Chapter 105: A Spider's Thread
Dawn crept in slow over the city, filtered in fragments
through reinforced skylights and quietly shattering the illusion of peace that
had barely settled over the safehouse.
Inside the surveillance room, the atmosphere was thick with
static and code, screens flickering with endless streams of data. Taehyung
stood leaning over the main monitor, his jaw clenched and eyes sharp, scanning
lines of digital footprints left by a ghost who never should have existed.
V entered the room silently, his long coat trailing behind
him, a fresh mug of black coffee in his hand. He offered it wordlessly, and
Taehyung accepted with a tight nod, the soft clink of ceramic the only sound
between them for a long moment.
“The footage from Seoul’s District 9 banks two days ago,”
Taehyung muttered. “Encrypted audio. But the ring—the same spider crest, seen
on the hand of a man withdrawing over five million in untraceable bonds.”
V narrowed his gaze. “Not Kyungho. He’s dead. It’s someone
new. Someone using his name.”
“And worse,” Taehyung added, shifting to another screen,
“someone who knew about us. This safehouse was only logged under our deepest
protocol. Yet we had a breach warning three hours ago—proximity trip, south
perimeter.”
V’s spine stiffened. “They’re not just watching, they’re
testing.”
“We’ll need to move Koo again.”
But before either twin could speak further, a soft knock
echoed through the surveillance room—delicate, hesitant.
The door opened just enough for Jungkook’s small face to
peek in, curls still damp from his morning shower, wearing an oversized grey
hoodie that slipped past his thighs. His bare legs were curled slightly inward,
the movement shy but not uncertain.
“I had a dream,” he whispered. “And I think I know where
they’re hiding.”
Both twins froze.
“What do you mean, sweetheart?” V asked gently, motioning
him closer.
Jungkook stepped in, feet silent on the cold floor, until he
stood between them. “It wasn’t just a dream. It was… a memory. The room was
dark, but I could smell oil. Paint thinner. And… salt. A lot of salt. And there
were metal grates under my feet. Like… drains.”
Taehyung exchanged a glance with V. “An industrial dock?”
Jungkook nodded slowly. “They kept me there. The man—he had
a tattoo. I didn’t see his face. But it was the same symbol. The spider crest,
but older. Burned into his arm, not inked.”
V’s tone turned cold. “That’s not just a tattoo. That’s an
initiation brand.”
Jungkook looked up at them both, a hint of that dangerous
calm flickering behind his lashes. “He’s not hiding. He’s waiting.”
Hours later, in the central archive room below the
safehouse, the twins pulled ancient files from the underground vault—pages
yellowed, sealed with bloodline codes, left untouched for over a decade. Hidden
docks, forgotten territory maps, secret warehouses passed down the Kim
syndicate's darker legacy.
Jungkook sat at the table, legs folded beneath him, sipping
sweet hot chocolate as he flipped through a thick black ledger. His fingers
stopped suddenly, eyes locking on a sketch—an architectural blueprint of a
forgotten shipyard long since erased from the public records.
“There,” he whispered, tapping the edge of the page. “That’s
it. That’s the floor I walked on.”
V leaned down, breath ghosting over his shoulder. “You’re
sure?”
Jungkook met his eyes. “I never forget the sound of chains
on concrete.”
That evening, as the sky began to turn gold and the garden
glistened in the aftermath of a soft rain, the tension softened only briefly.
The three of them curled into the large sofa by the fire pit
in the inner courtyard. V held a book, absently flipping pages, though his eyes
often wandered to Jungkook’s profile. Taehyung had wrapped a blanket around all
three of them, cocooning them in a quiet warmth.
Jungkook reached up and touched V’s lips lightly with his
thumb, trailing the curve of his mouth as if memorizing it.
“You’re always watching me,” Jungkook said quietly, tone
teasing. “Don’t you get tired?”
V didn’t smile, but his hand slid beneath the blanket,
settling around Jungkook’s waist. “Never.”
Taehyung kissed the back of Jungkook’s neck, fingers
kneading his thigh slowly through the soft fabric of his pajama shorts. “We
have to memorize every version of you. The playful one, the painter, the quiet
king, the dangerous one too.”
“You still think I’m dangerous?” Jungkook asked, turning
slightly.
V’s voice lowered, eyes dark. “You’re the most dangerous
person we’ve ever loved.”
A soft, heavy silence fell. The words hung between them, not
as fear, but as reverence.
And then Jungkook’s lips curved upward, a wicked glint in
his eyes. “Good.”
Later that night, after the house had fallen into deep
quiet, Jungkook lay on the bed—shirtless, a thin silk blanket over his hips.
The twins stood at the foot of the bed in silence, the air thick with something
unspoken.
Jungkook stretched slowly, deliberately, the blanket
slipping to reveal the sculpted arch of his lower back.
“You’re staring again,” he whispered, pout forming. “Are you
going to touch or just burn holes in me with your eyes?”
Taehyung moved first, climbing onto the bed, hands framing
Jungkook’s waist as he pressed a slow, open-mouthed kiss to his spine. V
followed a moment later, fingers tangling in the younger’s hair, tilting his
face up for a kiss.
It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t gentle.
It was reverent.
Their lips trailed down his body like prayers, claiming
every inch of him not with urgency but with certainty.
And when Jungkook whispered “mine,” into the dark, their twin
voices echoed back—
“Yes, always yours.”
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