed in the dim light.

taehyung ducked, just barely avoiding the wicked curve of a dagger aimed for his throat.

his breath came in short, sharp bursts as he stumbled back, trying to find an opening. but hoseok didn’t give him one.

the pirate was fast. unnaturally fast. he moved like water, fluid and merciless, each strike calculated, each attack meant to kill.

taehyung barely managed to deflect the next blow, using the hilt of a discarded sword to block the downward slash. the impact sent a shockwave up his arm, nearly numbing his fingers.

hoseok smiled.

it was a grin made of hunger.

“you’re in the way,” he murmured, voice almost playful. “run along, stable boy.”

taehyung snarled, shoving forward, forcing their blades apart. “where did you take her?”

hoseok cocked his head. “who?”

taehyung’s grip tightened.

“jiah.”

the name barely left his lips before hoseok moved.

too fast.

taehyung had no time to react before a knee slammed into his stomach, knocking the air from his lungs. he doubled over, coughing, but before he could recover, a hand fisted into his hair, yanking his head back.

his vision blurred.

his pulse thundered.

cold steel pressed against his throat.

hoseok leaned in, his breath warm against taehyung’s ear.

“if you mean the princess, she’s already gone.”

taehyung froze.

gone.

he knew what that meant.

the ship.

the open sea.

he was too late.

hoseok must have seen the realization flicker in his eyes because he smiled again, that sharp, golden grin.

the pirate leaded in again, but before he could get out another word,

taehyung moved.

he twisted, ignoring the burn of the blade against his skin as he slammed his elbow into hoseok’s ribs, forcing him back. the moment the pressure lifted, he lunged.

hoseok barely had time to adjust before taehyung tackled him.

they crashed against the stone, grappling for control. fists connected, blades scraped, breathless grunts filled the air. taehyung fought with everything he had, fueled by nothing but raw desperation.

he had to get to jiah.

he had to.

but hoseok was a storm.

every move taehyung made, the pirate countered it effortlessly. every attack, every desperate swing, hoseok was already a step ahead.

and then, with one final strike, he knocked taehyung’s legs out from under him.

taehyung hit the ground hard, the impact rattling through his bones.

hoseok stood over him, breath steady, gaze unreadable. his dagger gleamed under the lantern light, poised for the final blow.

taehyung didn’t close his eyes.

he glared.

hoseok hesitated.

just for a second.

“intruders!”

the shout rang through the air, followed by the sound of approaching guards.

hoseok sighed. “tsk.”

taehyung barely had time to blink before the pirate stepped back, spinning his dagger once before tucking it away.

“this was fun,” hoseok mused, already retreating. “let’s do it again sometime.”

and then like smoke he was gone.

swallowed by the shadows.

leaving nothing behind but the sting of defeat.

hoseok had every intention to kill him right there.  taehyung knew every interacting with any pirates, not only just the crew of the hwa yang yeon hwa, was a death sentence.

and yet, here he was, about to step onto the very ship he had sold out.

if they recognized him, if any of them knew who he was—

he swallowed hard and shoved the thought away.

he couldn’t think about that now.

instead, he focused on the movement of the crew, the patterns in their steps, the brief moments when their backs were turned. he had grown up learning how to move unnoticed, how to be quick and silent when slipping into places he had no business being. now, that skill was the only thing keeping him from a blade to the throat.

he waited until one of the pirates, a lanky man with a thick beard, ducked below deck, then moved swiftly toward the crates stacked near the gangplank. he kept low, footsteps soundless as he crept closer.

just a little further…

“oi! get those barrels tied down!” someone barked nearby.

taehyung froze, pressing himself against the wood as heavy boots stomped past him. the pirate, one of the taller ones, with a scar down his arm, grumbled under his breath as he grabbed a length of rope and set to work.

taehyung didn’t breathe until he was gone.

his fingers curled against the rough wood of the crate. keep moving.

he darted forward again, slipping into the shadow of the main mast just as another pirate stepped onto the deck. this one was shorter, stocky, with sharp eyes that swept over the crew. taehyung held his breath, heart thudding as he ducked behind a stack of coiled rope.

“all set?” the stocky pirate called out.

“aye,” another voice answered.

“then we sail before dawn.”

shit.

taehyung had been hoping for more time.

but there was no turning back now.

he stayed crouched in his hiding spot, scanning the deck for an opening. he needed to blend in, to make himself look like he belonged. he had spent enough time around the docks to know how pirates moved, how they carried themselves. he just needed the right moment to slip in among them.

his opportunity came faster than he expected.

a fight broke out near the bow. two pirates shoving each other over a lost bet, voices rising in drunken anger. the distraction was all taehyung needed. while the others turned to watch, he grabbed a stray length of rope, looped it around his shoulder, and strode across the deck like he had every right to be there.

no one stopped him.

his heart pounded in his throat as he moved toward the rigging, pretending to busy himself with knots. his hands weren’t as steady as he wanted them to be, but no one paid him any mind. as long as he kept his head down, as long as he acted like he knew what he was doing, he could blend in.

and so, he did.

as the minutes passed, the tension in his shoulders eased. the ship came alive around him. pirates hauling barrels below deck, tying sails, sharpening blades. no one questioned his presence.

but that didn’t mean he was safe.

his eyes darted toward the captain’s quarters, toward the place where he assumed jiah had been taken. he hadn’t seen her since she was dragged aboard. he didn’t know if she was hurt. he didn’t know anything.

but he would.

he had promised himself that much.

“i’ll protect her,” he murmured under his breath, gripping the rope tighter.

no matter what.

the ship rocked gently beneath her feet, but jiah barely noticed. her hands were bound, her wrists aching from the rough rope that cut into her skin, and her heart was still hammering in her chest from the chaos of the last hour. her breath came too fast, uneven and sharp, as she glared at the man in front of her.

"you have the wrong girl."

he didn’t look convinced. in fact, he looked downright amused. the dim lantern light cast shadows over his sharp features, highlighting the curve of his smirk, the flicker of something dangerous in his dark eyes.

"do i?" he mused, tilting his head. "you were on the balcony, weren’t you? dressed all nice, tucked away in the palace. the prince certainly seemed to think you were worth throwing hands over."

her stomach twisted. prince seokjin. she had no idea what had happened after jong-something had dragged her away, but she could still see the fury in seokjin’s eyes, the way he had fought to get to her. she didn’t want to think about what he might do next.

"that doesn’t mean i’m the princess," she snapped, shaking her head. "yiseo is the one you want. i’m just…i’m just her maid."

he let out a low whistle, leaning against one of the wooden beams. "that’s a new one. you expect me to believe the prince of gunseok was willing to bleed over a maid? come on, princess, give me some credit."

she let out a strangled noise of frustration, yanking at her restraints. "i am not—" she stopped herself, forcing a breath through her nose. "i am not a princess. i was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. let me go, and you can still fix this."

he raised an eyebrow, as if considering, before he pushed off the beam and strode toward her. jiah took an instinctive step back, but the wall of the ship’s cabin stopped her short. he was close now, too close, his presence overwhelming in the small space.

"hmm." his eyes roved over her, not in a leering way, but in something sharper. assessing, peeling back layers she didn’t want anyone to see. "well, i gotta admit, princess, you don’t seem like much of a liar. but you see, that’s not my problem. we were told to take the girl on that balcony, and that girl was you. so, either the prince was mooning over his maid—" his lips quirked like the idea was ridiculous "—or you’re lying through your teeth. and between you and me? i don’t think it really matters."

her fingers curled into fists. "what do you mean, it doesn’t matter? you took the wrong girl!"

he grinned, all sharp edges and reckless confidence. "maybe. but you’re still leverage. and leverage is leverage, no matter what name it comes with."

jiah’s heart sank. she had been hoping, foolishly, that he might actually listen to reason. but of course, that had never been an option, had it? pirates didn’t care about reason. they cared about profit. advantage. power.

she lifted her chin, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach. "if you think prince seokjin will trade the princess for me, you’re wrong."

he hummed, considering. "we’ll see about that. but in the meantime—" his hand shot out, fingers brushing her chin, tilting her face up. "—i think i like you better than some spoiled princess, anyway."

she jerked away from his touch, glaring. "don’t touch me."

he chuckled, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "easy, princess. just getting a good look at the prize we hauled in. wouldn’t want to underestimate our catch, now, would we?"

before she could spit out another retort, the cabin door creaked open, and another pirate poked his head in. "captain wants to see her. now."

jiah swallowed. kim namjoon. the real captain of this ship. he may have been one of the main love interests in the novel but that took chapters to get to. and that was yiseo’s relationship with him.  she was just some girl, not  a princess.  what the captain would do to her once he found out sent a chill through her. 

her captor gave a lazy shrug. "looks like you’ve got an audience with the king of thieves himself. let’s go, princess. wouldn’t want to keep him waiting."

jiah didn’t move at first. she was still trying to process everything, still grappling with the absurdity of it all.

she had been at the palace, safe, out of the way. now she was on a pirate ship, surrounded by criminals who thought she was worth something.

except she wasn’t.

she wasn’t even a royal maid.

let alone a princess.

she was not important.

not someone people fought wars over.

but these pirates didn’t believe her. or maybe, they just didn’t care.

"didn’t you hear him?" her captor said, nudging her forward with the hilt of his sword. "captain’s waiting."

jiah swallowed down the sharp retort on the tip of her tongue. fighting back now wouldn’t help. if she wanted to survive this, she had to be smart. had to think.

so she took a breath and let herself be led out of the cabin.

the ship was bigger than she had expected. lanterns swung from the masts, casting golden light over the deck, where men moved about with an ease that told her they had been at sea for a long, long time. the scent of salt and wood and something burning filled her lungs.

but more than anything, it was the sound of the ocean that unnerved her.

endless. inescapable.

there was no getting off this ship unless they allowed it.

the pirate leading her didn’t say anything as he guided her toward the center of the deck, where a man stood waiting.

he was taller than the others, broad-shouldered and calm in a way that felt dangerous. his dark coat billowed slightly in the breeze, and when he turned, the flickering lantern light caught on the sharp planes of his face.

captain namjoon.

he looked at her for a long moment, expression unreadable.

"so," he said, his voice smoother than she expected. "this is the girl the prince fought for?"

her captor chuckled. "not what you were expecting, captain?"

namjoon hummed, crossing his arms. his gaze drifted over her, slow and deliberate, before he tilted his head.

"what’s your name?"

jiah hesitated.

she didn’t want to give him anything. but lying, lying could make things worse.

"jiah," she said finally, forcing her voice to stay steady.

"jiah," namjoon echoed, testing the name. then, his lips quirked slightly. "you don’t look much like a princess."

"because i’m not," she snapped, the frustration bubbling up again. "you took the wrong girl."

namjoon’s expression didn’t change. "is that so?"

"yes! the real princess is still at the ball, not me."

namjoon glanced at the pirate who had dragged her here. "what do you think?"

"she swears up and down that we got the wrong one," he said, smirking. "but i say, if she was in the prince’s arms, she’s worth something."

jiah clenched her fists. "i was not in his—" she cut herself off with a frustrated exhale. "prince seokjin doesn’t care about me like that."

namjoon raised a brow. "then why did he fight for you?"

"because…" she hesitated.

because he’s a good man. because he wouldn’t let someone be taken, no matter who they were.

but she didn’t know how to explain that in a way these men would understand.

"he just did," she muttered instead, looking away.

namjoon studied her a moment longer. then, without looking back at his men, he said, "put her below deck. we’ll figure out what to do with her later."

the pirate beside her tsked. "so cold, captain."

"don’t test me, jeon," namjoon said, his voice even.

jeon.

jiah glanced up at the man beside her, the one who had fought seokjin, who had smirked his way through the whole thing.

jeon.

she didn’t know what that meant, but she knew one thing, she hated him.

and she had a feeling this was far from over.

the pirate, jeon, grinned like he knew exactly what she was thinking. like he could see the way her shoulders had tensed, the way her jaw had clenched, the way she was already bracing for the next round of whatever game he was playing.

"below deck it is," he said, gripping her arm again and steering her toward the stairs. "don’t worry, princess. i’ll make sure you get a real warm welcome."

"don’t call me that," she snapped, yanking her arm away.

"what, princess?" his smirk widened, eyes dancing with amusement. "but it suits you so well."

she wanted to hit him.

no, she wanted to throw him overboard.

but she had to be smart. had to be careful.

so instead, she swallowed her frustration and focused on where he was leading her.

the air grew damp as they descended into the belly of the ship. the wood creaked underfoot, and the scent of salt and something musty filled her nose. the lantern light barely reached the lower levels, casting long, flickering shadows against the walls.

he led her past rows of barrels and crates, deeper into the dimly lit corridor. finally, he stopped in front of a heavy wooden door and pushed it open.

"home sweet home," he said, gesturing for her to step inside.

jiah hesitated.

the room was small, barely more than a storage space. a single cot sat in one corner, a single lantern flickered against the wall, and there was little else.

her gut twisted.

this was a cell.

not in the traditional sense. there were no iron bars, no chains, but it didn’t matter. the door was thick, the lock heavy, and she knew without testing it that she wasn’t getting out of here on her own.

jeon must have seen the realization settle over her because he let out a low chuckle.

"what’s wrong, princess? not quite as nice as your palace chambers?"

"i wouldn’t know," she muttered, stepping inside.

his smirk faltered for just a second. just long enough for her to see something flicker in his eyes. confusion, maybe. curiosity.

then, just as quickly, it was gone.

"well," he said, leaning against the doorframe. "you’d better get comfortable. we’ve got a long journey ahead of us."

she lifted her chin. "where are you taking me?"

he grinned. "now, if i told you that, it’d ruin the surprise."

she glared. "you can’t just—"

he shut the door in her face.

jiah let out a sharp breath, her hands curling into fists at her sides.

then, slowly, she turned and leaned against the door, pressing her forehead against the wood.

she was trapped.

alone.

on a pirate ship, heading to gods knew where. and no one—not the prince, not taehyung, not yiseo, not anyone—knew where to find her

the ship rocked steadily beneath jungkook’s feet, the kind of gentle sway that most men would stumble against, but to him, it was second nature. the crew moved around him in the low lantern light, voices murmuring as they secured lines and checked their haul. the night smelled of salt and smoke, the remnants of their raid still clinging to their skin.

it should have felt like a victory.

they had the girl.

the job was done.

so why did he feel so goddamn restless?

he exhaled sharply, rolling his sore shoulder, wincing as the bruises from the fight with the prince made themselves known. the guy had put up more of a fight than expected, not that it mattered. jungkook had still walked away with the prize, and the prince had been left bleeding in the dust.

that should have been the end of it.

but then the water shifted.

jungkook felt it before he saw it.

a ripple, unnatural and deliberate, cutting through the waves.

his fingers twitched toward his blade, but he didn’t draw it. not yet.

because he knew what this was.

knew who this was.

the water stilled for half a breath, then split apart in a violent surge.

a figure emerged, breaking through the surface with an ease that defied logic, water cascading from his body as he gripped the side of the ship. the moon caught on pale skin, silver hair clinging to sharp features, dark eyes glinting like the ocean itself.

jimin.

jungkook’s smirk was instant. "about time you showed up."

the siren said nothing.

just stood there, perched on the ship’s edge, water pooling at his feet.

his gaze swept across the deck, scanning the crew, the ship, everything.

until his eyes landed on jungkook.

and didn’t move.

something was off.

jungkook tilted his head. "you missed all the fun. palace was a mess, but we got what we came for." he nodded toward the lower deck, where their prize was being held. "princess is below. safe and sound."

still, jimin didn’t react.

his stare was steady, unreadable, and it sent something uneasy skittering down jungkook’s spine.

then, finally…

"where is she?"

his voice was quiet. too quiet.

jungkook blinked. "who?"

jimin’s expression didn’t change.

"the girl."

jungkook’s fingers curled at his sides. "the princess?"

"not the princess."

the words were sharp. final.

jungkook felt his pulse spike.

jimin stepped forward, slow, deliberate, bare feet making no sound against the wood. water still dripped from his form, but it wasn’t natural. not the way it should have been. the droplets shimmered, catching the lantern light too easily, defying the way water should behave.

jimin was calm. too calm.

and jungkook had seen him rip men apart while wearing that same expression.

"her," jimin said simply.

and jungkook knew exactly who he meant.

jiah.

the weight of it settled in his chest, heavy and certain, as the realization sank in.

they had taken the wrong girl.

and the siren wasn’t happy about it.

jungkook’s grip tightened on the hilt of his sword. the air between them felt electric, charged with something he couldn’t quite place, something beyond just the usual tension that came with jimin’s presence.

"you're gonna have to be more specific," he said, keeping his voice even, casual, though his instincts were screaming at him to be careful.

jimin’s eyes didn’t waver. "the girl. the one who doesn’t belong in this world."

jungkook felt something cold settle in his chest.

"you mean the maid?" he scoffed, forcing out a laugh, even though it didn’t feel right in his throat. "you’re kidding, right? you came all the way here, stormed onto the ship, just to ask about her?"

jimin tilted his head, water dripping from his chin. the moonlight made his features eerily sharp, almost too perfect, like he wasn’t something meant for this world.

"she’s not just a maid," jimin murmured.

jungkook rolled his shoulders, trying to shake off the way those words sent something uneasy crawling up his spine. "right. because you would know, wouldn’t you?" he took a step closer, arms crossing over his chest. "what, she make some kind of deal with you? promise you something in exchange for her life?"

jimin just stared at him, expression unreadable.

jungkook let out a sharp breath, shaking his head. "look, whatever weird little thing you’ve got going on with her? it doesn’t matter. she’s leverage now. and if she’s not the princess, she’s still valuable."

jimin finally blinked, slow and deliberate. "to you," he said softly. "but not to them."

jungkook stilled.

because that, that was the problem, wasn’t it?

he knew namjoon. knew how the captain operated. if jiah wasn’t useful, if she wasn’t worth a ransom,

she wouldn’t last long.

jungkook’s jaw clenched.

he didn’t know why the thought of that bothered him, didn’t know why the idea of her being cast aside so easily made his pulse spike.

"why do you care?" he finally asked, voice quieter than he meant it to be.

jimin’s lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile. "because she doesn’t belong here," he repeated. "and neither do you."

jungkook felt that like a strike to the ribs.

but before he could open his mouth, before he could push back, before he could say anything at all—

jimin turned.

and walked away.

jungkook stood outside the door longer than he meant to, jimin’s words still rattling around in his head.

"she doesn’t belong here. and neither do you."

he scoffed under his breath, running a hand through his hair. what the hell was that supposed to mean?

jimin was always like this, mysterious, unreadable, acting like he knew things no one else did. but he never cared about anything outside of himself, never involved himself in anything unless it benefited him.

so why was this different?

why did he care about her?

jungkook rolled his shoulders, shaking off the thought as he pushed open the door to the small cabin.

his eyes immediately landed on her.

jiah was sitting on the edge of the cot, back straight, arms crossed over her chest like some kind of wounded animal, cornered, but ready to bite. her hair was a little messy from the struggle earlier, but her gaze was sharp, piercing, like she’d been waiting for him.

the second he stepped inside, she scoffed. “oh, look. the kidnapper returns.”

jungkook smirked, letting the door shut behind him. “miss me already, princess?”

her fingers twitched, resisting the urge to throw something at him. "i told you. i’m not a princess.”

“sure, sure.” his tone was easy, unconcerned. “but you keep saying that like it actually matters.”

jiah’s jaw clenched. “it does matter. you kidnapped the wrong person.”

he huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "wrong person, right person... doesn’t really change anything for you, does it?" he tilted his head. “so tell me, princess, who exactly are you supposed to be, then?"

her mouth opened, but she hesitated. who was she supposed to be?

back home, she had been nothing special. just another university student barely scraping by, just another face in the crowd. and here, here she was even less. a maid with no power, no status, no future.

except now, somehow, she was this.

stolen. mistaken for someone important. caught in something so much bigger than herself.

she exhaled sharply. "i'm no one. just a maid."

he stared at her for a long moment, like he was waiting for the punchline.

then, to her frustration, he just laughed.

"right," he said, shaking his head. "because maids always find themselves in the middle of royal brawls, wearing fancy dresses, getting dragged away by pirates. yeah, sure."

"you did drag me away," she snapped.

"and yet," he mused, tapping a finger against his chin, "your precious prince was ready to burn the world down for you."

her stomach twisted. seokjin. she had no idea what had happened after this pirate had torn her from the balcony. but she could still see the fury in the prince’s eyes, the way he had fought to get to her.

