Chapter 104: Into the Web
The quiet of the night was a lie.
Inside the walls of the penthouse, silence hummed like the breath before a scream. Jungkook sat curled between the twins, a hoodie two sizes too big pulled over his knees, sleeves twisted around his fists. His bunny socks peeked out as he leaned into Taehyung’s chest, trembling not from cold, but from the weight of memory.
Kim V sat across from them, elbows on his knees, fingers steepled beneath his mouth. A thin line of tension carved its way between his brows as the wall-mounted monitors flickered to life behind him, the faint buzz of encrypted servers and digital alerts humming from the war room beyond.
“We’ll need to move you,” V said finally, voice like silk over steel. “This place isn’t safe anymore.”
Jungkook’s eyes widened, lashes fluttering like broken wings. “But… my paints… Dada’s piano… the bunnies…”
Taehyung soothed him with a thumb along his cheek. “They’ll come with us, baby. We’ll bring everything you love.”
Jungkook pouted, the corner of his lips twitching as his little space wavered under the heavy veil of dread. But he didn’t protest again. Not after the photos. Not after the voice in his head—the one he’d buried in shadows for years—had whispered, “You remember me now, don’t you, darling?”
And so, by the next morning, the mansion had gone dark.
The safehouse was nothing like their home, and yet it had its own twisted charm. A converted art gallery-turned-underground fortress, owned by the Kims but rarely used. The walls were thick concrete layered with steel. No windows, only skylights above the hidden courtyard garden. Surveillance in every corner. Secure, quiet, impenetrable.
It smelled of lavender, not gunpowder. Not yet.
Jungkook wandered the garden barefoot that afternoon, trailing his fingers over the herbs that brushed against his legs. His painting corner had already been set up in the east wing, complete with a new canvas V had prepared himself.
But Jungkook hadn’t touched it yet.
He sat on the grass, chin on his knees, dark curls shadowing his eyes.
The twins stood at a distance, speaking in low, hushed tones near the garden wall.
“The Spider King’s ring was custom,” Taehyung said, arms crossed. “No known heirlooms match it in our archives. But the carving is older than him. Possibly passed through his syndicate.”
V nodded, staring through the trees. “I’ve sent word to the East Branch. If even a whisper of him surfaces, they’ll hear it.”
“And Jungkook?”
“…He’s going to remember more. We’ll need to be ready.”
Taehyung looked over at the boy huddled on the grass, so small and quiet despite the power he held.
“He’s not just remembering,” Taehyung murmured. “He’s changing.”
V tilted his head. “How so?”
Taehyung’s gaze was distant now. “I saw it in his eyes this morning. That look… It wasn’t our soft, pouty Koo. It was cold. Like a sleeping king about to wake.”
That night, Jungkook sat on the bed, arms around a plush fox, his expression unreadable. V approached first, slipping off his coat and setting his watch on the table. His voice was soft when he spoke.
“You remember his name now, don’t you?”
Jungkook nodded. “I remember everything.”
Taehyung stilled mid-step near the dresser. “Koo…”
But Jungkook looked up—slowly, dangerously. His voice was no longer soft.
“When I was locked in that cage,” he said, eyes hardening, “they called me ‘the Broken Prince.’ Said I wouldn’t survive more than a week. But I did.”
His voice was flat, chilling.
“I remember the fire. I remember biting his hand. I remember blood—his and mine.”
V stepped forward carefully, like approaching a sleeping serpent. “Why didn’t you tell us?”
“Because I didn’t want to remember,” Jungkook whispered, breath shaking. “But now I have to.”
He slid off the bed, stepping onto the cold marble floor. “They’re coming, aren’t they?”
“Yes,” V answered. “And this time, we’re not hiding.”
Jungkook turned, walking up to Taehyung and placing his small hand against his chest. “Then don’t treat me like something that needs to be protected. Let me fight.”
Taehyung caught his hand, pressing it tightly to his own heart. “Not alone.”
And in that quiet moment, the boy who once wore bunny slippers and hid behind his plush toys looked up at them—not as Koo, but as the shadow king he had once been forced to become.
“I want to meet the man who caged me,” Jungkook said, voice low. “And I want to burn him.”
Later that night, the intimacy returned in silence.
Not as distraction, but as grounding.
V lay beside Jungkook on the enormous bed, one arm beneath the boy’s neck, the other tracing shapes along his bare hipbone beneath the sheets. Taehyung pressed soft kisses to Jungkook’s collarbone, letting his breath soothe the trembles that hadn’t entirely gone.
“You’re both too soft with me now,” Jungkook whispered, his lips brushing against V’s jaw. “Koo wants rough kisses.”
Taehyung chuckled softly, lifting Jungkook’s thigh over his own as he rolled closer.
“Oh?” V murmured against his ear. “Our little prince wants to play with fire?”
Jungkook gave a breathy giggle, eyes twinkling even in the dark. “Mmhm. Koo wants Daddy to be mean.”
“You have no idea what you’re asking for,” Taehyung growled playfully, biting down on the soft skin at Jungkook’s shoulder.
And as they tangled beneath the sheets, kisses turning from slow to claiming, fingers gripping tighter, the fear melted for a moment.
Because even kings bleed tenderness in the dark.
And their prince—no longer broken—was beginning to remember how to fight back.
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