Chapter 102: Shadows Return

 

The city never truly slept.

 

Even as the midnight sky draped its velvet darkness over Seoul, the undercurrent of movement, of secrets and slow-spilling shadows, pulsed steadily beneath the surface. And somewhere deep in that unseen layer of life, a single envelope made its way through a blood-lined chain of hands before landing on a desk too pristine to belong in a place like this.

 

The man who opened it wore a smirk far too polished for the circles he belonged to.

 

And as he read the name on the paper—Jeon Jungkook—the smirk only widened.

 

So the ghost had returned.

 

And not just as an artist.

 

As something more.

 

Something protected.

 

“Kim’s little treasure…” the man murmured, tilting the paper under the low light. “Time to see what you’re really made of.”

 

—

 

Back at the Ashes gallery, Jungkook curled into a velvet settee in the dimly lit lounge just behind the public space. His head rested in Taehyung’s lap, legs sprawled across V’s thighs. The warmth of their touch was an anchor, quiet and constant.

 

He’d spent the afternoon sketching, and now sleep tugged gently at his lashes.

 

But he didn’t want to let go just yet.

 

Not when everything still felt so new.

 

Taehyung’s fingers moved softly through his hair, combing strands back with quiet reverence.

 

“You haven’t had a nightmare in weeks,” he murmured.

 

Jungkook hummed, voice slurring in that half-asleep little space tone, “Because Daddy an’ Dada hold Koo tight every night…”

 

V chuckled lowly, eyes never leaving Jungkook’s face. “Damn right we do.”

 

And they did.

 

Every night, without fail.

 

Sometimes, Jungkook would wriggle in his sleep, murmuring nonsense words—half-lost memories, disjointed fears—but their arms would always pull him close. A whispered “It’s okay, baby” or a firm hand on his waist would settle him back into stillness.

 

Love was no longer a battlefield.

 

It was a bed. A touch. A voice in the dark.

 

And it was sacred.

 

—

 

The warning came without a sound.

 

Just a file. Slid beneath the gallery’s private back door at dawn.

 

Taehyung found it when he arrived first that morning, sharp and early as always.

 

He didn’t open it immediately.

 

He stared at the seal.

 

Black wax. Stamped with a spider.

 

His fingers clenched.

 

V arrived minutes later, coat still unbuttoned, hair slightly windblown. His eyes narrowed the second he saw the envelope in Taehyung’s hands.

 

“…Is it him?”

 

Taehyung nodded.

 

V took the letter, turned it once, then opened it with the sharp end of his cufflink knife.

 

Inside: a photo.

 

A boy in chains.

 

Young.

 

Too young.

 

His face bloodied. His body thin.

 

And beneath the photo, a single line of text:

 

“What they did to him… was just the beginning.”

 

V’s jaw locked. “He knows.”

 

Taehyung closed his eyes for a moment, steadying the burn inside his chest. “He’s coming back for him.”

 

—

 

They didn’t tell Jungkook immediately.

 

Not because they wanted to keep him in the dark.

 

But because he was smiling that morning. Laughing, even. Sitting on the steps of the gallery in an oversized hoodie and fuzzy socks, sipping strawberry milk and talking to his assistant Niki about colors and canvases and “Koo’s new idea with big, big bunnies.”

 

They couldn’t break that moment.

 

Not yet.

 

Instead, they layered up protection.

 

Security detail tripled.

 

Cars changed every two days.

 

Perimeters monitored. Routes randomized.

 

But danger has a way of slithering through even the tightest of nets.

 

And late one night, while Jungkook was asleep between them, tangled in sheets and kisses and the scent of lavender and sweat, V’s burner phone lit up with a message that chilled his blood.

 

“How much do you think he remembers?”

 

Attached: a photo of Jungkook as a child.

 

In a cage.

 

Hands gripping the bars.

 

Eyes wide.

 

Bleeding.

 

Terrified.

 

V closed the message and stood from the bed without a word. He moved to the window, shirtless, silent, and seething.

 

Taehyung joined him moments later.

 

They didn’t speak.

 

They didn’t need to.

 

They’d buried that past. Hidden it under layers of steel and silence. But someone had dug it up again. And this time, they weren’t going to run.

 

They would kill for him.

 

Again, if needed.

 

Jungkook stirred behind them, limbs stretching beneath the silk sheets. “D-Daddy…? Dada…?”

 

V turned back first, climbing into bed and pulling him close, burying his face in the crook of Jungkook’s neck. “Shh, baby. Go back to sleep. We’re here.”

 

Taehyung curled around his back, strong arms wrapping around both of them.

 

And even though Jungkook couldn’t see the fury in their eyes, he could feel the storm brewing beneath their skin.

 

Something had shifted.

 

The calm was over.

 

And the darkness was waking.

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