"he was just…he thought i was someone else."

jungkook's smirk sharpened. "did he?"

jiah hated the doubt curling in her gut.

he took a step closer, slow and deliberate. "i gotta say, princess, i’m a little curious now. because if you’re just some random maid, then what exactly were you doing up there? why was the prince looking at you like you were the only thing that mattered?"

"i told you," she said, voice tight, "it was a mistake."

jungkook clicked his tongue, his dark eyes glinting with something unreadable. "well, doesn’t really matter, does it?"

she tensed. "what do you mean?"

he leaned in slightly, just enough for her to feel the warmth radiating off of him, for her to be reminded of just how trapped she was.

"i mean," he murmured, "whether you're a princess or a maid, you’re still leverage. and leverage is leverage, no matter what name it comes with."

her pulse stuttered.

he didn’t care. he never cared.

her fingers curled into fists. "if you think the prince will try and save me you’re wrong."

he hummed, unconcerned. "we’ll see about that."

then he turned, already making his way toward the door.

jiah swallowed down her frustration, forcing herself to steady her breath. her mind was spinning, but one question pushed its way to the front.

"wait."

he paused, one hand on the doorframe. he glanced back at her, brow raised in mild curiosity.

she hesitated, but then squared her shoulders. "what’s your name?"

for a moment, he just looked at her, as if weighing whether he even wanted to humor the question. then, slowly, a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

"why?" his voice was light, teasing. "planning on calling it out in your sleep?"

her glare was instant. "so i know who to curse when i get out of here."

he let out a low chuckle, clearly entertained. "cute."

she said nothing, just crossed her arms and waited.

finally, he exhaled through his nose, tilting his head. "let’s just say you can call me whatever you like, princess. but i wouldn’t get too attached."

before she could press further, he stepped out and shut the door behind him, leaving her seething in the candlelit cabin.

the ship rocked beneath her, but jiah barely noticed. she was finally able to free her hands, fingers curling into trembling fists at her sides, her pulse still racing from the chaos of the night.

she had just started to feel some sense of familiarity with this world before being ripped away from what she knew. the palace had been strange at first. too grand, too structured, too full of unspoken rules she hadn’t been prepared to navigate. but she had been adjusting, slowly finding her footing. even as a maid, even in the shadow of a princess, she had begun to make sense of her place.

and now, just like that, it was gone.

she swallowed hard, pressing a hand to her temple. but at least yiseo was safe.

the thought grounded her, even as a fresh wave of unease curled around her ribs. she could picture it so clearly: yiseo standing beside seokjin, untouched by all of this, safe in his arms. wasn’t that how things were supposed to be? the princess and her prince, together in the end. it was a cruel sort of relief, knowing that if someone had to be taken, at least it hadn’t been her.

but that didn’t make this any easier to accept.

jiah’s gaze flickered to the heavy wooden door, then to the small, circular window near the ceiling. her shoulders slumped. she had already checked, too high up to be of any use, and even if she could reach it, she had no idea how far up they were from the water. would she survive the fall? could she even swim against the pull of the sea?

her stomach twisted. none of it mattered. she wouldn’t be able to escape just yet.

sighing, she let her back hit the wooden wall behind her, arms crossing tightly over her chest. she didn’t know what would happen next, and that uncertainty made her skin itch. the pirates had no reason to listen to her, no reason to believe she wasn’t who they thought she was.

because who would a prince bleed for, if not his princess?

seokjin had fought for her.

and she…she had let herself believe, just for a second, that maybe—

she clenched her jaw. no. she couldn’t afford to think about that now.

the sound of footsteps echoed just outside her door, and she exhaled sharply through her nose, already irritated. she turned, arms dropping to her sides as she prepared for another round of arguing.

“back so soon?” she bit out, her voice laced with frustration. “i thought you had better things to do than—”

but the words died in her throat.

because it wasn’t him.

standing in the doorway, bathed in the soft glow of lantern light, was someone else entirely.

silver hair. ethereal features. eyes that seemed to pierce right through her.

the siren.

jiah felt her breath catch, her stomach twisting as a familiar, explainable sense of dread settled deep in her bones.

he looked just the same as he did a few nights ago. his beauty was unnatural, something carved from moonlight itself. his presence was overwhelming, too much to take in at once, and yet jiah couldn’t look away. his shimmering blue hair framed his delicate, almost unearthly features, catching the dim light in a way that made him glow.

and yet he so eerily was familiar. not like she had encountered him before, but like her soul knew him. 

this wasn’t just a siren’s natural allure, mesmerizing those around them. no, this was different. the moment his gaze locked onto hers, something inside her twisted. like she was remembering something long buried, something she had no right to recall.

his lips parted slightly, as if he was about to speak, but he only stared.

the pirate had been dangerous in an obvious way, all sharp smiles and reckless confidence. but this? this was something else entirely.

she swallowed hard, pulse hammering against her ribs.

“who are you?” she asked, voice quieter than she meant it to be.

he didn’t answer right away. instead, his gaze swept over her, slow and deliberate, like he was searching for something. and then, softly, his voice curled through the air like the whisper of the tide.

“jiah...”

her breath hitched. it was the same voice she heard each night since coming here.  the same voice that lured her to sleep and haunted her dreams. the way he said her name sent a chill through her. it wasn’t just recognition, it was something deeper, something knowing.

she took a step back, barely realizing she had moved. “how do you know my name?”

his expression remained unreadable, but there was something in his eyes, something sharp, something relentless.

“do you remember me?”

jiah’s fingers curled into fists. her heart pounded, something clawing at the back of her mind. she shook her head. “no.”

his lips curved slightly, the faintest ghost of a smile, but there was nothing warm about it.

“you’re lying.”

she sucked in a sharp breath. “i’m not.”

he took a step closer, and she instinctively moved back. but there was nowhere to go. the wooden wall pressed against her spine, trapping her in place as he advanced, slow and steady, like the pull of the tide.

the air between them crackled with something unspoken. something ancient.

“i see it in your eyes,” he murmured, tilting his head as if studying her. “you may not want to admit it, but your body is betraying you.”

jiah’s breath quickened, her pulse a frantic drumbeat in her chest. she wanted to deny it, wanted to tell him he was wrong, that she had never met him before.

but the way her skin prickled, the way her heart leapt into her throat at the sound of his voice,

she couldn’t.

“what do you want?” she managed, barely above a whisper.

his gaze darkened, something unreadable passing over his face.

“to remind you.”

before she could respond, his hand lifted, fingers brushing the back of her wrist. the touch was feather-light, barely there, but it sent a shock through her system, something deep and primal awakening in her veins.

memories she couldn’t quite grasp, sensations she couldn’t explain, they rose up inside her, clawing their way to the surface.

jiah gasped, her body betraying her as her breath hitched, her skin burning where he touched her.

this was just like the other night, jiah thought. she knew she needed to break free out of this trance, break away from the siren. yet she couldn’t.

“you feel it, don’t you?” his voice was low, rougher now, tinged with something almost possessive.

she did. and that terrified her more than anything.

“let me go,” she whispered.

he only smiled, tilting his head slightly as his fingers trailed up her arm, sending shivers through her entire body.

“why?” he asked softly. “when you’ve been searching for me all along?”

jiah’s mind screamed in protest, but her body leaned closer, drawn to him in a way she couldn’t fight.

because somehow, impossibly, she knew

he wasn’t wrong.

the moment his fingers brushed against her skin, the world tilted.

a rush of heat, a sharp inhale, jiah barely had time to register the spark that shot up her arm before something inside her unraveled.

not just the memory of their first encounter. not just the dreams that haunted her each night. something deeper. something ancient.

salt on her tongue. wind in her hair. the crash of waves against the shore. and him. silver-haired, otherworldly, eyes dark as the abyss, dragging her under without mercy.

it had felt like a dream for so long, the way she stood at the edge of the sea, the moon casting its glow over endless water. how he had emerged from it like something carved from the tide itself, bare-chested, skin glistening, lips curled in something between amusement and hunger.

how he had whispered her name like a promise. like a claim.

jiah...

the memory hit her all at once. the way his hands had skimmed over her waist, his touch featherlight but searing. how his lips had ghosted over hers, teasing, testing, before dragging her into a kiss that burned through every fiber of her being. soft at first, then deeper, hungrier. his fingers tangling in her hair, her body melting against him, helpless against the way he pulled her in.

his touch had been fire and ice, hands mapping every inch of her as if memorizing her shape, pressing her back against the wet sand, the ocean lapping at their feet. she could still feel it, the way his lips had trailed down her throat, the way her breath had hitched when he murmured against her skin, words she hadn't understood then but felt in her very soul.

but dreams weren’t supposed to feel like this. weren’t supposed to leave her trembling, her skin aching with the ghost of something she swore had never happened.

except it had.

her pulse pounded in her ears, drowning out everything else as she stared up at him now, standing right in front of her, real, tangible, impossible.

his gaze swept over her, slow, deliberate, like he could see straight through her. like he knew exactly what she was remembering.

“you remember,” he murmured, the ghost of a smile playing at his lips.

jiah’s breath caught. she wanted to deny it. wanted to push him away. but her body betrayed her, the phantom touch of his hands still burning against her skin.

his fingers traced up her arm, a whisper of a touch, and she shuddered.

“say it,” he coaxed, his voice low, intoxicating. “say you remember.”

her lips parted, her mind screaming at her to lie, to run, to do anything but fall into him the way she had before.

but before she could speak, before she could stop herself

his hand slid to her jaw, tilting her face up to his.

“you were searching for me,” he murmured, his breath brushing over her lips, so close she could taste the sea on him. “all this time.”

a shiver rolled down her spine, her body thrumming with something dangerously close to need.

bang.

a crash from the deck above. shouting. the spell shattered.

jiah jolted, sucking in a breath, the moment slipping through her fingers like sand.

his hand was still on her. his grip firm. unyielding.

the moment shattered, but the fire it had ignited inside her refused to die.

jiah’s breath came fast, shallow, her pulse hammering in her ears as the echoes of that dream,no, that memory, wrapped around her like a vice. the kiss, the touches, the way his body had pressed against hers, searing heat against the cold tide. it wasn’t just a fragment of her imagination. it had happened. somehow, somewhere.

but how?

another crash from above sent vibrations through the ship, muffled shouts breaking through the haze clouding her mind. jiah forced herself to move, to breathe, to focus on the present. on the siren standing inches away, watching her with an intensity that sent her stomach twisting.

his fingers hadn’t left her jaw, and she hated the way her skin tingled beneath his touch, like his very presence was rewriting something deep inside her.

“let me go,” she whispered, but it lacked the conviction she needed.

his lips quirked. “why?”

the question sent something sharp through her. she should be pushing him away, demanding answers, fighting to regain some sense of control. but the memory of his lips on hers was still fresh, lingering like the taste of salt on her tongue, and it terrified her how much she wanted to lean into it.

“because i don’t know you,” she said, forcing steel into her voice, even as her body betrayed her.

his expression didn’t change, but something flickered in his eyes, something dangerous. something knowing.

“but you did.”

her throat tightened.

“no,” she said, shaking her head, trying to clear the fog threatening to pull her under. “i would remember—”

“you do,” he interrupted smoothly. “you just don’t want to.”

his grip on her jaw softened, fingers trailing down her neck, lingering at the base of her throat. her breath hitched at the contact, every nerve in her body going taut.

“you were mine,” he murmured, voice laced with something dark, something possessive. “and i was yours.”

a shiver rolled through her, heat pooling low in her stomach despite every part of her screaming to resist him.

this was wrong. this was impossible.

but the way his touch sent fire licking through her veins, the way his voice wrapped around her like a siren’s song—

she should run. should shove him away, should fight back, should do anything but stand here and let his presence consume her.

but then—

“jiah!” the voice wasn’t his. wasn’t the siren’s.

it was the pirate’s.

her stomach dropped.

the siren tensed, his gaze flickering toward the door just as it burst open.

the pirate stood in the doorway, his expression twisting from concern to something darker the second his eyes landed on the scene in front of him, jiah, cornered against the wooden wall, the siren’s fingers grazing the delicate skin of her throat.

for a split second, silence stretched between them. then the pirate moved.

fast.

before jiah could react, before the siren could turn fully, the pirate was there, grabbing him by the collar and yanking him away from her with enough force to send them both stumbling.

“get your hands off her,” the pirate growled, his voice low, dangerous.

the siren barely reacted, regaining his footing with unnatural grace, silver hair falling into his eyes as he met the pirate’s glare with something almost amused.

jiah’s heart pounded. the tension in the room was suffocating, thick with something unspoken.

the pirate’s chest rose and fell rapidly, his muscles tensed like he was barely restraining himself from launching at the siren again. “what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

the siren tilted his head, expression unreadable. “reminding her.”

the pirate’s jaw clenched.

“reminding her of what?” he bit out.

the siren’s gaze flickered back to jiah, unreadable and piercing all at once.

“who she belongs to.”

the pirate moved before the words even fully registered.

but this time the siren was ready.

the air snapped.

one second, the pirate was lunging, fists drawn, all fire and fury,

and the next, the siren moved with a grace that wasn’t human.

jiah barely registered what happened before the pirate was thrown back against the opposite wall, his back slamming against the wood with a force that rattled the room. he groaned, shaking off the daze, but the siren was already in front of him, pressing a hand to his chest, keeping him there with barely any force.

her breath caught, panic clawing at her throat as she watched her captor struggle against the invisible force holding him in place.

“you should be more careful,” the siren murmured, his voice like silk, too calm for the violence that had just unfolded. “humans are so... breakable.”

jiah moved before she could think.

“stop!” she gasped, reaching out, grabbing the siren’s wrist before she knew what she was doing.

the second her fingers wrapped around him, something crackled.

a jolt of heat, of something ancient and electric, surged between them.

the siren stilled.

the pirate sucked in a sharp breath.

jiah’s entire body burned.

she yanked her hand away, cradling it against her chest, panting like she’d been underwater too long.

the siren turned his head toward her, slow, deliberate.

“you felt that,” he said, and this time, there was no amusement. no taunting. only quiet certainty.

jiah’s heart pounded. she didn’t know what to say, what to think.

what to believe.

because she had felt it.

the same way she’d felt him in that dream, no memory.

the same way she had felt his lips on hers.

his hands on her skin.

his body pressing into hers beneath the pull of the tide.

“no,” she whispered, voice hoarse, barely audible. “it’s not real.”

the siren’s lips parted slightly, his gaze flickering over her face, like he was searching for something.

then—he smiled.

soft. knowing. almost fond.

“you can lie to yourself all you want,” he said, voice like a whisper of the tide, “but your body remembers, jiah.”

she inhaled sharply.

the pirate’s teeth clenched, still pinned against the wall. “get away from her.”

the siren exhaled through his nose, almost as if bored. then, finally he let the pirate go.

the invisible pressure lifted in an instant, and the pirate pushed himself forward, fists still clenched, eyes still burning.

the siren, however, barely spared him a glance. his attention remained on jiah, his gaze dipping briefly to her wrist where she had touched him before dragging back up to meet her eyes.

“i’ll see you soon,” he murmured, and it wasn’t a threat.

it was a promise.

then, before either of them could react,

he seemingly vanished into the night air.

the only evidence he had ever been there was the lingering heat on her wrist, the ghost of a touch she couldn’t shake.

the pirate was the first to move.

he turned to her, breathing hard, his expression clouded with something between frustration and concern.

“are you okay?”

jiah didn’t answer.

couldn’t.

because she wasn’t sure.

her pulse still pounded, her skin still burned.

her lips still tingled.

and deep inside her chest, beneath all the fear, the confusion, the denial,

something else stirred.

something that terrified her more than anything else.

recognition.

“you never told me your name.”

the words left her lips before she could stop them, a desperate attempt to break the silence that had settled between them.

the pirate turned his head slightly, his dark eyes meeting hers through the dim lantern light.

for a moment, he didn’t answer. then, finally,

“jungkook.”

the name curled through the air, rough, unfamiliar. but somehow, it fit him.

“jungkook,” she echoed, testing it on her tongue.

his lips quirked, just barely. “you say it like you’re trying to remember something.”

her fingers twitched. “maybe i am.” his expression shifted, something unreadable passing through his eyes before he spoke again.

“you were dreaming,” he said. “weren’t you?”

jiah sucked in a breath.

his voice was steady, but there was something sharper beneath it, something that made her stomach twist.

he knows.

she hesitated, then nodded.

jungkook’s gaze darkened. “and?”

she exhaled shakily. “it felt real.”

his jaw clenched, but he only nodded, like he had expected that answer.

“what did he do to you?”

jiah swallowed hard.

kissed me. touched me. made me feel things i don’t understand.

made me remember.

“i don’t know,” she lied instead.

jungkook’s stare was unrelenting.

“don’t lie to me.”

she bit her lip, looking away.

“it wasn’t like that,” she murmured. “he… he knew me. before. and i think…” she hesitated, the words thick on her tongue. “i think i knew him too.”

silence.

“his name is jimin.”

jiah’s head snapped up, her eyes widening.

jungkook didn’t look at her. his gaze was fixed on the floor, his fingers curled into his sleeves.

jimin.

the name felt like a key turning in a lock, like something sliding into place.

jimin.

she knew it.

not just from now, not just from tonight, from before.

jimin.

the siren.

the man who had kissed her like he had been waiting for an eternity.

jiah’s breath caught, her chest tightening with something she couldn’t name.

“how do you know him?” she whispered, but as soon as the words left her lips, she knew.

she knew the answer would be anything but simple.

jungkook didn’t answer right away.

he was staring past her, his jaw tight, his chest rising and falling in slow, controlled breaths, like he was trying not to let something slip.

when he finally spoke, his voice was steady. but there was something coiled beneath it, something sharp, waiting to strike.

"he's my brother."

jiah’s breath caught.

what?

her stomach twisted. that couldn’t be right.

"but—"

"not by blood."

the words came like a blade, slicing through whatever weak explanation she could have come up with. jungkook’s voice had lost all warmth, each syllable clipped, final.

"but that doesn’t matter."

jiah swallowed hard.

brothers.

jungkook and jimin, brothers.

it didn’t make sense.

but maybe that was because it wasn’t meant to.

she looked at jungkook again, at the way his fingers twitched like he wanted to curl them into fists. at the way his shoulders had gone rigid, his whole body tense with something unspoken.

his eyes, dark, bottomless, held something she couldn’t name. something dangerous. they weren’t just angry, weren’t just cold.

they were betrayed.

"we grew up together."his voice was quieter now, but no less strained."fought together. survived together."

he exhaled slowly, sharp and controlled, like he was keeping something buried beneath the surface.

"and now..."

his voice trailed off, but jiah could hear the weight of what he wasn’t saying.

when he looked at her again, his gaze had darkened—like the sea before a storm.

"i don’t know what we are."

her chest tightened.

because how could that be?

how could two people who had lived and bled and survived together end up like this. standing on opposite sides of something too vast to cross?

it made something in her ache.

because she knew that feeling.

she knew what it was like to lose someone without ever truly losing them.

and despite the warning in jungkook’s voice, despite the cold fire in his eyes, despite the fear curling low in her stomach,

she couldn’t shake the way she had felt in jimin’s arms.

the way he had looked at her. like he had been waiting for her. for so long.

jungkook let out a slow breath, raking a had over his face.

when he spoke again, his voice was quieter. but there was something sharper in it now. something almost possessive.

"just…" he hesitated, like he was still trying to convince himself of something. then, finally, his gaze snapped back to hers, locking her in place.

"stay away from him, princess."

her pulse stuttered

he wasn’t just asking her.

he was warning her. commanding her.

her lips parted, words catching in her throat.

because she wanted to say yes.

wanted to promise she would.

but she knew, deep down,

it was already too late.

authors note: hey guys ik i said it might be awhile until the next part but yall i had to finish this for you guys. my original plan was to have the last part and this one all be one chapter but as you can see there was just too much to say. im really excited to hear everyone's thoughts because so much happened in this chapter (i'm pretty sure every member was in this chapter) anyways thank you guys so much for reading, ily !!

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[1343401]

captive desires - chapter one

pairing: hybrid bts x reader

status: ongoing

word count: 11.6 k

warnings: depictions of violence, death, family trauma, mentions of blood, yandere-ish, hybrids

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the café smelled of roasted barley tea and fresh pastries, the warm scent lingering in the air even as the evening rush had long passed. outside, the rain drizzled softly against the pavement, dampening the neon glow of signs stacked high along the streets of seonggyeong. inside, haneul no ame had settled into a quiet hum of conversation, the kind that came when exhaustion set in but no one was quite ready to go home yet.

myah wiped down the counter with slow, absent minded strokes, eyes flickering toward the last few customers scattered throughout the space.

a businessman sat hunched over his laptop near the corner, an untouched cup of coffee beside him. he hadn’t looked up once since he came in, his fingers moving tirelessly across the keyboard, dark circles carved beneath his eyes.

by the window, an elderly woman cradled a ceramic cup between her hands, her gaze fixed on the street outside. her ears twitched ever so slightly, a sign of her hybrid nature, soft gray fur peeking out from beneath the folds of her knit hat. every so often, her tail, long and wispy like a squirrel’s, curled and uncurled beside her chair.

a young couple occupied the booth closest to the entrance. the man was human, his suit slightly wrinkled, his tie loosened at the collar. his date, however, was not.

the woman sitting across from him had fox-like ears, their tips dyed a deep red, the same shade as the streaks in her hair. her tail, sleek and well-groomed, curled around her side, draping over her lap. they were talking quietly, the human man leaning in, whispering something that made her laugh, sharp teeth flashing.

even now, myah could see the way people watched them.

it was subtle, just a quick glance, a barely-there shift in posture, as if to pretend they weren’t staring at all. but it was enough.

some habits were impossible to shake.

myah had grown up with hybrids. they were a normal part of life, integrated into society, working jobs, going to school, eating at the same restaurants as everyone else. and yet, things still weren’t quite equal.

some species of hybrids had more privileges than others. fox and domestic cat hybrids, for example, were considered “acceptable.” they had a certain charm, an elegance that made them easy to market, easy to tolerate. they could get jobs, live normal lives so long as they didn’t make themselves too noticeable.

others weren’t so lucky.

her gaze flickered to the table near the entrance, where a wolf hybrid sat alone.

he was young, probably around her age, maybe a little older, but he carried himself with a quiet wariness that made him seem far older. his dark hair was damp from the rain, his clothes plain but clean. his ears, tufted and pointed, were pressed flat against his head, as if to make himself smaller.

he had been nursing the same cup of tea for over an hour now, barely taking a sip.

a group of human customers had been sitting at a nearby table earlier. they’d left about fifteen minutes ago, but myah still remembered the way they had whispered amongst themselves, shooting glances at the wolf hybrid when they thought he wasn’t looking.

“can’t believe they just let them in anywhere now,” one of them had muttered.

“it’s disgusting,” another had agreed. “they belong in the wild, not in cafés like this.”

the hybrid had said nothing. hadn’t even looked in their direction. just kept his head down, staring into his tea as if he couldn’t hear a word of it.

but myah knew he could.

everyone had heard them.

myah had wanted to say something, but what good would it have done? the whispers would never stop. not really. they would have just found another place to talk, another way to make sure hybrids knew exactly where they stood.

so she had done the only thing she could.

she had walked over to their table with a practiced smile, cleared their plates a little too fast, and “accidentally” spilled the remains of someone’s iced coffee onto their coats.

“oops,” she had said, not even pretending to be sorry.

the look on their faces had been satisfying, at least.

now, the café was quiet again, save for the sound of rain against the windows and the occasional clatter of dishes from the kitchen.

the wolf hybrid finally moved, setting his cup down gently before pushing himself to his feet.

he hesitated, then walked up to the counter, stopping a careful distance away from myah. his movements were slow, deliberate, as if to ensure he wasn’t perceived as a threat.

“excuse me,” he said, his voice quiet but steady. “may i have the bill?”

myah nodded, keying in the total before handing him the receipt.

“you don’t have to rush,” she said, offering a small smile. “it’s still raining pretty hard out there.”

he glanced toward the window, watching the rain streak against the glass.

“…thank you,” he murmured, taking the receipt.

he slid a few bills across the counter.

too much.

myah frowned, pushing some of the change back toward him. “this is more than—”

“keep it,” he interrupted, his expression unreadable.

she hesitated, but nodded.

as he turned to leave, the door swung open, and a pair of men stepped inside.

they were human, tall and broad-shouldered, their suits slightly damp from the rain. their presence shifted the atmosphere immediately, the warmth of the café turning cold, heavy.

one of them spotted the wolf hybrid instantly.

“well, well,” he drawled, stepping forward. “fancy seeing you here.”

the hybrid went rigid.

the other man smirked, nudging his companion. “didn’t think mutts like you could afford places like this.”

myah’s grip tightened around the rag in her hand.

the hybrid didn’t respond. just lowered his gaze, shoulders tense.

“we were just leaving,” he said flatly.

one of the men stepped closer, blocking his path.

“no need to rush,” he said, voice mocking. “we just wanna talk.”

myah didn’t think.

she moved around the counter before she could stop herself.

“is there a problem here?” she asked, her voice sharp.

the two men turned to her, eyebrows raised.

“no problem at all,” one of them said, flashing a too-smooth smile. “we were just catching up with an old friend.”

myah crossed her arms. “he doesn’t seem too interested in talking.”

there was a beat of silence.

then, the first man chuckled, shaking his head.

“relax,” he said. “we’re just leaving.”

he clapped the hybrid on the shoulder, hard enough to make him flinch, then turned and walked out the door.

his companion lingered for a moment longer, eyes flicking toward myah.

then, with a quiet scoff, he followed.

the bell chimed softly as the door swung shut behind them.

the café felt still again.

myah exhaled slowly, turning back to the hybrid.

“you okay?” she asked.

he didn’t answer right away. then, slowly, he nodded.

“…thank you,” he said, his voice quieter than before.

he left without another word.

myah watched as he disappeared into the rain, his figure swallowed by the mist and city lights.

her hands were still trembling.

the rain hadn’t let up since the sun set, steady droplets tapping against the café’s large front windows, streaking down the glass in uneven rivulets. outside, the streetlights cast a soft, golden glow onto the wet pavement, reflecting neon signs from the surrounding shops. the occasional car passed, tires splashing through puddles, sending mist curling up into the night air.

inside, haneul no ame was winding down, the once-bustling café now quiet, save for the distant hum of the espresso machine and the soft clatter of dishes as myah stacked them behind the counter. the air smelled of coffee and sweet red bean, lingering even as the last of the customers trickled out into the damp night.

she pulled off her apron with a sigh, shaking out her stiff shoulders before reaching for the closed sign. the bell above the door jingled softly as she flipped it, the sign swaying slightly in the dim light.

behind her, kai was already clearing tables, long sleeves pushed up to his elbows as he wiped down the wood with smooth, practiced motions. his tail flicked once behind him before curling around his waist, his fox-like ears twitching slightly at the sound of a car horn outside.

“finally,” myah muttered, running a hand through her hair. “felt like today was never gonna end.”

kai let out a low chuckle, tossing a damp rag over his shoulder. “you say that every shift.”

“yeah, and i mean it every shift.”

he snorted but didn’t argue, instead moving toward a nearby table where an empty cup sat abandoned, a half-melted ice cube floating in the dregs of a forgotten drink. he picked it up, inspecting the lipstick stain on the rim before shaking his head.

“you ever notice how people look at me like i might bite?”

myah glanced up from where she was wiping down the counter, brow raised. “do you bite?”

kai grinned, all sharp teeth and mischief. “only if they deserve it.”

she rolled her eyes. “you’re so dramatic.”

“i’m serious,” he said, tossing the rag onto the table with a little too much force. “it’s like they don’t even try to hide it. the staring. the way they tense up when i walk by.”

myah thought back to earlier in the evening, the way a woman had hesitated before handing kai her order, fingers twitching as if deciding whether or not to let her hand brush his when he reached for the cup.

“i don’t know,” she said carefully. “i don’t think they mean anything by it.”

kai let out a short, humorless laugh. “you would think that.”

her gaze snapped to him. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

he didn’t look at her, just kept stacking chairs, movements deliberate, controlled. “you don’t get it,” he said simply. “you’ve never had someone cross the street just to avoid you.”

myah opened her mouth, then closed it.

she had nothing to say to that.

because he was right.

instead, she grabbed the broom from the back corner and started sweeping near the register, letting the rhythmic swish of the bristles fill the silence.

kai moved behind the counter, reaching for a cloth to wipe down the espresso machine. “that fox hybrid from earlier,” he said, almost casually. “the one with the human guy.”

myah frowned, thinking back to the couple that had sat near the entrance. “what about them?”

kai leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “you think it’ll last?”

she hesitated. “i mean… they looked happy.”

kai scoffed. “for now.”

myah frowned. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

he shrugged. “humans like that always leave.”

his voice was quiet, but there was a weight behind it, something bitter that made myah shift uncomfortably.

“you say that like you’ve seen it happen,” she said after a moment.

kai’s ears twitched. “i have.”

his tone left no room for argument.

silence stretched between them, thick and heavy. outside, the rain continued to fall, soft and endless.

myah turned back to sweeping, but she felt the shift in the air, the way something unspoken had settled between them.

it wasn’t like she could blame kai for being bitter. hybrids weren’t exactly treated with kindness. sure, they could get jobs, go to school, exist in public spaces, but that didn’t mean they were wanted there.

a movement outside caught her eye.

a man walked past the window, coat pulled tight around himself to shield against the cold. as he passed, his gaze flickered toward the café, toward kai, who was still leaning against the counter.

his expression barely changed, just the slightest wrinkle of his nose, the briefest flicker of disdain before he turned away.

kai’s tail flicked sharply.

“prick,” he muttered under his breath.

myah heard him but said nothing.

what was there to say?

instead, she set the broom aside and grabbed a rag, moving to wipe down the espresso machine.

“you taking the train home?” kai asked, leaning against the counter as he dried the last of the mugs. his ears twitched slightly, always alert, even when he tried to play it off like he wasn’t.

myah grabbed her bag from the back, adjusting the strap over her shoulder. “yeah, as long as it’s still running on time. the rain’s been messing with the schedule lately.”

kai scoffed. “figures. humans build a whole train system, but a little water and suddenly it’s useless.”

she rolled her eyes, shoving his arm playfully as she moved past him. “not all of us have built-in weather tracking, you know.”

his tail flicked, a half-smirk playing on his lips, but he didn’t argue. instead, his expression shifted, something more serious settling into the lines of his face.

“i don’t like you walking alone this late,” he said, voice quieter now. “especially not with how things have been lately.”

she frowned, tugging her coat tighter around her body. “kai, i walk home at this time almost every night.”

he clicked his tongue, tossing the rag onto the counter. “doesn’t mean it’s safe. you know hybrids have been disappearing, right?”

she blinked. “what?”

his jaw tightened. “it’s been happening for a while now. some just vanish. no reports, no investigations. no one cares enough to look.”

her stomach twisted, but she tried to keep her voice light. “kai, i’m not a hybrid.”

“doesn’t matter,” he muttered. “you’re still out here alone.”

something about the way he said it made her pause. there was something deeper in his voice. something unsettled.

“you’re really worried about me?” she asked, tilting her head.

he scoffed. “obviously. you’re helpless.”

she laughed, shoving him again, but he caught her wrist this time, his grip firm but not rough.

“seriously, myah,” he murmured. “just be careful.”

there was something in his eyes she couldn’t quite place.

after a beat, he let go, stepping back.

she exhaled, offering him a small smile. “i’ll be fine. i’ll text you when i get home, okay?”

he didn’t look satisfied, but he nodded. “yeah. you better.”

she nudged the door open, the bell chiming softly as the cool night air wrapped around her.

“see you tomorrow, kai.”

he gave her a lazy wave, but his ears were still twitching, still listening.

“yeah, yeah,” he muttered. “don’t get eaten.”

she snorted, stepping out onto the sidewalk.

the rain had slowed to a mist, clinging to her skin in a way that made her shiver. the streets were quieter now, though the distant buzz of traffic hummed in the background.

she passed a row of shuttered shops, their signs dimmed for the night, before nearing the upscale part of town where restaurants and bars were still alive with soft jazz music and murmured conversation.

she was mid-step when she heard it.

thud.

a body hitting pavement.

her head snapped to the side just in time to see a figure stumble forward, nearly falling face-first into the street.

a hybrid.

his hair was dark and unkempt, sticking to his forehead from the damp air. fluffy golden ears flickered against his head, low and tense. his shirt was torn, one of the sleeves barely hanging on, and there was a fresh bruise blooming along his jaw.

the bouncer, built like a damn wall, stood in the doorway, arms crossed, looking down at him like something scraped off the bottom of his shoe.

“no mutts allowed,” the man sneered.

myah froze.

the hybrid pushed himself up slowly, hands trembling slightly as he wiped at his mouth. for a second, it looked like he might say something, might fight back, but then his shoulders sagged. his tail flicked once, tense, before curling behind his legs.

he didn’t argue. didn’t growl.

he just looked tired.

a few people had stopped to watch, some lingering near the restaurant’s entrance, others glancing over from across the street. but no one did anything.

no one said a word.

myah’s heart pounded. she felt her fingers tighten around the strap of her bag.

say something.

but to who?

the bouncer, who clearly didn’t care? the hybrid, who clearly didn’t want to fight? the silent bystanders, who clearly weren’t going to help?

for the briefest moment, his gaze flicked up and met hers.

his eyes were dark. tired, resigned. but beneath it all, just a flicker of something else. something sharp.

anger.

not at her. not really.

at everything.

then, just as quickly, he looked away.

he dusted himself off, shaking out his limbs like he was used to this, like it had happened before and would happen again, and without another word, he turned and walked off down the street.

myah’s breath felt stuck in her throat.

above her, a digital billboard flickered to life, bathing the sidewalk in a pale blue glow.

STOP HYBRID ABUSE. CALL 1-800—

the text glitched, cutting in and out before the screen flickered and went dark.

the irony hit her like a fist to the gut.

she swallowed, her grip tightening on her bag as she forced her feet to move again.

why does no one care?

the night air felt colder now.

her thoughts buzzed as she walked, unsettled and restless, the image of the hybrid’s bruised face burned into the back of her mind.

why do i feel like i should care more than i do?

the night air clung to myah’s skin, a lingering chill settling in her bones as she walked the quiet streets toward home. the city was alive behind her. the hum of distant traffic, neon lights flickering in alleyways, laughter spilling from bars and restaurants, but here, in the quieter residential district, the world felt smaller.

comfortable.

safe.

she climbed the short steps to her apartment building, the warmth of home just beyond the door. her fingers were stiff from the cold as she fumbled with her keys, but the second she cracked the door open, a blur of movement slammed into her.

“myah!”

the impact nearly knocked the breath from her lungs.

warm arms wrapped around her, a familiar scent of lavender and something soft filling her senses before she was all but engulfed.

“you’re late,” came the muffled complaint against her shoulder.

“i texted you,” myah wheezed, laughing despite herself.

“doesn’t count,” jisun grumbled, tightening her hold.

her roommate was always like this—clingy, affectionate, practically glued to myah whenever she was around. it was just who she was, but there was a certain desperation in the way she held on sometimes, like she was scared myah would disappear if she let go.

tonight was one of those nights.

“jesus, jisun, let her breathe,” a drier voice called from the living room.

chae-eun.

unbothered, jisun only nuzzled closer, her rabbit ears twitching slightly against myah’s cheek.

“you smell like the outside,” she muttered, nose scrunching.

myah snorted, finally managing to pry her way free enough to take off her coat. “i was outside.”

“i don’t like it.”

“not my fault.”

“mm.”

instead of letting go completely, jisun just shifted, looping an arm around myah’s waist as if to keep her tethered.

chae-eun finally emerged from the kitchen, cradling a mug of tea in her hands. unlike jisun, she wasn’t the type to launch into hugs the second someone walked through the door. her affection was quieter, offered through knowing glances, careful words, and the occasional cup of tea set in front of you without a word.

her dark hair was pulled into a lazy bun, eyes sharp as she studied myah.

“you’re late,” she echoed jisun’s earlier complaint, though with significantly less drama.

“long shift,” myah explained, leaning into jisun’s hold despite herself. “plus, the trains were delayed again.”

chae-eun hummed like she wasn’t quite convinced.

“hurry up and sit,” jisun insisted, already pulling myah toward the couch. “you need to warm up.”

“i can make my own tea, you know.”

“you can, but you won’t,” jisun shot back, pushing myah down onto the cushions. “so stay here. i’ll do it.”

myah didn’t fight it. she never really did. there was no winning against jisun when she got like this.

chae-eun exhaled, taking the seat across from her, studying her over the rim of her mug.

“…what happened?”

myah blinked. “what do you mean?”

“you look off.”

too observant for her own good, as always.

before myah could come up with a deflection, jisun returned, practically plopping herself down into myah’s lap as she pressed a warm mug into her hands.

“spill,” she demanded, fluffy rabbit tail flicking behind her.

myah sighed. “it’s nothing, really.”

chae-eun raised a brow. jisun poked her cheek.

“…i saw a hybrid get thrown out of a bar,” myah admitted after a beat.

silence.

chae-eun’s expression didn’t change, but myah saw the way her fingers subtly tightened around her mug.

jisun, however, visibly bristled, ears flattening against her head.

“thrown out?” she echoed. “like literally?”

myah nodded. “a bouncer tossed him onto the pavement. called him a mutt.”

jisun’s hands clenched at the hem of myah’s sleeve.

“i hate people,” she muttered.

chae-eun exhaled, rubbing at her temple. “i assume no one did anything?”

myah swallowed. “yeah.”

“and you?”

the question hung between them.

jisun shifted slightly next to her, her golden-brown eyes locking onto myah’s.

expecting something.

waiting.

“…i didn’t do anything either.”

the weight of her own words settled heavily in her chest.

jisun’s grip on her tightened.

“good,” chae-eun said, her voice quiet but firm.

myah blinked. “what?”

“you couldn’t have done anything,” she explained simply. “it wouldn’t have helped.”

jisun huffed, pressing closer to myah, like she could protect her from something that had already happened.

“doesn’t mean it’s okay,” she grumbled.

“it’s not,” chae-eun agreed. “but it’s not something she could have stopped.”

“she could have—”

“what? started an argument? gotten herself thrown out too?”

jisun made a frustrated noise, burying her face in myah’s shoulder.

myah sighed, resting her chin against the top of jisun’s head, rubbing slow, absentminded circles against her back.

the room settled into silence.

uncomfortable. heavy.

the only sounds were the soft ticking of the clock and the distant hum of the city outside.

then—

“…this is depressing,” jisun mumbled.

myah huffed a laugh. “yeah, well.”

jisun suddenly sat up, eyes bright. “let’s eat something.”

chae-eun snorted. “you just ate.”

“and?”

“you’re like a bottomless pit.”

“and you’re a hater.”

“i’m a realist.”

jisun waved her off, already scrolling through her phone. “whatever. i’m ordering something.”

myah shook her head. “what are you even craving?”

“ramen.”

“you always want ramen.”

“because it’s good.”

chae-eun sighed but pulled out her own phone. “i’ll order from that place near the station.”

jisun beamed, all previous frustration seemingly forgotten.

she turned to myah, eyes soft again, expression unreadable as she reached up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind myah’s ear.

“you’re warm now,” she murmured, almost to herself.

myah’s breath caught.

she swallowed. looked away.

“yeah,” she murmured back. “thanks.”

jisun just smiled, squeezing her hand before shifting again, pressing herself snugly against myah’s side.

and just like that, the world outside didn’t feel so big.

not the city.

not the problems.

not the weight in her chest.

just this.

her home.

her people.

and tonight, that was enough.

steam curled from the ramen cups, carrying the rich, savory scent of broth and spices through the apartment. the three of them sat cross-legged on the floor, the coffee table cluttered with their makeshift dinner, plastic bowls, chopsticks, side dishes chae-eun had pulled from the fridge.

jisun had already dug in, slurping up noodles with an unapologetic enthusiasm that made myah laugh.

“slow down,” chae-eun deadpanned, stirring her broth. “no one’s gonna steal it from you.”

“you don’t know that,” jisun shot back, pointing her chopsticks at her like a weapon. “you could betray me at any moment.”

chae-eun rolled her eyes, taking a sip of her tea. “you’re ridiculous.”

“and you’re jealous of my food.”

“i ordered it.”

“exactly.”

myah snorted, picking at her own noodles, content to just listen. moments like this. the easy back and forth, the warmth of companionship, they were her favorite.

“okay,” jisun said through a mouthful of noodles, “what are we watching?”

chae-eun hummed, reaching for the remote. “i vote action.”

jisun groaned. “we always watch action.”

“because action is good.”

“because you have a crush on every female lead with a sword.”

“and?”

jisun turned to myah, pouting. “tell her we should watch a romance.”

“not this again,” myah muttered, hiding a smile.

this was routine. every time they had a movie night, it turned into a battle—jisun always pushing for a romcom, chae-eun gunning for something dark and brooding, and myah left somewhere in the middle, playing mediator.

tonight was no different.

“chae-eun,” myah started patiently, “we watched something with explosions last time.”

“and it was great.”

“jisun,” myah continued, “the last time we let you pick, you made us watch that three hour slow burn that barely had a plot.”

jisun gasped, offended. “it was cinema.”

“it was painful.”

jisun crossed her arms. “fine. compromise.”

“compromise?”

she nodded firmly. “a romcom with action.”

chae-eun gave her a flat look. “you mean, like, a spy movie with romance?”

“exactly.”

chae-eun exhaled, pinching the bridge of her nose. “…fine.”

jisun cheered.

myah just shook her head, amused as she leaned back against the couch, ramen bowl balanced in her lap.

they settled in, scrolling through options until jisun pointed at a title that had both high-speed chases and lingering romantic stares.

“that one.”

“looks tolerable,” chae-eun admitted.

“it looks cute,” myah agreed, reaching for the remote.

but just as she was about to hit play, her phone buzzed.

the sound cut through the easy atmosphere, making her pause.

she almost ignored it.

almost.

but something about it, the way it rang just a little too insistently, the way a small pit formed in her stomach before she even checked the screen, made her hesitate.

when she finally glanced down, her chest tightened.

kai.

he rarely called. texts? sure. but a call, especially this late?

a bad feeling settled in her gut.

“who is it?” jisun asked, peering over her shoulder.

“kai.”

chae-eun and jisun exchanged a look.

“answer it,” chae-eun said simply.

myah did.

the second she put the phone to her ear, she could hear it. kai’s breathing, rough and uneven, the distant sounds of something loud in the background.

“kai?”

a pause.

then—

“myah.”

his voice was low. tense.

off.

immediately, she sat up, heart pounding. “what’s wrong?”

jisun frowned at her tone, ears twitching.

kai exhaled sharply, like he was deciding how much to say.

then, in a voice quieter than she’d ever heard from him—

“…where are you right now?”

her blood ran cold.

kai’s voice was quiet, but there was an urgency beneath it, something edged in warning.

myah sat up straighter, gripping the phone tighter. “i’m at home, what’s going on?”

jisun and chae-eun immediately noticed the shift in her tone. jisun leaned in, placing a hand on myah’s knee, her grip firm. chae-eun muted the tv, brows furrowing.

kai didn’t respond right away.

instead, there was the sound of him exhaling sharply, the distant murmur of voices in the background, and then

“you didn’t take the train home, right?”

her stomach dropped.

“no,” she said slowly. “i walked.”

a long pause.

“good.”

jisun’s ears twitched. chae-eun stiffened beside her.

something wasn’t right.

“kai,” myah tried again, voice lower. “what happened?”

kai inhaled, then let it out in a controlled breath.

“there was...” he stopped, changed his mind. “...some kind of fight near the station. a bad one. hybrids got involved.”

jisun’s grip on myah’s knee tightened.

chae-eun muttered a quiet curse.

hybrids got involved.

that never ended well.

“is everyone okay?” myah asked.

kai hesitated. “depends who you ask.”

myah’s throat went dry.

“kai—”

“look, i just—” he cut himself off, exhaling roughly. “just be careful, okay? don’t go out tonight. don’t answer the door if you’re not expecting someone. and if anything feels off call me. immediately.”

his voice was sharp, almost commanding, but beneath it was something else. something that sounded a little too close to fear.

jisun’s tail flicked. “what aren’t you telling us?”

kai must’ve heard her, because he sighed, frustrated.

“just promise me, okay?”

myah hesitated.

jisun and chae-eun were watching her, their expressions unreadable, but their tension said enough.

“…okay,” she said finally. “i promise.”

kai was silent for a moment.

then, quietly

“good.”

the line clicked dead.

silence settled over the apartment, thick and heavy.

jisun was the first to move, standing up and pacing. her ears were flat, tail flicking sharply. “i don’t like this.”

“me neither,” chae-eun muttered.

myah swallowed, locking her phone and setting it on the table. “you don’t think,” she stopped, rephrased. “you don’t think it was just a random fight?”

chae-eun exhaled, running a hand through her hair.

“it’s never just random, myah.”

jisun folded her arms, voice quieter. “you should stay in my room tonight.”

myah blinked. “what?”

jisun turned to face her fully, expression serious. “just in case. you sleep too deep. if something happens, you won’t hear it.”

myah almost argued, but then she saw the way jisun’s hands clenched at her sides, the way her shoulders were tense, and she realized this wasn’t just overprotectiveness.

jisun was worried.

they both were.

and if they were worried shouldn’t she be?

she exhaled, trying to ignore the way her chest felt tight.

“okay.”

jisun relaxed, just a fraction.

chae-eun leaned back, rubbing her temples.

“we should watch the news,” she murmured. “see if anything’s being reported.”

jisun groaned. “i hate the news.”

“yeah, well. too bad.”

chae-eun reached for the remote.

myah leaned back into the couch, but suddenly, the room didn’t feel quite as warm as before.

she tried not to think about why.

chae-eun flipped through the channels, the room bathed in the flickering glow of the tv screen. myah curled her knees up to her chest, eyes scanning the headlines flashing across the bottom of the news ticker.

“altercation at sinchon station leaves three injured, two in critical condition.”

the camera cut to a familiar location, train station signs illuminated by harsh, artificial light. police officers milled about, their expressions unreadable. a few reporters stood off to the side, murmuring to the camera, but it was the footage that came next that made myah’s stomach churn.

grainy security footage played on-screen.

at first, it was just a blur of movement, indistinct figures tangled together in a flurry of limbs, but then a hybrid came into view.

wolf ears, visible despite the hood he wore.

his eyes burned with something wild, desperate.

he lunged at someone, a human, judging by the lack of visible features, but before he could land the hit, another person tackled him from behind. the footage was cut off there, replaced by the reporter’s composed, neutral expression.

“the altercation began late this evening when a dispute between patrons at a nearby establishment escalated into violence. witnesses claim that one of the hybrids involved ‘snapped’ without provocation, leading to the attack.”

myah clenched her jaw.

snapped.

they always said that.

it didn’t matter if the hybrid had been defending themselves or retaliating after being provoked, it was always their fault.

jisun made a noise low in her throat, tail flicking sharply against the couch cushions. “they’re gonna eat this up.”

chae-eun sighed. “yeah.”

a familiar sense of frustration, laced with something heavier, settled between them.

it was always the same.

the news told the same story, every time.

and no one ever questioned it.

myah tore her gaze from the screen, swallowing the unease rising in her throat.

“it’s late,” she murmured. “we should sleep.”

chae-eun hesitated, then nodded.

jisun stood first, stretching before reaching a hand out toward myah. “c’mon.”

myah almost rolled her eyes, but there was a comfort in the way jisun tugged her forward, leading her toward the bedroom.

chae-eun lingered in the living room, still watching the tv screen.

before myah disappeared down the hall, she caught one last glimpse of the footage, still replaying in the background.

the hybrid’s eyes, wide, tired, resigned, before he was dragged out of frame.

she didn’t sleep well that night.

rain drizzled against the windows of the café, tiny droplets gathering in uneven lines before sliding down the glass. the sky had been gray all morning, an unrelenting layer of thick clouds hanging low over the city. it wasn’t the type of rain that came down in heavy sheets, no thunder, no dramatic downpour. just cold, steady drizzle, the kind that seeped into your clothes and left you feeling damp no matter how many layers you wore.

the streets outside were quieter than usual, muffled under the rain. people moved hurriedly, umbrellas held low over their heads, boots splashing through shallow puddles.

inside the café, the air was warmer, cozier, the scent of freshly brewed coffee and caramel syrup lingering despite the lack of customers. it had been a slow morning, and even now, past noon, there were only a handful of patrons scattered across the space.

the last few days had been uneasy. it had been three days since incident at the train station and yet there have only been more hybrid attacks.

or at least, that’s how the news framed it.

every station repeated the same headlines, the same grim footage playing on loop, blurry surveillance videos of fights breaking out, blood staining the pavement, sirens wailing in the distance.

but none of them ever showed what led up to it.

what provoked it.

myah didn’t know what to believe.

she kept her head down, focusing on the mundane task of wiping down the counter, her movements slow and methodical. the foam from the milk frother clung to the sink’s surface before swirling down the drain.

kai stood near the register, arms crossed, one ear flicking as he stared out the window. his tail, usually tucked neatly behind him, twitched in small, agitated movements.

doyoung, one of their other coworkers, was by the shelves, restocking bags of coffee beans. he was human, tall, lean, with a sharp, knowing gaze that missed nothing. he wasn’t the type to pry, but myah had noticed that he always seemed aware, like he knew when to step in and when to keep quiet.

kai let out a loud yawn, stretching his arms above his head before flopping against the counter. "slow day."

"lucky for you," doyoung muttered, stacking another bag on the shelf. "means less people side-eyeing you like you're about to lunge across the counter."

kai shot him a flat look. "oh, yeah? maybe i should start biting. make it worth their while."

"please don’t," myah said without looking up. "we’re already short-staffed."

kai smirked, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

it hadn’t, not in days.

he might joke about it, but myah could tell the constant scrutiny was getting to him. every day, the stares, the tension in the air, the way people hesitated before handing him their money, like touching his hand might somehow taint them.

it was subtle, but it was there.

“you’ve got that look again,” kai said, eyes flicking up to myah. “the one that says you’re thinking too much.”

“i always think too much,” myah muttered, stacking plates from a recently cleared table.

doyoung snorted. “at least she thinks. you, on the other hand...”

kai clutched his chest in mock offense. “wow. slander in my own workplace.”

before myah could respond, her phone buzzed in her apron pocket. she wiped her hands on a towel before pulling it out, frowning at the unknown number.

“hello?” she answered.

“is this myah takahashi?” the voice on the other end was clipped, professional.

“uh... yes?”

“this is officer sakurai from the kyoto metropolitan police department. we’re calling regarding your grandparents, hiroshi and ayako takahashi.”

she straightened immediately, the air in her lungs thinning. “what about them?”

there was a pause. too long. too heavy.

“i’m sorry to inform you that they’ve passed away.”

her mind blanked. “what?”

kai and doyoung stopped their playful bickering, both watching her now. she felt like she was underwater, the words sluggish, too thick to process.

“they were found early this morning at their residence. we’re still investigating the circumstances, but initial reports suggest it was a hybrid attack.”

hybrid attack.

the words barely registered. her grip tightened on the phone. “that... that doesn’t make any sense.”

“we understand this is difficult. if you’re available, we’d like you to come to the station to discuss next steps regarding their estate and any arrangements you may need to make.”

her mouth was dry. “yeah,” she said numbly. “okay.”

the call ended. she stood there, phone in hand, staring at nothing.

“myah?” kai’s voice was softer now, careful.

she inhaled sharply, shoving her phone back into her pocket. “my grandparents are dead.”

silence.

doyoung's expression fell. “oh my god myah, i’m so sorry.”

“do you, do you need to sit down?” kai asked, stepping closer.

she shook her head, the movement jerky. “no, i just— i need to go.”

kai didn’t hesitate. “i’ll walk you home.”

“kai, you don’t have to”

“i’m walking you home.”

his tone left no room for argument.

doyoung squeezed myah’s arm gently. “text me if you need anything, okay?”

myah nodded, barely hearing her. she let kai guide her out of the café, his presence steady beside her. the streets blurred around them, the weight in her chest suffocating. hybrid attack. it didn’t make sense. her grandparents, strict, cold, but untouchable in her mind, couldn’t just be gone.

she barely registered kai’s arm around her shoulders, grounding her. “whatever you need,” he murmured, “i got you.”

she didn’t have the energy to reply. she just kept walking, the weight of the world pressing down on her chest.

the days following the news of her grandparents' deaths felt strangely muted, as if the world had been wrapped in cotton. the hybrid attacks on the news blurred together, the same violent images looping on screens in shop windows and subway stations. myah tried to ignore them, but each report left a gnawing unease in her stomach.

at work, the atmosphere was no different. kai hovered around her more than usual, his sharp eyes flicking to her every time she sighed or rubbed at her temples. she appreciated it, even if she didn't acknowledge it outright.

“you’re gonna make that rag disintegrate,” kai said, nodding at the counter she had been wiping for the last five minutes.

myah blinked down at the damp cloth in her hand, then huffed out a quiet laugh. “guess i zoned out.”

kai didn’t return the laugh. instead, he leaned against the counter beside her, arms crossed over his chest. “any more news?”

she shook her head. “nothing beyond what they told me. hybrid attack, no suspects, still investigating.” the words felt hollow now, rehearsed. she had repeated them so many times to her coworkers, to jisun and chae-eun, to herself in the mirror.

“and you believe that?”

“what do you mean?”

kai shrugged, but there was tension in his shoulders. “just seems, how do i put this, convenient.”

“convenient?” she echoed, frowning.

kai hesitated for a moment, then sighed, dropping his voice. “the way hybrids are treated in this country, the way people react to them. it doesn’t add up. if a hybrid was really responsible, don’t you think they’d already have someone to parade around as the culprit? something public? something to make a statement?”

she swallowed. she hadn’t thought about it like that. “maybe they just don’t know who did it yet.”

kai didn’t argue, but his silence was enough of a response.

the bell over the door jingled, breaking the moment. their coworker, yuna, poked her head out from the back, barely glancing up from her phone. “myah, phone for you. said it’s about your grandparents.”

she felt kai’s gaze on her as she set the rag down and hurried into the back, her heart hammering in her chest.

the call was short. official.

“ms. takahashi, as the sole heir, you’ve been named the beneficiary of your grandparents’ estate. the will reading will be held at the district courthouse in three days. we strongly encourage your attendance.”

she barely remembered responding, barely remembered setting the phone down and walking back out front.

kai straightened the moment he saw her face. “what is it?”

“the will.” her voice sounded distant. “they left everything to me.”

the courthouse is cold.

not physically, the air is actually a little too warm, like the heating is working overtime, but everything about it feels sterile. impersonal. the walls are a dull gray, the floors scuffed from years of foot traffic. fluorescent lights buzz faintly overhead, casting a harsh glare on the polished wood of the long conference table where myah now sits.

she grips her hands together in her lap, trying to ignore the tight knot in her stomach. the lawyer, sungho, barely spares her a glance as he flips through the papers in front of him. his suit is crisp, his hair perfectly combed, his expression unreadable.

he finally stops, clears his throat, and begins.

“you are the sole heir to the takahashi estate.”

myah blinks.

she knew that already, but hearing it out loud like this makes it feel real in a way it hadn’t before. she waits for him to elaborate, but he only continues in that same monotone voice, listing off assets as if she were a stranger reviewing a contract instead of a grieving granddaughter.

“the property located at 218 fujimoto drive is now under your name, as well as all remaining financial holdings, stocks, and investments left behind by mr. and mrs. takahashi. ownership of their business, takahashi antiques, has also been transferred to you.”

her head snaps up.

“wait,” she says. “the business?”

nakamura doesn’t even look up. “yes.”

myah’s mouth goes dry. she hadn’t thought about the store in years. tucked away in an old part of the city, her grandparents had run it for as long as she could remember. filled with rare artifacts, books, and oddities from all over, it had always given her the feeling of stepping into another world. she remembers being a child, running her fingers over the spines of leather-bound tomes, tracing the delicate carvings on antique jewelry. she remembers the way her grandmother had spoken in hushed tones to certain customers, ones who always seemed to leave with something unseen.

her stomach churns.

“everything?” she asks slowly. “the house, the business, the land?”

nakamura’s pen scratches against the paper. “correct.”

something about the way he says it makes her skin prickle. detached. uninterested. like there’s something more beneath the surface that he’s choosing not to acknowledge.

she watches him carefully. “why does it feel like there’s something you’re not telling me?”

finally, he looks up. his gaze is flat, unreadable, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes. something assessing. “your grandparents had… unique arrangements.”

myah frowns. “what the hell does that mean?”

nakamura exhales sharply, like he doesn’t have the patience for this conversation. he flips to another page, scanning it briefly before speaking again.

“i assume you’re already aware?”

“aware of what?”

he doesn’t answer right away. instead, he leans back slightly, studying her. it’s subtle, but she can feel it. the weight of something unspoken pressing down on the space between them.

“they never told you.”

it’s not a question.

myah grips the edge of the table. she feels like a child again, sitting on the tatami floor of her grandparents’ home, listening to them speak in hushed voices behind closed doors. she remembers the way they would change the subject when she walked into the room, the way certain guests were never introduced to her.

she swallows hard. “told me what?”

nakamura closes the folder. “that’s beyond my jurisdiction.”

her frustration flares. “you just said i inherited everything. how can i not know what it is i’m inheriting?”

his lips press into a thin line. “you’ll find out soon enough.”

she stares at him, heart pounding. “is this about the business?”

he says nothing.

her pulse thrums in her ears. her grandparents had always been private, but she’d never questioned it. not really. but now, memories resurface, fleeting moments she hadn’t thought twice about as a child. the times her grandfather would leave in the dead of night without explanation. the strange symbols carved into the wooden beams of their home. the way her grandmother had once told her, in a voice lower than a whisper, that some things were better left unknown.

her skin crawls.

she pushes back her chair, standing abruptly. “fine,” she says, voice steadier than she feels. “if you won’t tell me, i’ll figure it out myself.”

nakamura merely nods, as if he expected this. “i suggest you be careful, ms. takahashi.”

she pauses. “careful?”

he meets her eyes. for the first time, there’s something almost like pity in his expression. “your grandparents kept secrets for a reason.”

she doesn’t reply. instead, she turns on her heel and walks out, the weight of his words settling over her like a thick, suffocating fog.

as she steps out of the courthouse and into the cold afternoon air, she realizes something.

this isn’t just an inheritance.

it’s a warning.

the house loomed before her, silent and still, wrapped in the eerie hush of abandonment. myah hesitated at the front steps, the key trembling in her fingers. it had been years since she last stood here, and yet, the sight of it felt unchanged, untouched by time. the wooden panels, once pristine, were weathered now, darkened with age. the porch creaked beneath her weight, groaning in protest as if resenting her return.

she inhaled deeply, pushing open the door. a gust of stale air met her, thick with dust and something else. something faintly familiar, like the remnants of a past life lingering in the shadows.

the entryway was dim, the last rays of evening light slanting through the curtains. it illuminated the fine dust particles dancing in the air, disturbed by her arrival. she took a cautious step inside, her boots barely making a sound against the hardwood floors.

nostalgia washed over her in a slow, creeping wave.

her old home.

her prison.

she moved forward, trailing her fingers along the edge of a wooden console table. the family photographs were still there, frozen in time. her as a child, grinning with a missing front tooth; her grandparents, stoic and composed, their gazes like polished glass. she swallowed, suddenly aware of how empty the house felt without them.

her feet carried her down the hallway, past the framed paintings, the delicate porcelain vases her grandmother had so carefully collected. everything was exactly as she remembered it, yet now, it all felt foreign.

the door to her old room creaked as she pushed it open, revealing the untouched relic of her childhood. the bed was still covered in soft pink sheets, the plush rabbit she once slept with propped neatly against the pillows. shelves lined the walls, packed with old books and trinkets, a collection of memories she had long since outgrown but never discarded.

she stepped inside, the air thick with the scent of aged paper and lavender, remnants of an old sachet her grandmother had once placed in the drawers. myah trailed her hands over the desk, her fingertips brushing against the carvings she had made as a child. little stars and swirls etched into the wood, secrets only she had known.

a lump formed in her throat.

it was as if the house had been waiting for her, frozen in time, unwilling to move on without her.

but she wasn’t that little girl anymore.

she turned away, her heart heavy, and made her way toward the kitchen.

the moment she stepped inside, an unexpected scent wrapped around her. cinnamon.

she inhaled sharply, the smell pulling her back in time, back to when her grandmother stood by the stove, humming softly as she baked pastries, hands dusted in flour, her touch light but firm.

the kitchen was eerily unchanged. the wooden dining table sat in the center, the same lace tablecloth draped over it. the copper pots hung from their hooks, gleaming faintly under the dim light filtering through the windows. the oven door was slightly ajar, as if waiting to be used again.

myah reached for the chair she always used to sit in, running her hands along its worn edges.

for a moment, she swore she could hear the distant echoes of laughter, her own, bright and carefree. her grandmother’s gentle voice calling her name. the scrape of a spoon against a mixing bowl.

but when she blinked, the house remained empty.

silent.

a chill ran through her.

she wasn’t sure if it was the memories, the eerie preservation of the house, or something else entirely, but a deep unease settled in her chest.

she wasn’t alone.

not in the way one might think.

the house was watching her. waiting.

for what, she wasn’t sure.

and that unsettled her most of all.

she stood there for a long time, gripping the back of the chair like it might steady her, like it might pull her back to reality. but reality felt warped here, tangled up in memory and dust, in the heavy silence pressing against her ears.

with a slow breath, myah moved to the counter, trailing her fingers along the cold marble. the spice rack still stood in the corner, filled with half-used jars of star anise, cinnamon sticks, and dried lavender. she picked one up absentmindedly, twisting the cap off, breathing in the scent.

it was strange, how something so small could feel so intimate. so personal.

she set it down carefully, eyes drifting to the old wooden cabinets, the fridge that hummed quietly in the background, still plugged in after all these years. her grandmother never threw anything away if she could help it.

the thought made myah’s throat tighten.

turning away, she let her eyes sweep over the kitchen once more, as if expecting some ghost of the past to materialize. but there was nothing. just an old house, preserved in time, waiting for someone to come home.

she exhaled sharply. enough of this.

pushing away from the counter, she made her way back to the hallway, her footsteps muted against the wooden floors. the house stretched before her, dark and still, the air thick with something unspoken.

she glanced toward the staircase.

it loomed in the dim light, each step leading up to the second floor where the bedrooms lay.

her grandparents’ room.

a part of her didn’t want to see it. didn’t want to step inside and confirm the emptiness, to find that even in death, they still lingered in the walls.

but another part of her, some quiet, stubborn part, needed to.

so she moved forward.

the stairs creaked under her weight, the sound sharp and jarring in the stillness. she reached the landing, her hand hovering over the railing, the hallway stretching before her.

their bedroom door was shut.

it always had been, even when they were alive.

she hesitated, heart pounding, before slowly wrapping her fingers around the brass doorknob and twisting it open.

the room smelled of old fabric and cedar, of the faintest trace of perfume that had long since faded.

the bed was neatly made, the way her grandmother always kept it. a thick comforter tucked tightly around the edges, pillows stacked just right. their nightstands remained untouched, her grandfather’s old watch resting beside a pair of reading glasses, a book left open on the page he had last read.

a lump formed in her throat.

it felt wrong, stepping into their space like this. like she was intruding on something sacred.

but they were gone. and this, this was hers now.

she swallowed hard, stepping toward the vanity where her grandmother used to sit every morning, brushing her hair with slow, careful strokes.

a jewelry box rested on top, slightly ajar.

myah reached for it, fingers ghosting over the delicate carvings on the lid before she lifted it fully open.

inside, tucked beneath strands of pearls and old brooches, was a folded piece of paper.

her brows furrowed.

she reached for it, unfolding it carefully, her eyes scanning the delicate script.

“myah, if you’re reading this then you already know.”

her breath hitched.

know what?

her eyes darted to the next lines, but the ink was smudged, blurred beyond recognition.

frustration curled in her chest. she turned the paper over, searching for something, anything, but the back was blank.

what was she supposed to know?

a cold dread crept over her skin.

the lawyer’s words echoed in her head. “your grandparents had… unique arrangements.”

she gritted her teeth, folding the letter carefully before tucking it into her pocket.

whatever this was, whatever secrets they had left behind, she wasn’t leaving until she figured it out.

but first, she needed to breathe.

with one last glance around the room, she turned on her heel and left, shutting the door softly behind her.

downstairs, the house still smelled like cinnamon.

but now, it felt different.

like it wasn’t just waiting.

like it was watching.

myah spent the next few hours drifting from room to room, her fingers brushing over old furniture, the edges of framed photographs, the small trinkets left untouched on shelves. everything felt preserved, like a museum of her childhood, but also strangely off.

it wasn’t just the stillness, or the way dust had settled into the corners, or even the letter tucked inside her pocket, burning against her thigh like a secret waiting to be unraveled.

it was the feeling of something lurking just beneath the surface, something she couldn’t quite place.

standing in the living room, she traced the edge of a porcelain figurine resting on the mantel. her grandmother had collected them. tiny, delicate things, each one hand-painted and arranged meticulously.

she used to get scolded for playing with them.

“they’re not toys, myah. they’re memories.”

the words echoed now, soft as a whisper in the back of her mind.

she swallowed, stepping back.

the old grandfather clock in the corner ticked on steadily, its rhythmic beat filling the silence.

she exhaled slowly, pressing her palms against her temples.

this was too much.

the house. the will. the cryptic words from the lawyer.

and the letter, "if you’re reading this… then you already know."

but she didn’t know. and the longer she stayed here, the more it felt like the walls were closing in around her, whispering secrets just out of reach.

a sudden noise, soft, almost imperceptible, made her freeze.

a creak.

her head snapped toward the hallway.

the house was old. old houses made noise. that was all.

but still, she held her breath, listening.

nothing.

shaking herself, she exhaled sharply and turned toward the kitchen.

she needed water. something to ground herself.

the faucet groaned as she turned it on, the stream cold against her palms as she let it run.

she gripped the edge of the sink, trying to steady herself.

what the hell was she even doing here?

she should leave. pack up whatever was necessary, figure out the rest later. maybe even sell the house. she didn’t need it, didn’t want it.

but even as the thought crossed her mind, something inside her rebelled against it.

because this place wasn’t just a house.

it was hers.

and whether she wanted to or not, she had to figure out why.

the letter in her pocket felt heavier than before.

sighing, she turned off the faucet and wiped her hands on a nearby towel.

she’d start with the office.

her grandfather had always been meticulous. if there were any answers, they’d be in there.

squaring her shoulders, she stepped out of the kitchen, the house humming with silence around her.

but as she made her way toward the study, that lingering sense of unease refused to fade.

if anything, it grew stronger.

the study was exactly how she remembered it, dark wood, overstuffed bookshelves, the faint scent of old paper and something deeper, something almost metallic.

she hesitated in the doorway, fingers tightening around the hem of her sweater.

when she was younger, she wasn’t allowed in here. her grandfather had been strict about that, always keeping the door locked, always keeping his work private.

“there are things a child doesn’t need to know, myah.”

but she wasn’t a child anymore.

stepping inside, she let the door creak shut behind her.

dust coated the desk in a fine layer, and when she reached out to drag her fingers across the surface, she left streaks in the residue.

it was strange, everything else in the house felt preserved, but this room felt abandoned.

like someone had left in a hurry.

or like they never intended to return.

she swallowed, moving toward the bookshelf.

her grandfather had always been a man of routine, of habit. if there was something to be found, it would be here.

she scanned the spines, history, philosophy, law… nothing out of place.

but as she reached out to pull one free, her hand brushed against something rough.

a piece of paper, wedged between the books.

her pulse picked up as she carefully tugged it free.

the paper was yellowed, edges curling. the handwriting was neat, deliberate.

but it wasn’t in japanese or korean.

it wasn’t even in english.

it was in a language she didn’t recognize at all.

frowning, she turned it over, hoping for some kind of explanation.

but there was nothing.

just that strange, foreign script staring back at her.

her stomach twisted.

she didn’t know why, but looking at it made her feel wrong.

like she wasn’t supposed to see it.

like she wasn’t supposed to be here.

her fingers trembled slightly as she folded the paper and slipped it into her pocket.

she’d figure it out later.

for now, she needed to keep searching.

turning back to the desk, she pulled open the first drawer.

empty.

second drawer.

empty.

third—

her breath caught.

there, nestled at the bottom, was a small wooden box.

unassuming, plain.

but locked.

she reached for it, running her fingers along the edges.

there was no key in sight.

but she knew, instinctively, that whatever was inside this box, it was important.

and she had to find a way to open it.

she sat back on her heels, staring at the box like it might open on its own if she willed it hard enough.

but of course, it didn’t.

with a frustrated sigh, she set it on the desk, fingers drumming against the wood.

her grandfather had always been careful. deliberate. if he locked something away, it was for a reason.

but where would he have kept the key?

standing, she let her gaze sweep the study again.

there were only so many places it could be.

the drawers were empty, but the bookshelf?

her fingers skimmed over the spines again, searching for anything that felt out of place.

just then her fingers ran over the spine of a book that didn’t quite fit.

it was thinner than the others, wedged between two thick tomes on legal theory.

heart pounding, she pulled it free.

inside, nestled within its hollowed-out pages, was a key.

her breath hitched.

hands shaking, she snatched it up, rushing back to the desk.

the key slid into the lock with a quiet click.

for a moment, she hesitated.

whatever was inside this box, it would change things.

she felt it.

but she couldn’t stop now.

with a deep breath, she lifted the lid.

inside was a stack of neatly folded documents.

on top, an envelope with her name written in her grandfather’s handwriting.

slowly, she picked it up, fingers ghosting over the ink.

she swallowed hard.

then, carefully, she slid her finger under the flap and pulled out the letter.

the first line made her blood run cold.

“if you are reading this, then we are already gone.”

myah’s breath caught in her throat. she stared at the words, fingers tightening around the letter as an eerie weight settled in her chest.

her grandfather’s handwriting was firm, precise, just as she remembered. but seeing it now, knowing he had written this with the knowledge that she would find it after his death, sent a shiver down her spine.

she forced herself to keep reading.

“there are things we never told you. things we kept hidden for your own good. but if you’ve found this, it means our past has finally caught up with you.”

her hands shook.

she swallowed hard, pressing her lips together.

“our estate is now yours, but with it comes responsibility. you may have thought our wealth came from years of business, from careful investments. but the truth is, our fortune was built on something else entirely.”

she blinked, rereading the line.

what the hell was he talking about?

her pulse hammered in her ears.

“the basement.”

she inhaled sharply, fingers tightening around the pages.

“we never spoke of it. we never let you near it. but you must understand it was necessary. everything we did was necessary.”

necessary for what?

she could feel her heartbeat in her throat, her stomach twisting as she scanned the rest of the letter.

“the key is in your hands now. what you do with it is your choice. but be warned, myah: there are things in this house that do not forgive, that do not forget. tread carefully.”

the letter ended there.

silence stretched in the study, thick and suffocating.

myah stared at the paper, rereading each word, her mind racing.

the basement?

her grandparents had never mentioned a basement.

she clenched the letter in her hands, standing abruptly.

her skin prickled with unease as she glanced around, the air in the house suddenly feeling heavier, colder.

the basement.

she had to find it.

she had to know what they were hiding.

slowly, she stepped out of the study, the floor creaking beneath her feet.

her breath came short and uneven as she moved down the hall, scanning the walls, the floor, any sign of a hidden door.

but there was nothing.

until—

her eyes landed on a spot in the dining room, just past the kitchen.

a section of the floor, slightly off-colored, slightly raised.

her pulse quickened.

she crossed the room, crouching down, fingers tracing along the edges of the wood.

it was subtle, almost invisible.

but when she pressed her palm flat against it, she felt it give.

a hidden panel.

with a sharp inhale, she dug her fingers beneath the seam and pulled.

the wood lifted, revealing a set of narrow stairs descending into darkness.

a rush of cold air hit her face.

her stomach twisted.

this was it.

the secret her grandparents had taken to their graves.

she swallowed hard.

then, gripping the edge of the opening, she forced herself to take the first step down.

the stairs groaned under her weight, the air growing colder with each step myah took. dust swirled in the dim light as she descended, the scent of damp wood and something faintly metallic filling her nose.

her fingers trembled as she reached out to brush the wall, searching for a light switch. her hand found something. an old metal box, cool to the touch. she hesitated before flipping it open.

click.

a single, flickering bulb buzzed to life overhead.

the basement was larger than she expected.

stone walls, lined with shelves covered in old books and boxes. a long, wooden table sat in the middle of the room, its surface scratched and scarred, as if it had seen years of use.

but it was what was beyond the table that sent a chill down her spine.

a door.

steel. bolted shut.

her breath caught in her throat.

what the hell were they keeping down here?

her fingers twitched at her sides as she stepped closer. dust clung to every surface, but the bolts on the door looked newer, untouched by time in a way that didn’t match the rest of the basement.

myah reached out, brushing the cold metal.

but before she could figure out how to unlock the door

bang.

she yelped, stumbling back as something slammed against the other side of the door.

her pulse roared in her ears.

another bang.

a scraping sound.

her breathing turned shallow as she staggered away, her body screaming at her to run, but she couldn’t. she couldn’t move. she could only stare.

because whatever was behind that door…

it wasn’t just alive.

it was waiting.

and now, it knew she was here.

her grandparents’ words echoed in her head.

“there are things in this house that do not forgive, that do not forget.”

her knees felt weak, the weight of the secret pressing down on her chest.

she needed to leave.

now.

with a sharp inhale, she turned on her heel and bolted up the stairs, slamming the wooden panel shut behind her.

the house was silent.

but she could still hear it.

the scratching.

the breathing.

whatever was in that basement,

it wasn’t going to stay down there forever.

the air in the house thickened, suffused with an unfamiliar scent that hung heavy, tainting the usual musky, cold atmosphere. it wasn’t just the sound of footsteps that caught their attention, though. it was the way the tension in the air shifted, thick with the faint taste of fear.

there was something different about her.

jungkook’s gaze flicked toward the door, his body tense as he inhaled deeply. the scent was faint, but unmistakable. her heartbeat, fast and uneven, vibrated in his chest like a deep drum, and he couldn’t help but feel the primal pull in his gut. she was afraid.

he growled low, a soft rumble that vibrated in his throat. there was something exhilarating about her fear, a delicious, undeniable charge that made his muscles flex, a heat pooling in his core. he’d been in the shadows for too long. it had been too long since he’d felt the heat of a prey’s fear, smelled it so close. “who is this?” his voice was hoarse, but he didn’t care.

the tiger hybrid lounging next to him snapped his gaze to the door, body going still. the instinct in him was electric, crackling beneath his skin. he could feel the air shifting, charged with something wild. he’d been caged for too long, too long without feeling this… alive. his lips pulled back into a predatory grin, and he let out a slow, guttural laugh. “her…” his voice rumbled, “she’s scared. but she doesn’t know it yet.”

the lion's golden hair gleamed faintly in the dim light as his sharp eyes locked onto the door. his body was tense, muscles coiled as he breathed in the scent of her, sweet, yet tainted with fear. he could sense the pull, the weight of her presence on the air. but it wasn’t just the scent that tugged at him. it was the hunger he felt rising in his chest, a deep-seated craving he hadn’t fed in far too long. “she’s not supposed to be here,” he muttered, his voice low and steady, but the edge of his tone betrayed a flicker of something else. something dark.

yoongi’s presence shifted in the shadows, his piercing eyes narrowing as he registered the subtle disturbance. there was a faint tug in his chest, a sharp awareness. his body had been still, cold, but now… now he could feel the faint hum of something that wasn’t just human. She wasn’t just human. his jaw tightened, the hunger in him rising to the surface, just beneath the calm exterior. “we’ll see how long she lasts.”

the scent of her fear curled around his senses, an intoxicating pull. jimin, who had been quietly observing, felt the subtle shift too. his silvery hair shimmered faintly in the low light, his expression unreadable but sharp. she’s different, he thought, his gaze still on the door, though there was a softness in his features that didn’t match the intensity of the others. She’s curious, but she doesn’t know the danger she’s walking into.

hoseok’s laugh broke the silence, bright, full of energy, but with a bite beneath it. he could feel it too. the anticipation that sparked in his veins, a restlessness he couldn’t shake. his eyes were bright, wide, a flicker of mischief in the depths. “she smells so good,” he teased, his voice almost playful, but there was something more raw behind his words. the hunger was in him, too, gnawing at the edges of his patience.

the tiger's muscles twitched in response to the shift in the air, his lips curling into a smirk. “she’s scared. that’s what makes it fun.” his voice was low, dark with something primal, something carnal. “let’s see if she tries to run.”

the tension in the room thickened, palpable. every hybrid could feel it. the scent of her, the way her breath quickened, the pulsing rhythm of her heartbeat that called to them like a beacon. they hadn’t been this close to something like her in so long.

and she was afraid. vulnerable.

but that wouldn’t save her.

yoongi’s gaze flicked to the door, his expression blank but the flicker of something darker in his eyes betrayed his thoughts. she won’t get far. she’ll be ours, whether she likes it or not.”

the air grew still, thick with the scent of her fear, the sound of her movements barely perceptible now. she was running, but it didn’t matter. she had been marked. and now… now they all knew.

the door wasn’t much of a barrier. it would only delay what was inevitable.

they could smell her, hear her. the hunt had begun.

authors note: hey guys heres part one, i hope you guys like it !! this is only my second work so i apologize in advance, i also know this chapter didn't have a lot but i really wanted to get a decent exposition before diving into the story. also im thinking of potentially doing a taglist but am unsure of the best way to go about that, please lmk if you have any suggestions, i'm super new to this so any advice is greatly appreciated, tysm !!

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[1343401]

captive desires - prologue

pairing: bts x reader

status: ongoing

word count: 2.3 k

warnings: depictions of violence, death, family trauma, insecurities, mentions of blood,

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“i wish i were a cat,” myah said softly, her chin resting on her hands as she stared into the flickering flames of the hearth. the fire crackled and popped, casting dancing shadows across the room. the smell of freshly baked bread still lingered in the air, mixing with the earthy scent of wood smoke. it was a feeling of warmth, of comfort, and myah had always loved these quiet moments. with her grandmother sitting beside her, sewing a blanket, and her grandfather curled up in his favorite chair, reading, she felt safe. the mansion was her world, and everything felt perfect in it.

her grandmother looked up from her work, her eyes soft with affection. "a cat, huh?" she chuckled, the sound like a gentle breeze. "you’d be spoiled rotten, little one. cats don’t do anything but sleep all day, eat when they’re hungry, and let everyone adore them. that sounds like a dream, doesn’t it?"

myah smiled at the thought. “it does! they get to do whatever they want.” she sighed, a little wistfully, imagining the luxury of a life with no responsibilities, no worries. "i’d love to just curl up and nap by the fire whenever i felt like it."

her grandmother laughed, the warm sound filling the room. but her grandfather, who had been quiet for most of the evening, suddenly lowered his book, the movement slow and deliberate. myah didn't notice at first, too absorbed in the fire and the cozy atmosphere of the room. but then, she felt a shift, like the air had changed in some subtle way. her grandfather’s sharp gaze was on her now, his dark eyes studying her with a coldness she wasn’t used to.

“being a cat’s not all it’s cracked up to be,” he said, his voice low and deliberate. “they’re independent. mysterious. but you should know... not everyone would trust you if you were one.”

myah blinked, confused. she had been half-joking, lost in the idea of being a lazy, carefree creature. her mind had been filled with thoughts of soft fur and lazy afternoons. but now, the tone in her grandfather’s voice had a strange edge to it. something that made her spine tingle, just a little.

“trust?” she echoed, frowning. “why would a cat need to trust anyone?”

her grandfather set his book down completely, now fully turned toward her. his movements were deliberate, and there was something unsettling in the way his eyes lingered on her. “because, darling, there’s always someone who wants to control you,” he said slowly, his voice strangely calm. “and not all creatures are as harmless as they seem. some are much more dangerous.”

myah furrowed her brow, not understanding. she was just a child, her thoughts wrapped around the fantasy of what it would be like to be a cat. she didn’t think about danger, or control. she only thought about the freedom, the warmth of the sun, the carefreeness of the life she imagined. she opened her mouth to respond, but her grandmother quickly intervened, her soft voice cutting through the tension in the air.

“oh, now, dear, your grandfather’s just being silly,” she said with a laugh that was just a bit too bright, as if to distract myah from her grandfather’s words. “you’re too sweet and innocent to ever be anything other than a darling little girl.”

myah hesitated, sensing the sudden shift in the room. her grandmother’s smile was a little too forced, and her grandfather's gaze never left her. something in the way he watched her made her feel small, like she was being weighed and measured, as if he were seeing something in her that she couldn't see in herself.

“but you’re right about one thing,” her grandfather continued, his voice taking on a deeper, darker tone. “the world can be dangerous, myah. people can hide their true nature. and not everyone who seems kind is. sometimes, it’s better to stay hidden, to keep to yourself.”

myah felt a shiver run down her spine. the words, while soft, were heavy, each one loaded with a meaning she couldn’t fully grasp. she didn’t want to think about such things, didn’t want to feel the weight of her grandfather’s words pressing down on her. she wanted to believe that everything was safe, that her world was just as it seemed. but his stare, cold and calculating, made her feel like there was more to his words than just simple advice.

“grandfather?” she asked hesitantly, her voice small. “what do you mean? what kind of things are dangerous?”

her grandfather’s lips curled into a small, knowing smile. “you’ll understand when you’re older,” he said cryptically, turning his gaze back to his book. but his eyes flickered to her grandmother for just a moment, and the look that passed between them was not one of love or understanding, but something far colder. something that made myah’s skin prickle.

her grandmother, still smiling, turned back to her sewing, but her eyes were distant, as if she too was hiding something. myah didn’t know what to make of it, so she let the conversation drop, letting the strange tension fade away.

but that night, as she lay in bed, her thoughts kept drifting back to her grandfather’s words, to the strange way he had looked at her, the way her grandmother had avoided the subject altogether. myah tried to push it all away, tried to tell herself it was just her imagination, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

the basement was quieter than usual, the only sound the soft rustle of shifting bodies and the occasional low growl that escaped from namjoon. the air was thick with the stench of damp stone and iron, and the flickering of the single bulb above cast strange shadows across the cages.

“who’s this?” jungkook’s voice cut through the silence. his dark eyes narrowed as he watched the young boy, another hybrid, being shoved into the cage next to his. the boy was a deer hybrid, his legs shaky, eyes wide with fear. his limbs were thin, frail from months of neglect, but his eyes, his eyes were wild.

“don’t bother with him,” taehyung’s deep voice rumbled from across the room, his eyes not leaving the boy but the muscles in his shoulders tensing, like a tiger preparing to pounce. “they’ll break him like the rest of us.”

“he looks different,” hoseok mused, his voice light and teasing, but there was a bite beneath it. “smaller, younger... guess they’re going for something new.”

“won’t last long,” yoongi murmured from the shadows of his cage, his voice cold, but the flicker of something dark in his eyes suggested he was already calculating the new boy’s fate. “they’ll make him hunt, or they’ll make him... entertain.”

the new boy flinched at yoongi’s words, his body shrinking back into the corner of the cage, eyes darting nervously between the older hybrids.

“shut it, yoongi,” seokjin said softly, though his gaze lingered on the newcomer. his pale fur shimmered under the dim light as he shifted in his cage, clearly uncomfortable with the boy’s arrival. “they’ll break him fast enough. no need to make him scared.”

“too late for that,” namjoon growled, his eyes hard and unwavering as he watched the boy. his voice held an edge of bitterness, a reminder of his own capture at such a young age. “this place is made to break us.”

the deer hybrid trembled as he slowly sank to the floor of his cage, clearly overwhelmed. he opened his mouth to speak, but the only sound that came out was a soft whimper.

“it’s okay,” jimin said gently, his voice soft but firm. he leaned forward, his clouded leopard fur rippling slightly as he moved. his eyes were filled with sympathy, though there was a hardened edge to his expression. “you’re not alone, kid. we’ve all been here longer than you think.”

“don’t tell him that,” taehyung muttered, his voice low and tense. “don’t make him think he has a chance.”

“he’s just a kid,” jimin shot back, his eyes flickering with a mixture of pity and something more complicated. “he’s not like us.”

the deer hybrid’s head snapped up at that, his eyes wide with confusion and disbelief. he opened his mouth again, but no words came out.

“you’ll get used to it,” jungkook said, his voice carrying a bitter, hollow quality. “not like you’ll have a choice.”

“don’t listen to him,” seokjin whispered, though there was no real hope in his voice. he lowered his gaze, as if ashamed of his attempt to comfort the boy. “they don’t break everyone. some of us... some of us still have our minds.”

“barely,” hoseok added with a sharp laugh, the sound hollow and mocking. “barely.”

there was a brief silence as the newcomers’ quiet sobs filled the room, but the hybrids didn’t move to comfort him again. they’d all learned long ago that emotions didn’t help. sympathy only made it worse. their captors had a way of punishing any act of kindness, twisting it into something cruel.

the flickering bulb above cast long shadows, its dull light casting strange shapes on the walls. the new boy, small, trembling, barely more than a child, was curled up in the corner of his cage, eyes wide with fear.

he hadn’t said anything since the last exchange. not that anyone expected him to. in fact, none of them were sure he could even speak anymore.

“he won’t last,” taehyung’s voice was low, but it cut through the thick silence of the basement like a whip. his tiger eyes glinted in the darkness, watching the boy with something close to disdain.

seokjin’s gaze was softer, but the weight of his words still held truth. “they always think they can survive. they always think they’re different.”

jungkook leaned forward, his jaguar eyes narrowing. “the thing is… none of us ever were. different.”

hoseok stretched in his cage, cracking his knuckles. “nah. that kid? he’s too soft. they’ll take him by morning.”

yoongi didn’t even blink as he spoke, his voice as cold and detached as ever. “if he makes it that long.”

the boy flinched at their words but said nothing. his eyes darted nervously between them, his chest rising and falling with shallow, uneven breaths.

“don’t waste your sympathy,” jimin murmured, his eyes trained on the boy. “they want him to suffer.”

the air was thick with tension, suffocating in its silence. none of them spoke again. time seemed to crawl as the hours passed, but none of them had any illusions about what was happening.

they knew what happened when the sun set in this place. they’d seen it too many times.

the new boy curled into himself, his tiny body trembling. “please…,” he whispered, but the sound was drowned in the oppressive stillness of the room.

the rest of them, silent, watched, their faces hardened masks. they’d seen this play before, had played their parts, and they had no intention of making the same mistake.

the night dragged on, until it was nothing but endless darkness.

then, just as the first light of dawn began to creep into the basement, they heard it.

a loud slam. the sound of a door being ripped open, the unmistakable sound of someone being dragged across the cold stone floor.

the boy’s pitiful scream echoed in the night, though it didn’t last long. it was quickly muffled, a brief cry lost in the sound of something heavier being dragged.

“it’s time,” yoongi said softly, almost too softly, as if it didn’t matter anymore.

taehyung cracked his neck, eyes flicking toward the door where the sounds of struggling were still faintly heard. “the kid didn’t even make it until morning.”

hoseok snorted. “surprise surprise. they always come here with hope. that’s what makes it so much easier.”

seokjin shifted uncomfortably in his cage, his gaze flickering toward the door, then quickly away. “doesn’t matter. no one gets out. not us. not him.”

the dragging sounds stopped, followed by a heavy, sickening thud.

the room was deathly quiet again.

“he’s gone,” jungkook said, his voice flat, but his gaze dark. his jaguar eyes glinted, almost like a distant echo of something untamable. something that, like the rest of them, had long been buried.

“it doesn’t matter,” hoseok muttered. “they always die before the sun comes up. they either break or they... get taken.”

the others said nothing in response. there was no need.

they’d seen this happen too many times.

jimin let out a breath, his eyes flickering to the corner where the boy had once been. “you think he’ll even remember who he was?”

“does it matter?” taehyung’s voice was sharp. “they don’t care. we don’t care.”

but the silence was heavy. unsettling, like a weight pressing down on them all. even yoongi’s eyes, dark as ever, held something, a flicker of something ancient and knowing.

“it’s always the same,” namjoon said quietly, his voice rough, like he hadn’t spoken in ages. “they come in thinking they’re different. they never are.”

the basement was cold. too cold. they were alone again. but this time, it was different. the absence of the boy, his fate sealed before dawn, sat in the air like an unspoken truth. they knew what came next.

more would come, just like him.

and they would never make it either.

the sound of the heavy door creaking closed echoed through the basement, sealing them once again in their dark cages.

and in the dead of night, only the faintest whisper of the boy’s cry remained.

authors note: here is the first partish of captive desires !! part one will be up in a little bit, i just have to edit a few things. also spring semester did just start for me so uploads may be slightly slower (i'm hoping not too much but i am a stem student so we will see) thank you guys for reading,

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[1343401]

masterlists ⋆｡𖦹 °🐋⋆｡˚♡

ot7 series -

echos of the sea

synopsis: dragged into the pages of a novel she can’t escape, noh jiah finds herself serving yiseo, the kingdom’s flawless heroine. but as the men who adore her best friend begin to look at jiah with hunger in their eyes, a dangerous game of passion and power ensues. each man more captivating than the last, and with a world full of secrets and temptations, jiah realizes she’s no longer a mere background character. she’s the one who might just break the hearts of all seven men, or have them bow to her will. the lines between loyalty, love, and lust blur as she dares to rewrite her fate.

pairing: bts x reader

started: 01.20.25

status: ongoing

word count: 84.3 k

warnings: depictions of violence, smut (eventually), death, family trauma, insecurities, mentions of blood

captive desires

synopsis: after the passing of her grandparents, myah inherits their mansion, the only home she’s ever known. but when she stumbles upon a hidden basement, she uncovers a chilling secret: her grandparents weren’t just caretakers, they were notorious hybrid hunters, and the seven hybrids they captured are still alive. horrified, myah vows to set them free, but the hybrids have a darker plan. in a twist of retribution, they demand she care for them in exchange for their freedom. now, trapped in a deadly game of desire, control, and obsession myah must decide how far she’s willing to go to survive and whether she can resist the pull of the very creatures her grandparents sought to control.

pairing: bts x reader

started: 02.06.25

status: ongoing

word count: 37.0 k

warnings: depictions of violence, smut (eventually), death, family trauma, mentions of blood, slight yandere-ish behavior, (animal) abuse, kidnapping

requiem of the broken

synopsis: park minji's entire existence had been confined to the cold, sterile walls of the breeding facility. a place where women were no more than vessels for the insatiable hunger of the vampiric elite. she had known nothing but fear, awaiting her fate: to be chosen for breeding, or sold as food to the bloodthirsty. but when she is selected by the coven of the damned, she is thrust into a dark, twisted world of power, lust, and unimaginable cruelty. now, minji is not just prey, she is the object of their relentless, carnal desires, a pawn in a deadly game of dominance. as the vampires take turns bending her to their will, minji must decide: will she submit to their hunger, or will she burn the world down in a desperate, blood-soaked rebellion of her own? in the coven's grip, there's no mercy, only the unrelenting thirst for power and pleasure that threatens to consume her whole.

pairing: bts x reader

started: 02.09.25

status: ongoing

word count: 3.1 k

warnings: depictions of violence, 18+, death, non con, mentions of blood, vampires, selling of people

one shots -

beneath burning skies

synopsis: in the quiet village of jangsu, seojin’s life changes the moment she finds a dragon and its rider, both broken and vulnerable. as she tends to their wounds, the air crackles with something dangerous, something forbidden. the dragon’s touch leaves her skin burning, while jungkook’s quiet presence pulls her into a world of desire she’s never known. trapped between the two, seojin finds herself falling deeper into a passion that threatens to consume her, each stolen touch a promise of something darker, hotter, and far more irresistible than she ever imagined.

pairing: dragon!namjoon x reader x dragonrider!jungkook

word count: n/a

warnings: depictions of violence, 18+, mentions of blood, shifters,

taglist: @canarystwin @sathom013 @gracefulsakura98 @ihatesnakeu7 @dachshunddame @moonxxlover @lovelyglares @multifandomfreakster-blog @dawnzephyr @seomta @mar-lo-pap @chroniclesofbts @minjianhyung @wannaghostbts @kpopdreamer95

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[1343401]

captive desires m.list

synopsis: after the passing of her grandparents, myah inherits their mansion, the only home she’s ever known. but when she stumbles upon a hidden basement, she uncovers a chilling secret: her grandparents weren’t just caretakers, they were notorious hybrid hunters, and the seven hybrids they captured are still alive. horrified, myah vows to set them free, but the hybrids have a darker plan. in a twist of retribution, they demand she care for them in exchange for their freedom. now, trapped in a deadly game of desire, control, and obsession myah must decide how far she’s willing to go to survive and whether she can resist the pull of the very creatures her grandparents sought to control.

pairing: bts x reader

started: 02.06.25

status: ongoing

word count: 37.0 k

warnings: depictions of violence, smut (eventually), death, family trauma, mentions of blood, slight yandere-ish behavior

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taglist: @moonxxlover @sassy-snassy @kameko-ko @jnghs @captainhoook @yoonjoongles @canarystwin @sathom013 @gracefulsakura98 @jungshaking @haileyisboring @pookieb99 @starlight-1010 @svnbangtansworld @ihatesnakeu7 @dachshunddame @iyeeeverydee @multifandomfreakster-blog @peachmarien @dawnzephyr @ukndtwme @steddie-steddie @plainoldalexis @vantelover07 @justasadb1tch @seomta @shakespeare-in-the-park7 @mar-lo-pap @chroniclesofbts @borahaetelevision @charlielecrayongris @minjianhyung @wannaghostbts @therealjaken @kpopdreamer95 @selfishlittlebeing @official-angi @calmyourtitts7 @wonder-and-wildflowers @cosmotannie @flowinj @riu

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[1343401]

echos of the sea - chapter four

pairing: bts x reader

status: ongoing

word count: 10.4 k

warnings: depictions of violence, death, family trauma, insecurities, mentions of blood

prev | next | m.list

jiah adjusted the starched apron over her plain gray dress, brushing off invisible dust as she paced down one of the quieter palace corridors. it had been a few days since she'd been thrown into this world, and while the shock of everything still hit her in waves, she'd managed to fall into some sort of rhythm, or at least fake one. waking up at dawn, tending to yiseo, running errands for the other servants... it was enough to keep her hands busy, her mind distracted, and her emotions bottled up just enough to survive.

sleep, though, had been a different story.

every night, she felt the pull again. the soft hum of a melody that had haunted her since her arrival. the first night after that strange encounter by the ocean, she hadn't slept at all, her mind replaying the haunting voice and the impossibly beautiful man with silvery hair who had kissed her like she was the answer to a question he hadn't dared to ask. it was like she'd been branded by the moment, her thoughts unable to escape the weight of his gaze or the feel of the cold, damp air as it wrapped around them.

but after the second sleepless night, she'd improvised.

the solution was ridiculous: she stuffed the leftover bits of fabric from the palace sewing room into her ears before bed. not elegant, not particularly comfortable, but effective enough to block out the siren song that had clawed at the edges of her consciousness. it worked. mostly.

focus on yiseo, she reminded herself. focus on staying alive in this world, not on the ocean, or him, or... taehyung.

her heart gave an unwelcome twist at the thought of the stable boy she'd been carefully avoiding for days.

the memories of their last interaction refused to leave her. the quiet intensity of his gaze, the casual way he leaned against the stable doorframe like he wasn't the most striking man she'd ever seen. it wasn't just his looks, though they were a problem all on their own; it was the way he looked at her. it wasn't the wary observation she got from yiseo, nor the polite indifference of the other servants. taehyung looked at her like he knew her. like he still saw the jiah he had grown up with.

but she wasn't that girl. not really.

a flash of memory interrupted her thoughts. a moment from two days ago that had her pulse quickening despite herself.

she'd been hurrying through the courtyard, balancing a tray of tea that yiseo had demanded to have served outside, her steps quick and her mind busy counting tasks she still needed to finish before sundown. it was a busy, noisy day, the kind where she could almost forget that she didn't belong here, that her life had been ripped apart and dropped into a novel like some sick cosmic joke.

and then he'd appeared.

"you've been avoiding me," came his voice, low and steady, from somewhere behind her.

she froze mid-step, the tea tray wobbling precariously in her grip. she didn't need to turn around to know who it was.

"i'm busy," she said quickly, her voice sharper than she intended, hoping he'd take the hint and leave.

but, of course, he didn't.

taehyung stepped into her peripheral vision, his dark servant's uniform doing nothing to dull the quiet confidence in the way he carried himself. he wasn't trying to block her path, but his presence alone was enough to stop her in her tracks.

"busy with what?" he asked, his tone light, teasing even. "you've been running around like you're avoiding something. or someone."

her cheeks burned. she glanced at him for a fraction of a second before fixing her gaze on the cobblestones. "i have work to do," she said curtly. "unlike some people."

he raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "oh, believe me, i've been busy too." his tone shifted, softening just enough to make her uneasy. "but i thought we could talk."

"about what?" she asked, her voice clipped, though her hands tightened around the tea tray.

"about why you're acting like you don't know me."

her breath caught. her mind scrambled for an excuse, any excuse, but before she could answer, a voice from across the courtyard called her name. she seized the opportunity, bowing her head slightly and muttering, "i have to go."

she didn't look back as she hurried away, her heart pounding in her chest.

jiah shook her head, trying to shove the memory aside as she rounded a corner into the servants' quarters.

the room was quiet, dimly lit by the afternoon sun streaming through the small windows. it was a stark contrast to the chaos of the palace, a sanctuary where she could finally catch her breath. her feet ached, and her arms felt like they might fall off from the endless tasks she'd been assigned all day.

she sank onto the edge of her narrow bed, pulling the pins from her hair and letting it fall loose around her shoulders. for a moment, she closed her eyes, willing herself to relax.

you've been here for a few days, she reminded herself. you're still alive. that's something.

but the thought was hardly comforting. she'd been thrown into a whirlwind of courtly politics, secret schemes, and... whatever the hell taehyung and the siren by the ocean were supposed to be.

focus, she told herself. just focus on the work.

but no matter how hard she tried, the memories wouldn't stop creeping in. the haunting melody of the siren's song, taehyung's piercing gaze, the weight of yiseo's expectations. it was all too much, too fast, and she felt like she was barely keeping her head above water.

how is this my life now?

letting out a heavy sigh, she reached for the small pile of fabric she'd been using as earplugs, determined to block out the chaos for just a little while longer.

the royal ship sailed steadily through the dawn-tinted waters, the rhythmic crash of waves against its hull a stark contrast to the storm brewing within prince seokjin’s mind. seated in his quarters, the crown prince of gukseon gazed at the gilded mirror on the opposite wall, its reflection casting his features in a faint golden hue. his dark brown hair fell into soft waves, framing his sharp yet noble face, but his warm eyes carried a weariness that no amount of royal polish could mask.

the letters from his council sat open on the desk before him, their ink bleeding into words he had read over and over again: securing an alliance through marriage is imperative for stability. your betrothal to princess lee yiseo is the only viable path forward.

he knew what they wanted, no, expected, of him. gukseon was one of the most formidable military powers on the continent, but its strength meant little without loyalty. with his father’s health failing, the unrest among the nobility had grown louder. his generals could only keep rebellion at bay for so long, and his council whispered of threats from within his own court. a marriage to the crown princess of seohwa would silence the dissenters, uniting the two powerful kingdoms under one rule.

and yet, every time he thought of it, an inexplicable bitterness settled in his chest.

seokjin leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking softly beneath him, and ran a hand down his face. he had heard of princess yiseo’s beauty, her elegance, her charm. poets in seohwa sang of her like she was the moon come to earth, a woman whose beauty could halt wars and inspire peace. but he’d also heard the less flattering whispers. that she was spoiled, unkind to her servants, and indifferent to anyone beneath her station.

what good is beauty if there’s no substance beneath it? he thought grimly.

he wasn’t a man who indulged in flights of romantic fancy. as prince and eventual king, his marriage was always going to be a matter of duty rather than love. but it gnawed at him that his bride to be might not share even a shred of the same commitment to the kingdom that he carried in his bones.

his lips pressed into a thin line as his thoughts shifted to why he had even allowed himself to be dragged into this arrangement in the first place.

it wasn’t just about gukseon’s future stability.

because somewhere out there, lost to the ruthless tides, was his younger brother.

his thoughts drifted to hoseok, his bright smile as vivid in his memory as the sun rising over the horizon. hoseok had always been different. where seokjin was composed, disciplined, and bound by duty, hoseok had been vibrant, carefree, and endlessly kind. he was the heart of their family, a beam of light even amidst the weight of their royal obligations.

and yet, hoseok’s warmth hadn’t been enough to shield him from the dangers of the sea.

it had been almost five years since hoseok was taken, and seokjin remembered the day with brutal clarity. it had been a diplomatic voyage. routine. uneventful. their ship had sailed calm waters, and seokjin had allowed himself to relax for once, trusting in their guards and the tranquility of the route. hoseok, of course, had been in his element, laughing with the crew, making even the most stoic soldiers smile.

then, as if summoned by fate itself, the hwa yang yeon hwa appeared.

seokjin had only heard of the infamous pirate ship in passing. tales of its cunning captain, a ghost on the sea who evaded capture at every turn. but that day, he came to know the name intimately. the pirates struck with precision, overwhelming their ship’s defenses in a matter of minutes.

he had fought fiercely, cutting down any who dared approach hoseok, but even a prince’s determination wasn’t enough against their numbers. hoseok had been dragged away amidst the chaos, his cries echoing in seokjin’s ears even as the pirates disappeared into the horizon.

the search that followed was exhaustive. seokjin sent every available ship after the hwa yang yeon hwa, scoured every port, interrogated every informant, but it was as if the ship had vanished into thin air.

hoseok was never seen again.

his fingers clenched around the hilt of his sword, knuckles whitening. the grief never lessened, but what seokjin felt now wasn’t grief. it was cold, calculating anger. he didn’t know if hoseok was dead or alive, but he knew one thing: the hwa yang yeon hwa had to be stopped.

and if marriage to lee yiseo meant securing the resources to do so, then so be it.

a knock at the door broke through his thoughts.

“enter,” he called, his voice tight.

the door opened, and general min yoongi stepped inside, his black hair slightly tousled from the sea breeze. his sharp eyes flicked to seokjin, immediately picking up on his stormy mood.

“you’re brooding again,” yoongi said, closing the door behind him.

“i don’t brood,” seokjin replied, though his tone lacked conviction.

yoongi smirked faintly. “you glare at inanimate objects like they owe you money. that’s brooding.”

seokjin let out a huff of air, leaning back in his chair. “if anyone has a right to brood, it’s me. i’m about to marry a woman i’ve never met, just to keep this kingdom from falling apart.”

“and gain a fleet powerful enough to hunt every last pirate in these waters,” yoongi added pointedly.

seokjin’s jaw clenched. “that too.”

the unspoken weight of his brother’s memory hung between them, heavy and unrelenting.

yoongi’s expression softened, though his voice remained steady. “we’ll find them,” he said. “the ones responsible. we’ll make them pay.”

seokjin nodded, his gaze distant. “we will.”

outside, the sea stretched endlessly before them, vast and unyielding. seokjin knew the path ahead would be fraught with challenges, but he swore to himself that he would not falter. for his kingdom, for his brother, and for the vengeance that burned in his veins. he would see this through, no matter the cost.

yoongi stepped closer, his boots clicking against the wooden floor, and folded his arms across his chest. “you should try to sleep,” he said, his voice quieter now, though no less firm. “you’ll need a clear head when we reach seohwa tomorrow.”

seokjin huffed a humorless laugh, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the desk. “sleep? in the middle of this mess?” he gestured vaguely to the stack of documents on his desk, maps, letters from his council, reports on the growing unrest back in gukseon. “i’d rather spend the time preparing.”

yoongi’s sharp eyes scanned the desk, taking in the scattered parchment and ink-stained fingers. “you’ve been preparing for years, jin,” he said softly, dropping the formality for once. “you don’t have to carry all of this alone.”

seokjin glanced up at him, surprised by the sudden shift in yoongi’s tone. the general wasn’t one for sentimentality, and moments like this were rare. “what other choice do i have?” seokjin muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “this marriage isn’t just for the kingdom. it’s for the people. for hoseok. for…” he trailed off, swallowing hard.

yoongi’s gaze softened, though his posture remained steady. “you’re right,” he said after a moment. “it is for them. but it won’t mean anything if you burn yourself out before we even get to seohwa.”

seokjin didn’t respond immediately, his jaw tightening as he considered yoongi’s words. he hated being reminded of his limits, but deep down, he knew his general was right. still, the idea of rest felt impossible when his mind refused to quiet.

yoongi, ever observant, seemed to sense his hesitation. “at least get some air,” he suggested, stepping toward the window and pulling the curtains back slightly. the moonlight spilled into the room, casting a silvery glow across the desk. “clear your head. if you keep pacing this room, you’ll wear the floorboards out.”

seokjin raised an eyebrow. “is that a direct order, general?”

yoongi’s lips quirked into a faint smirk. “if it has to be.”

the crown prince sighed, pushing himself up from the chair. he stretched his arms briefly, feeling the tension in his muscles ease just slightly. “fine,” he said, relenting. “i’ll take a walk. but if anything catches fire while i’m gone, i’m holding you responsible.”

“i’ll be sure to send word to the shipwrights,” yoongi deadpanned, though his smirk lingered.

seokjin shook his head, unable to suppress a faint smile. as much as yoongi’s bluntness could be grating, it was moments like this that reminded him why he relied on his general so much.

stepping past yoongi, seokjin made his way to the door. he paused briefly, glancing back over his shoulder. “you should get some rest too,” he said. “we’ll both need our strength tomorrow.”

yoongi tilted his head slightly, a shadow of amusement flickering across his face. “i’ll consider it.”

seokjin didn’t press the issue, knowing better than to try to order yoongi around when it came to his own well-being. instead, he slipped out of the room and into the cool night air.

the deck of the ship was quiet, save for the soft creak of the wood beneath his boots and the gentle lapping of the waves against the hull. the sailors on watch nodded respectfully as he passed, but otherwise left him undisturbed. seokjin welcomed the silence, letting the steady rhythm of the sea soothe his restless thoughts.

he leaned against the railing, his gaze fixed on the horizon where seohwa awaited. the kingdom was said to be beautiful, a land of rolling hills and glittering rivers, but all seokjin could think about was the weight of what it represented: a strategic alliance, a fleet strong enough to rival the hwa yang yeon hwa, and a wife he had never met.

lee yiseo.

he tried to picture her, recalling the rumors he’d heard: a face that could launch a thousand ships, a demeanor as sharp as a blade. she sounded formidable, certainly, but beauty and temperament mattered little to him. this wasn’t about love or companionship; it was about necessity.

still, he couldn’t help but wonder what she thought of all this. had she agreed to the match willingly, or was she just as reluctant as he was?

the thought lingered as he straightened up, his grip tightening on the railing. no matter her feelings, he couldn’t afford to waver.

the sea stretched endlessly before him, vast and unyielding, and somewhere beneath its surface lay the answers he sought, the closure he craved.

“i’ll find them,” he murmured to himself, the words barely audible over the sound of the waves. “i’ll find them, and i’ll end this.”

the wind carried his vow out into the night, and for a moment, the world felt still.

the morning light streamed through the tall windows of yiseo's chambers, painting the room in soft hues of gold. jiah stood behind the princess, carefully weaving a delicate braid into her long, dark hair. tiny pearls were threaded into the style, each placed meticulously, their soft shimmer complementing the pale blue gown yiseo wore.

"do you think he'll like me?" yiseo asked, breaking the peaceful silence. her tone was light, but there was a nervous edge to it that made jiah pause.

"who?" jiah asked, feigning ignorance as she picked up another pearl.

yiseo turned slightly, her eyes wide with a mixture of excitement and anxiety. "prince seokjin, of course. who else?"

"oh," jiah said lightly, sliding the pearl into place. "i'm sure he'll like you, princess. you're... unforgettable."

yiseo huffed, her lips forming a slight pout. "that's not what i meant. i mean, do you think he'll really see me? not just as some political pawn his advisors shoved in front of him."

jiah hesitated, fingers lingering in yiseo's hair. in the book, yiseo was excited to meet seokjin. she had heard tales of his charm and strength and had secretly hoped for an instant connection, though it didn't truly happen until the ball later that evening. jiah couldn't help but feel torn, should she encourage yiseo to keep an open mind, knowing what was coming?

"he's... a prince," jiah said carefully, focusing on tucking the last braid into place. "and from what i've heard, a very disciplined one. he's probably thinking about all the political implications, too."

"you mean he's not thinking about me," yiseo said, her voice falling slightly.

jiah shook her head with a small smile, stepping back to admire her handiwork. "i didn't say that. i'm saying he's probably nervous, just like you are. princes are human too, after all."

yiseo raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. "a prince? nervous? please."

"it's true," jiah insisted. "besides, you haven't even met him yet. who knows? maybe he's nothing like you imagined."

yiseo tilted her head, considering this. "you think so?"

"i do," jiah said firmly. she smoothed the fabric of yiseo's gown and stepped back, giving the princess a warm smile. "just don't go in with too many expectations. sometimes people surprise you."

the words tasted bittersweet on her tongue. was she doing the right thing? she knew how the story was supposed to go. yiseo would fall for seokjin tonight, swept away by his warmth and kindness. it was the spark that set the entire plot in motion. but then namjoon, the pirate captain, would steal her away, both figuratively and literally, and everything would fall apart.

jiah's chest tightened as she thought of seokjin. he didn't deserve that kind of betrayal. if she could stop yiseo from falling for namjoon in the first place, maybe she could prevent the heartbreak entirely. but was it her place to interfere?

"you're unusually quiet today," yiseo said, pulling jiah from her thoughts.

"am i?" jiah replied quickly, forcing a smile. "just focused, that's all."

yiseo studied her for a moment, her sharp eyes narrowing slightly. but then her expression softened, and she sighed. "you're right, though. i shouldn't go in with too many expectations. still i hope he's handsome."

jiah couldn't help but laugh, the sound lightening the tension in her chest. "well, that's one expectation i think you can safely keep."

yiseo grinned, her excitement returning in full force. "do you think he's taller than me?"

"probably."

"and his voice, do you think it's deep?"

"definitely."

yiseo giggled, her mood lifting as she turned to the mirror, admiring herself one last time. "well, if he doesn't fall in love with me tonight, it's his loss."

jiah bit the inside of her cheek, forcing herself to stay quiet. the story was already in motion. seokjin and yiseo were destined to fall for each other, but now that she was here, the weight of that inevitability pressed down on her.

"you're ready," jiah said softly, stepping back. "let's not keep the people waiting, you still have a long day ahead of you."

yiseo nodded, her confidence returning as she straightened her posture and made her way to the door.

as jiah followed, her heart thudded in her chest. tonight would set everything in motion, and she could only hope she wouldn't regret her choice to stay on the sidelines. for now.

the marketplace buzzed with life, vendors calling out their wares as the scent of freshly baked bread and sizzling street food filled the air. jiah adjusted the basket in her arms, her steps quick but careful as she navigated through the narrow streets. yiseo had sent her out to fetch a few last-minute items, a specific perfume she suddenly couldn't do without and a pair of satin gloves to match her gown.

"of course she'd remember the gloves now," jiah muttered under her breath, dodging a man carrying a towering stack of crates.

"just get through today" she muttered to herself, her eyes cast downward as she walked briskly through the crowded street.

she didn't see him at first.

he was a figure in the periphery, just another face in the bustling market, but when she rounded the corner near the flower stand, she collided with him, causing her to stumble back a few steps.

the stranger caught her instantly, his hand wrapping firmly around her arm, steadying her.

"careful," his voice was low and smooth, carrying an undertone that immediately caught her attention.

jiah's heart skipped a beat, and she found herself looking up, her breath hitching as her eyes locked with his. he was tall, taller than most, with broad shoulders that filled out his simple tunic in a way that shouldn't have been so alluring. his hair was dark, slightly tousled from the sea breeze, and his eyes, those warm, dark eyes, held her gaze with an intensity that was unsettling and magnetic all at once.

"i'm so sorry," she blurted, her voice flustered as she tried to regain her composure. she could feel her heart beating faster, a strange flutter building in her chest. "i wasn't looking where i was going."

"no harm done," he replied with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, though his grip on her arm lingered a moment too long. "but you were certainly in a hurry."

jiah blinked up at him, slightly dazed by the way his gaze held hers, almost like he was studying her, measuring her reaction. she swallowed, trying to maintain control of the situation. "i've got a lot to do," she replied, forcing her tone to sound normal, even though her heart was still racing.

his lips quirked up at the corners. "i can tell." his voice was soft, almost teasing, as though he enjoyed the moment just a little too much.

jiah took a step back, feeling the awkwardness settle between them like a thick fog. "well, i should get going," she said quickly, her eyes darting to the ground. but when she turned to leave, his voice stopped her.

"you're in quite a hurry. why not slow down a bit? the market's a perfect place to take a break," he suggested, his tone almost coaxing, like he was inviting her into some unspoken moment.

she hesitated. there was something about him. something disarming, but at the same time, there was a subtle danger in the way he spoke. like there was more to him than met the eye.

"i really can't," jiah replied, but she couldn't shake the feeling that he was still watching her, his gaze a presence she couldn't escape. "i've got... errands to run," she added, feeling foolish for being so flustered by a simple interaction.

"errands for someone important?" he asked, his eyebrows raising in mild amusement.

she bit her lip, unsure how to respond. technically, yes, she was running errands for the princess, but something about the way he asked made her feel self conscious, like he could see through her.

"just some things to take care of," jiah replied, her tone light, trying to deflect. "nothing special."

he regarded her silently for a moment, his gaze never leaving hers. the street around them buzzed with activity, but in this small space between them, everything else seemed to fade into the background. she could feel the pull between them, even though she had no idea why it was there or what it meant.

"you seem... distracted," he observed, his voice low and thoughtful. "it doesn't suit you."

jiah frowned, unsure whether she liked the way he seemed to read her so easily. "i'm fine," she said quickly, though she wasn't entirely sure if she was trying to convince him or herself.

he didn't seem convinced, but he didn't press. instead, he let his gaze drop to the basket in her hand. "running errands for someone important?" he asked again, his voice laced with a slight curiosity, as though he had suddenly become more interested in her tasks than in her.

jiah glanced down at the basket. "just picking up a few things for the princess," she said, keeping her answer vague. "nothing too exciting."

"the princess," he repeated, his voice like a purr, though his expression shifted. there was something almost calculating in his gaze now. "must be quite the responsibility."

"it's not as glamorous as it sounds," jiah muttered, a bit of bitterness slipping into her tone despite herself. she quickly bit it back, realizing how easily her emotions were slipping past her control. she had to get herself together.

he noticed, of course. "i can see that," he said softly, his gaze flickering with something she couldn't quite place. "but surely you don't mind? taking care of her, i mean."

jiah took a deep breath, her nerves getting the better of her again. "it's just my job," she replied, her voice carefully neutral.

he nodded, though there was still a glint of amusement in his eyes. "you seem to be quite dedicated to it."

she glanced at him quickly, unsure how to respond to his observations. it felt like he was getting closer to the truth with every word, even though she didn't know what the truth really was.

before she could find something else to say, a voice called out from behind her, breaking the tension between them.

"miss! i have the gloves you asked for!"

jiah sighed in relief, turning to walk toward the vendor. "i have to go," she said quickly, not meeting his eyes. "but it was nice talking to you."

his smile widened, and he took a small step back. "likewise. take care, miss," he said, his voice still warm with that underlying teasing tone.

as jiah hurried away, her heart still racing, she couldn't shake the feeling that something had just happened between them. something that felt too significant to ignore, even if she wasn't sure what it meant. she kept walking, but her mind was racing with thoughts of him. who was he? why did he make her feel this way?

"what just happened?" she whispered to herself, her pulse still quickened as she tried to shake off the strange sense of longing he had left behind.

seokjin stood there for a moment longer, his gaze still fixed on the street where jiah had disappeared, swallowed by the throng of bustling people. the murmur of the marketplace surrounded him, the scents of fresh bread and roasted meats wafting through the air, but they all felt distant. muted. none of it seemed to matter as much as that moment with her. the way she had stood there, hesitant yet confident, the way her eyes had met his with that inexplicable intensity. something had shifted inside him, something he didn't have a name for, but it was there, gnawing at the edges of his mind.

his chest tightened again, a flutter of something unidentifiable swirling deep inside him. it was disconcerting. it was unsettling. he wasn't used to feeling like this. he wasn't used to losing control.

he had learned, over the years, to guard himself. his responsibilities, his family, his kingdom, all of that came first. it always had. the loss of his brother, the burden of being the crown prince, all of it had made him hard, focused, and resolute. emotions were for the weak. they could cloud judgment. they could lead to mistakes.

and yet, in that moment, with her eyes fixed on his, all of that seemed to fade away. the memories of his brother, the weight of his duties, the kingdom he was supposed to protect, they all felt secondary to the overwhelming pull he felt toward her. why? why her? he didn't know.

the thought of never seeing her again gnawed at him, but he forced himself to look away, taking in a sharp breath. he had to focus. there was too much at stake for him to get lost in some fleeting moment, some passing stranger who had crossed his path. he had a kingdom to protect. he had a marriage to secure. and those things were far more important than anything else.

"seokjin," yoongi's voice sliced through his thoughts, pulling him back to reality.

he turned toward the general, his jaw clenched, as if to shake off the strange, lingering emotions. "what is it?" he asked, his voice a bit too sharp, his frustration bubbling over, though he tried to keep it in check.

yoongi didn't miss it. the general's keen eyes studied him for a moment, sensing something was off, but he didn't press it. instead, he crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow, the faintest hint of amusement tugging at his lips. "you've been standing here for far too long. what do you think you're doing?"

seokjin snapped back, irritation rising in him. "i'm fine. just thinking."

"thinking?" yoongi repeated, deadpan. "about what? about the woman you just met?"

seokjin stiffened, but yoongi's words hit too close to home. his heart skipped, his throat tight. he didn't want to admit it, didn't want to acknowledge what was bubbling inside him, so he gritted his teeth and shrugged it off.

"it's nothing," he muttered, though it came out more like a challenge.

yoongi's smirk deepened, clearly amused by seokjin's obvious discomfort. "don't lie to me. you're practically glowing, as if you just had a romantic encounter. you're acting like you've never seen a woman before."

seokjin felt a heat rise in his chest, a flush creeping up his neck. the teasing was relentless, but it was also familiar. yoongi had always been like this, cutting through seokjin's composure with his sharp, biting humor. but this time, seokjin wasn't in the mood for it. "drop it, yoongi," he said curtly, his voice strained.

yoongi studied him for a long beat, then sighed, his expression softening just slightly. "you know what they say about chasing after fleeting feelings, right?"

seokjin met his gaze, but there was no hint of amusement in his eyes now. only seriousness. "i'm not chasing anything," he said quietly. "i don't chase."

yoongi let the silence stretch between them for a moment before speaking again, his voice quieter now, more understanding. "just make sure you don't lose sight of the bigger picture, seokjin. there's more at stake than just... whatever this is. you've got a kingdom, a responsibility. don't let anything, especially a fleeting moment, derail you.”

seokjin's mind drifted back to the image of her face, her eyes, her voice, and he felt that familiar flutter again, deep in his chest. despite everything, despite the warning in yoongi's words, he couldn't shake the feeling that she was important. important, but why? that was what troubled him most. he had never felt this kind of pull before. and as much as he tried to brush it off, he couldn't. it wasn't just some passing whim.

"i know," he replied, the words heavy with something unspoken.

yoongi gave him a long look before finally turning, walking toward the street. "come on, then. let's go. we're not here to waste time."

seokjin hesitated, glancing back at the spot where jiah had disappeared. the weight of his responsibilities pressed on him, but there was something inside him that didn't want to leave her behind. something in his gut told him that this wasn't over. but what was it?

with a heavy sigh, seokjin turned away, catching up to yoongi, but his thoughts still lingered on the woman who had left him so unsettled.

he didn't know why she had left such a mark on him. he didn't know why she had him thinking of things he couldn't afford to think about. but he was sure of one thing: this wouldn't be the last time they crossed paths.

and maybe, just maybe, it wouldn't be a fleeting moment after all.

hoseok found jungkook leaning against the ship's railing, staring out at the endless expanse of ocean like it held the answers to every unspoken question swirling in his head. the younger man's frame was tense, his forearms resting on the wood as the sea breeze ruffled his dark hair. the moonlight etched the lines of frustration and something deeper, something harder to name, into his features.

"still brooding, i see," hoseok said lightly, approaching with his usual easy confidence.

jungkook didn't turn, his jaw tightening slightly. "not in the mood, hyung."

"not in the mood?" hoseok repeated with a teasing lilt, leaning his forearms next to jungkook on the railing. "you've been standing here for hours, glaring at the water like it stole something from you. i'd say you're in exactly the mood for some company."

jungkook let out a long breath through his nose, shaking his head. "you wouldn't understand."

hoseok's grin softened into something more knowing, but the glint of humor didn't fade entirely. "maybe not, but why don't you try me anyway? worst-case scenario, i make fun of you."

jungkook shot him a sidelong glare, but hoseok's expression remained infuriatingly cheerful. "fine," jungkook muttered, dropping his gaze back to the waves. "it's about him."

hoseok's eyebrows rose. "ah. the elusive sea boy."

jungkook growled low in his throat. "can you not call him that?"

"what? it's accurate," hoseok said with a shrug. "he's from the sea. and he's... well, let's be honest, he's got boyish charm. ethereal, maybe. fishy, definitely."

jungkook straightened, his muscles taut. "hyung."

"okay, okay!" hoseok held up his hands in mock surrender, the corners of his lips twitching as he suppressed a laugh. "no nicknames. go on. what about him?"

jungkook hesitated, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. he stared out at the horizon, the memory of their last meeting replaying in his mind. the distant look in those otherworldly eyes, the way he'd vanished without a word.

"he's different," jungkook finally said, his voice quieter now. "i don't know what it is, but something's wrong. i've never seen him like that before."

hoseok tilted his head, his grin softening. "different how?"

"he wasn't himself," jungkook said, frustration threading through his words. "it's like... he wasn't even there. he didn't look at me. didn't talk to me. and then he just left, like it didn't matter."

hoseok hummed thoughtfully, leaning back on the railing. "maybe he's got his own stuff going on. it's not like you've ever pinned him down, right? he's always been a bit elusive."

"not like this," jungkook insisted, turning to face hoseok fully now. his dark eyes were intense, practically glowing with the strength of his conviction. "this was different. he's never acted like this before. it's like he was detached. like something was pulling him away."

hoseok studied him for a moment, the teasing edge to his expression fading entirely. "and you think that something is bad?"

jungkook nodded, his throat tight. "i don't know what it is, but yeah. it felt... wrong."

hoseok sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. "look, kid. i get it. you care about him. and yeah, he's not exactly the most straightforward person, or whatever he is. but you can't control what he does, and you definitely can't spend all your time worrying about it. he's got his own stuff, just like you've got yours."

jungkook's jaw clenched. "it's not just about worrying. it's about..." he trailed off, struggling to put the tangled mess of his emotions into words.

hoseok gave him a knowing smile. "it's about feeling helpless."

jungkook blinked, surprised at how easily hoseok had cut to the heart of the matter. he looked away, unable to meet his gaze. "yeah."

"hey." hoseok reached out and clapped a hand on jungkook's shoulder, his grip firm and reassuring. "i get it. i do. but you've gotta trust that he'll come back when he's ready. you can't force someone like that to stay, and you can't fight whatever it is he's dealing with. not unless he lets you."

jungkook frowned, his shoulders still tense. "what if he doesn't come back?"

hoseok's smile turned wry, but there was an undercurrent of sincerity in his voice. "then you'll deal with it. you're tougher than you think, you know. but let's be real, he'll come back. no one leaves you behind, jungkook. not for long."

jungkook huffed, a small, bitter smile tugging at his lips despite himself. "you make me sound like some kind of stray dog."

hoseok laughed, the sound breaking through the tension like a burst of sunlight. "nah, you're more like a guard dog. loyal to a fault, always ready to bite anyone who crosses your line."

"real comforting," jungkook muttered, though the corners of his mouth twitched upward.

hoseok gave his shoulder a final squeeze before stepping back. "seriously, though. stop staring at the ocean like it's going to give you answers. you've got enough on your plate without adding mysterious sea creatures to the mix."

jungkook didn't reply, his gaze drifting back to the waves. hoseok sighed but didn't press him further. instead, he turned and began walking away, his voice carrying over his shoulder.

"and hey, if he does come back, you owe me a drink for being your personal therapist."

jungkook rolled his eyes but didn't respond, the sound of hoseok's laughter fading into the night as he disappeared below deck.

"brooding again, jungkook?" namjoon's voice was smooth but edged with a faint hint of amusement. "that's unusual for you."

jungkook straightened but didn't turn around, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the railing. "not in the mood for lectures, captain."

namjoon steps slowed, and he came to stand beside jungkook, hands clasped behind his back as he surveyed the same endless stretch of water. unlike jungkook's tense frame, namjoon's stance was effortless, his authority woven into every movement.

"good thing I'm not here to give you one," namjoon said, tilting his head toward the horizon. "but I'll admit, it's not every day I see you looking so distracted."

jungkook's jaw tightened, but he stayed silent. namjoon, ever the strategist, didn't press further immediately. he let the silence stretch, the ocean breeze filling the space between them, before speaking again.

"you're thinking about him," namjoon finally said, his tone matter of fact.

jungkook's head snapped toward him, eyes narrowing. "what do you know about it?"

namjoon let out a soft chuckle, his lips quirking into a faint smile. "you're not as hard to read as you think. hoseok wasn't exactly subtle when he mentioned your... attachment."

jungkook scowled. "it's not an attachment."

"isn't it?" namjoon raised an eyebrow, his sharp gaze cutting through jungkook's defenses. "whatever it is, it's got you distracted. and distraction is dangerous, especially tonight."

that caught jungkook's attention. his scowl faded, replaced by a guarded expression. "tonight?"

namjoon turned fully to face him, his demeanor shifting from casual to commanding in an instant. "yes. tonight, we make our move."

realization dawned on jungkook's face, and he straightened further, his grip on the railing loosening. "the princess."

namjoon nodded, his expression unreadable. "we've waited long enough. with the ball occurring tonight, security will be tighter than ever inside. but outside, on the balcony, it will be empty. this is our best chance."

jungkook's stomach twisted, though he wasn't entirely sure why. maybe it was the weight of what they were about to do, or maybe it was something else. something more personal.

"and you think it's worth the risk?" jungkook asked, his voice low. "kidnapping her?"

namjoon's eyes darkened, his tone unyielding, the weight of authority pressing down on jungkook like an anchor. "risk is part of the game, jungkook. you, of all people, should know that." he turned back to the horizon, his voice steady and sharp. "the princess isn't just another pawn. she's the key to everything, gukseon's military power, their navy, their leverage. with her in our hands, the monarchy will be at our mercy."

jungkook's jaw tensed as he wrestled with his thoughts. the plan had been clear from the start, but something about it, about her, was beginning to unsettle him. "and what happens to her?" his voice dropped, almost hesitant. "she didn't create this system. she didn't build the machine we're fighting against. are you fine using her like this?"

namjoon's expression hardened, his lips a thin line. "she's not innocent, jungkook. she may not wield a sword, but she profits from every battle it wins. she wears the crown's wealth while her people starve. if we have to use her to dismantle gukseon's chokehold, so be it."

jungkook looked away, the weight of namjoon's words settling uneasily in his chest. the mention of seohwa, the home he'd left behind, hit too close to memories he'd buried. memories of families torn apart and dreams stolen.

"and if she's not who we think she is?" jungkook murmured, his tone softer now. "if she's not some pampered noble but—"

"she doesn't have to be anything," namjoon interrupted, his voice firm but not unkind. "her name alone is enough to force the crown prince into action. whether she's as spoiled as they say or not, her disappearance will send ripples through gukseon's court."

jungkook's grip tightened on the railing, the ocean's endless expanse blurring as his mind drifted elsewhere. not everything was as clean cut as namjoon made it seem. nothing ever was.

"you've been distracted since we left port," namjoon continued, cutting through the silence. "i need your head on straight tonight. if you can't focus—"

"i'm focused," jungkook snapped, turning to face him. but there was a crack in his voice, a hesitation that didn't go unnoticed.

namjoon studied him for a moment, his sharp gaze softening ever so slightly. "he'll come back."

jungkook froze, his breath hitching at the sudden shift. namjoon's words cut deeper than he'd expected, unearthing the uncertainty jungkook had tried so hard to bury. he turned to namjoon, his expression raw. "how do you know?"

namjoon's smirk softened, his usual sharp edges dulling for a fleeting moment. "i don't," he admitted. "but your fish friend"—he paused, almost like the phrase itself amused him—"he doesn't strike me as someone who leaves things undone. he'll come back."

jungkook stared at him, searching for any trace of doubt in his captain's words. but namjoon's confidence, even if unspoken, was unwavering. reluctantly, jungkook nodded, though the weight on his chest didn't ease.

"tonight," namjoon said, his voice shifting back to command, "the princess will be on the palace balcony when the ball begins. taehyung's intel hasn't failed us yet. this is your chance, jungkook. don't waste it."

jungkook straightened, his hand falling from the railing as he turned fully to namjoon. "i won't let you down."

namjoon clapped a hand on his shoulder, his grip firm and steady. "good. because when we pull this off, we'll have more than leverage. we'll have the upper hand."

as namjoon walked away, his steps purposeful, jungkook remained rooted in place, the weight of the night pressing down on him. the salty air brushed against his skin, a constant reminder of the world they lived in. a world of chaos and ambition.

he stared out at the sea, the sound of the waves mingling with namjoon's parting words. control. leverage. power. all of it within reach, if he could just push aside the distractions.

but his thoughts, unbidden, drifted once more to shimmering hair and melodic songs, a voice that haunted his dreams. he shook his head, steeling himself. namjoon was right. there was no room for distractions. not tonight.

jungkook tore his gaze away from the ocean, forcing himself to focus. the plan had been drilled into him over and over, every detail accounted for. he'd scaled cliffs, fought off armed soldiers, and sailed through storms for missions less critical than this. so why did he feel this gnawing unease twisting in his chest?

he clenched his fists, grounding himself in the familiar weight of the dagger at his side. tonight wasn't about him or his feelings. it was about the crew, the mission, and everything they stood to gain. gukseon had taken too much from them, stolen lives, broken families, and crushed dreams. this was their chance to hit back, to take something that would force the monarchy to finally feel the sting of desperation.

footsteps echoed behind him, soft but deliberate. jungkook didn't have to turn to know it was hoseok. the man had a way of walking that was light yet somehow filled with purpose, like he was always moving toward something brighter.

"you still standing here, kid?" hoseok's voice broke through the tension, warm and teasing. "thought namjoon's pep talk would've lit a fire under you by now."

jungkook exhaled sharply, a faint scoff escaping his lips. "he doesn't do pep talks. he gives orders."

hoseok chuckled, stepping beside him to lean against the railing. his eyes sparkled under the moonlight, a stark contrast to the heavy atmosphere that seemed to cling to the ship. "call it what you want, but he has a point. we can't afford distractions right now."

jungkook didn't respond, his jaw tightening as he stared at the waves. hoseok studied him for a moment, his usual grin softening into something more thoughtful.

"you're thinking about him, aren't you?" hoseok asked gently.

jungkook's shoulders stiffened, but he didn't deny it. he couldn't. "it's not that simple."

"it never is," hoseok replied, his tone laced with understanding. "but you've got to trust that he'll come back. whatever connection you two have, it's not the kind that just disappears.

jungkook turned his head, meeting hoseok's gaze. "you don't know that."

"no," hoseok admitted, shrugging slightly. "but i've seen the way he looks at you, and i've seen the way you're still standing here, waiting. that's got to mean something, doesn't it?"

jungkook's chest tightened, the weight of hoseok's words settling in a place he wasn't ready to confront. he turned back to the ocean, his voice barely above a whisper. "it's just... i've never seen him like that before. so... human. vulnerable."

hoseok smiled softly, his hand resting lightly on jungkook's shoulder. "and maybe that's why he'll come back. because he's seen something in you worth coming back for."

jungkook didn't respond, but the tension in his body eased just slightly. hoseok's words carried a warmth that was hard to dismiss, even if his doubts remained.

the sound of approaching footsteps interrupted the moment, and both men turned to see namjoon descending the stairs from the captain's quarters. his presence, as always, demanded attention.

"are you two done?" namjoon's voice was calm but carried an edge of authority. his eyes flicked between them before settling on jungkook. "we have work to do."

hoseok straightened, his lighthearted demeanor shifting into something more serious. "ready when you are, captain."

namjoon nodded, his focus now entirely on jungkook. "i need you sharp tonight. no distractions."

jungkook met namjoon's gaze, the weight of the captain's expectations settling heavily on his shoulders. he nodded once, resolute. "i'm ready."

namjoon studied him for a moment, his sharp eyes searching for any hint of hesitation. finding none, he turned away, his voice carrying over his shoulder. "good. because when this night is over, everything changes."

as namjoon disappeared back into the shadows, hoseok clapped jungkook on the back, a reassuring grin on his face. "come on, kid. let's go make history."

jungkook followed, the weight in his chest shifting into something sharper, more focused. tonight wasn't just about the mission. it was about proving himself, to namjoon, to the crew, and maybe even to himself.

the ocean stretched out before them, vast and endless, as the ship surged forward toward its destiny. whatever awaited them on the shores of seohwa, jungkook swore he wouldn't falter. not tonight.

taehyung adjusted the crisp lapels of his jacket, his fingers brushing against the fabric with a nervous energy he couldn't quite shake. the small cabin he shared with the other servants felt quieter than usual tonight, the weight of the upcoming ball pressing down on his chest. in the dim light of the flickering lantern, he reached into the inner pocket of his jacket, feeling the cool, delicate curve of the ring he'd tucked away earlier.

he pulled it out, the simple gold band catching the light. it wasn't extravagant, not by royal standards, but it was honest. he'd bought it with his share of the pirates' gold. the money he'd earned for feeding them whispers of court politics and the schedules of the royal family. taehyung turned the ring over in his fingers, his thoughts straying to her.

noh jiah.

he'd spent years watching her from the shadows, always from a distance. she deserved more than the life of a maid, more than the endless days spent serving others without being seen herself. when he thought of her smile, soft, fleeting, and rare, it reminded him why he had taken such risks, why he'd gone to the pirates in the first place.

but she was more than just his childhood crush, more than the girl he had fallen for long before he understood what love was. jiah was his hope, his reason for fighting against the life fate had handed them.

taehyung slipped the ring back into his pocket, letting out a slow, steadying breath. tonight was the night.

his fingers lingered on the lapel of his jacket as his thoughts drifted back to the moment he'd spoken to the princess.

he'd found her in the rose garden, just where he knew she would be. the highness always visited the garden in the late afternoon, a place of solitude where the burdens of her royal title seemed to lift.

"your highness," taehyung had said, bowing low as he approached.

yiseo turned, her golden gown shimmering in the dappled sunlight. her beauty was undeniable, but taehyung had always found her sharpness more striking than her looks.

"taehyung," she greeted, her tone brisk. "what is it?"

he hesitated, his hands tightening at his sides. "i've come to ask a favor."

her eyebrows arched in surprise, though there was a flicker of curiosity in her gaze. "a favor? from me?"

"yes, your highness," he said, lifting his head to meet her eyes. "it concerns noh jiah."

yiseo tilted her head slightly, studying him. "go on."

"i wish to marry her," taehyung said, the words leaving his mouth with more urgency than he'd intended. he straightened his spine, forcing himself to hold her gaze. "but i would never do so without your blessing. she is your maid, your confidante. i would not take her from you without your approval."

for a moment, yiseo said nothing. her expression was unreadable, her delicate features betraying none of her thoughts.

"marry jiah?" she said finally, her voice softer, almost thoughtful.

taehyung nodded. "i love her, your highness. i always have. but more than that, i want her to have a chance at something more. a life where she's not just someone's shadow."

yiseo's lips quirked into a faint smile, though it was tinged with something bittersweet. "and you think you can give her that?"

"i'll spend my life trying," he said firmly.

yiseo looked at him for a long moment before turning away, her gaze drifting to the roses surrounding them. "you've always been loyal, taehyung," she said. "and you've always cared for her. i won't stand in your way."

relief washed over him, but before he could thank her, yiseo held up a hand.

"on one condition," she said, her tone sharp again.

"anything, your highness," taehyung said quickly.

yiseo turned back to him, her eyes narrowing slightly. "you and jiah will attend the ball tonight as guests, not as servants."

his breath caught. "guests?"

"yes," she said, a glimmer of mischief in her smile. "if you're going to marry her, you'll need to show her and everyone else that she's worthy of being treated as more. and that starts tonight."

taehyung's heart raced as he bowed deeply, gratitude swelling in his chest. "thank you, your highness. truly."

yiseo waved him off, though her smile lingered. "don't make me regret this, taehyung. and for both your sakes, make sure you dance with her tonight."

the memory made his chest ache. would she still say that if she knew what he'd done? would yiseo still offer him that gracious smile, those words of encouragement, if she understood that the very freedom she had promised to him and jiah had come at the cost of her own safety?

the thought twisted in taehyung's gut, gnawing at him like a relentless beast. he had always believed in loyalty, in honoring the trust others placed in him. but now? now he had turned his back on someone who had treated him with nothing but kindness, someone who had given him a chance he never would've had if he'd remained a servant.

he stood abruptly, pacing the small room as his thoughts spiraled. no, he told himself firmly, clenching his fists at his sides. i can't let guilt get the better of me. i made my choice, and there's no turning back now.

his footsteps were heavy against the wooden floor as he moved back and forth, his mind a tangled mess of conflicting emotions. the pirates' gold, the promise of freedom, the dreams of a new life, was it really worth it if it meant betraying jiah’s closest friend? he didn't know anymore. everything felt blurry, uncertain, but one thing he was sure of: the life jiah and he had imagined outside the walls of the castle, free from the oppressive grip of the royals, depended on the choices he had made.

"this is for jiah," he whispered to himself, gripping the ring tightly in his fist, as if the physical action could force the storm of doubt out of his mind. "for us."

the plan had been simple. after the ball, when the castle's attention was diverted by the festivities, he and jiah would slip away under the cover of night. they'd be long gone by the time anyone realized yiseo was missing. by the time the pirates made their move, taehyung and jiah would already be halfway to freedom, already lost to the world they'd once known.

yet as he imagined it, the weight of the plan no longer seemed as straightforward as it had before. a cold knot settled in his stomach, and despite his best efforts to ignore it, the guilt dug deeper, like claws raking across his soul.

he sank back onto the cot, the room closing in around him as he rested his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor, the gold ring now cool and distant in his hand. for all his careful planning, for all the justifications he'd told himself, the truth was staring him in the face, unblinking and unforgiving: he had betrayed the person who had always trusted him, the person who had given him and jiah their chance at happiness.

he thought of yiseo, of the way she'd smiled at him in the garden that day, offering him her blessing without hesitation. it's for your happiness, she had said. the irony stung like a slap. taehyung had used her words, her trust, as a bargaining chip for his own escape, for the dream of a life where he and jiah could live free of the kingdom's constraints.

but now, with the ring in his palm and the quiet weight of his actions pressing down on him, he couldn't help but wonder if it was worth it. was it truly worth it to leave her to this fate?

his head dropped into his hands, fingers raking through his hair in frustration. the weight of his actions felt too much to bear, like the burden of a hundred lives was pressing down on him, suffocating him with its enormity.

"this is the best for us," he murmured, his voice hollow, his breath shaky as he tried to convince himself once again. “it's the best for jiah. we can't stay here.”

but the words felt hollow, as though they held no substance. they hung in the air like a prayer to a god that wasn't listening, and as much as he repeated them, as much as he tried to bury the guilt deep inside himself, it wouldn't let him forget.

it was all coming too fast now. too real.

taehyung closed his eyes, leaning back against the wall of the cabin. what had he done?

jiah sat in front of the vanity, the maids bustling around her. yiseo stood beside her, beaming as she adjusted jiah's dress. the silky ivory fabric seemed out of place on jiah, who had always been more accustomed to humble her humble t-shirts and jeans in the real world.

"there," yiseo said, stepping back to admire her work. "you look stunning."

jiah's gaze met her reflection, but all she saw was someone who didn't belong in this world. she had woken up and immediately been thrust into this life, now caught between her role as a servant and her sudden involvement in the royal court. she didn't feel like the woman staring back at her.

"thank you, your highness," jiah murmured, her voice barely a whisper.

yiseo frowned slightly, noticing the hesitation in jiah's tone. "don't call me that," she said softly, "we're friends, remember? you don't need to be so formal with me."

jiah gave a tight-lipped smile, unsure of what to say. "yes, of course, yiseo."

one of the maids adjusted a delicate necklace around jiah's neck, and another fixed the soft waves of her hair. jiah closed her eyes for a moment, trying to block out the swirl of confusion inside her. it felt wrong to be here, in this palace, playing the part of someone she wasn't. but she couldn't deny that part of her felt a strange pull to it. maybe it was the way she was able to play pretend for awhile. maybe it was just the allure of the life she'd never known.

"you're so lucky, jiah," yiseo said suddenly, her voice filled with wonder. "this night is going to change everything for me. i'll finally meet seokjin, the crown prince, and—" she paused, a dreamy look in her eyes. "he's so handsome, don't you think?"

jiah stiffened, her thoughts snapping back to the reality she was trying to avoid. she had been avoiding thinking about the ball tonight. about yiseo meeting seokjin and how she would inevitably fall for him. she knew the story, knew how it went in the book. yiseo and seokjin were supposed to fall in love at first sight, and jiah was just a bystander in the grand scheme of things.

"he is," jiah said quietly, though her voice felt hollow. "but you deserve him, yiseo."

yiseo smiled, turning her attention back to jiah. "you're so sweet. but really, i've heard he's not just handsome, he's strong, kind, and loyal. i'm sure we'll be great together. i can't wait to see him tonight." she gave jiah a knowing look. "i know you're excited too, right?"

jiah nodded, but her stomach churned with unease. this was the night yiseo would be swept away, just as it had been written. the night she would be lost to seokjin, and jiah would be left with nothing but memories of a life she'd never truly had. she wasn't sure if she could go through with it.

the sound of footsteps echoed from the hallway, and yiseo's face lit up with excitement. "they're almost here, jiah. are you ready for the ball?"

jiah hesitated. "i think so," she said, though her heart wasn't in it.

yiseo clasped her hands together. "you'll do great. i know it."

but jiah couldn't shake the feeling that tonight would change everything. she would have to decide, whether to stay in the shadows and watch the story unfold as she knows it, or to try and change yiseo’s future for the best.

as the door opened, signaling the start of the evening, jiah couldn't help but feel torn. she had never belonged here, and yet, the pull to stay, to fight for something more, was stronger than she had ever felt before.

authors note: we are finally getting somewhere you guys only took me like 30k words. thank you so much for reading the next couple of chapters are where the action really picks up !!

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