just leave me because I can't break free

"Stay away from the line of fire," Ten reminded me for the nth time, even as I rolled my eyes as obviously as I could. "Don't give me that look, young lady. I know you've heard it a thousand times before, but this is the most important piece of advice you could hear right now."

"Another piece of advice was not to attract any attention," I said, giving him a superior look from across the door. We were at the opposite sides of a closed door, both with shoulders against the wall and loaded guns in our hands. "But here you are, stage whispering in the silence, as if someone couldn't hear you and put a bullet in you."

I would have followed my own preaching and kept my mouth shut, except I was jittery from the ride. The temporary base was apparently an abandoned church—at least, that's what it seemed like from the architecture. There was no decoration, no figures or mosaics, but the building was high and steepled and the hallways crisscrossed each other like in mazes, all wood and the smell of incense and rotting carcass.

The door we were standing on either side of was right next to a staircase. A smaller one, nothing like the massive helical staircase we'd encountered in the foyer. The chandeliers hung brokenly, some of them intact, but most in pieces like half-completed paintings. Something about the place gave me chills. It seemed devoid of warmth, chillingly silent, and looked like the kind of place where a murder happening wouldn't be unlikely.

"No one would have a good vantage point to get to us right now," Ten said in reply to my earlier accusation. He looked more worked-up than usual, like a tightly coiled wire. "None of the mobsters will be trying to kill you, but if you accidentally end up dead, we'll have no bargaining chip either. We'll wind up dead, too, killed by the clan—or one of your boyfriends, whichever one gets here first."

I scowled at him, embarrassed by the sudden mention of my relationship. It felt strange to hear the word boyfriends. Somehow, it felt too tame. Too normal. But I clamped my mouth shut, staring resolutely at the door, and straightened, taking position in front of it. "I'm done waiting."

"Don't shoot the lock, for fuck's sake," Ten muttered, annoyed. "It's steel. Unless you want the bullet to ricochet and hit something else."

"I'll just kick the door open, then."

He didn't respond. I glanced at him, noticing that he was looking up the staircase at something on the wall. I followed his gaze, but all I saw was a defiled painting. "What?" I asked, annoyed.

"I'll be back in a few," he muttered, still looking at the wall, and straightened. I gathered he must have heard something, being closer to the steps than me. "Have to check something out. Go on ahead, if you want, but be careful. Don't die."

"Brilliant advice," I said sardonically, and raised my foot to kick the door. It gave way easily, and I made my way inside, gun raised carefully in case anyone had noticed the commotion. The room inside certainly what I had expected it to be.

It was plain, surprisingly so, no signs anywhere of anyone having lived there. The ceiling was high, rafters running the length of the room like walking boards on a pirate ship, and the walls were the same unpainted, polished wood. Alcoves lined the walls, and sheets hung over coat racks and other tall furniture items I couldn't recognize through the cloth. It was otherwise empty, even of furniture, and my footfalls echoed softly in the large, empty space.

A sheet rustled in my peripheral vision, and the mouth of my gun whipped towards it. Liquid fear hardened into determination as I stepped towards it, slowly—no need to call out. The only thing I had felt when I had first arrived was uncertainty and trepidation, but now I felt the pre-fight chill settle in my bones. I felt almost...excited.

One hand still on the gun, finger curled around the trigger, I reached towards the sheet with my free hand. My heartbeat was drumming inside my head to a steady beat, and my fingers brushed the cloth, sending tiny sparks up the length of my arm. I sucked in my breath.

There was a click behind me, and I flinched. "Drop the gun," said a cold voice. Calm, almost, with the exception of something feral that edged it. "Turn around. Slowly." My breath left my lungs through slightly parted lips, and I turned, slowly.

The man standing before me had hair the color of flames—a bright orange, fading just slightly at the roots, and thin, cruel eyes in a rounded face. His chin was pointed, cheekbones high, and there was a hint of a glaring smile to his features that seemed to flicker across his face like a ghostly imprint. I had never seen him before, save for a split second in the underground tunnels back at the theatre.

"Drop the gun," he repeated, the gaping mouth of a revolver staring me in the face. His voice was slightly nasal, sneering, with rough undertones. "You're coming with me."

Slowly, I let the gun drop. The noise of the fall echoed in the chambers like a gunshot, but neither of us flinched. I stared him in the eye, letting him know I wasn't backing down. But despite knowing that I wouldn't be hurt, there was an instinctive fear of death. There were other people in the building, people who would surely find me, but what if they didn't come in time—

A shape dropped from the rafters, a dark blur of movement that fell as sharply and gracefully as a stone, flattening the orange-haired man in front of me. I stepped back with wide eyes, momentary panic flaring in my chest, wanting to look for a weapon but unable to tear my eyes away. Then the figure rose to its feet, and something white flashed at me—a smile.

"Told you I'd be back in a few," Ten said with a wink, dusting his hands. I relaxed, heart still pounding, and glared at him. He bent to pick up the gun, and held it out to me grip-first. We both gazed at the fallen man, who started to sit up with a groan, and Ten slammed the butt of his gun into the man's temple, knocking him out again.

"Could've told me you were going to play ninja," I muttered, closing my fingers around the familiar, comforting weight of the gun again.

"The painting. I noticed it was askew." I raised my eyebrows in question, and he sighed. "There was an entrance." He pointed up at one corner of the room, and I followed his finger, but whatever he was pointing at was obscured by a wide beam of wood. "It's probably not meant for use. For workmen, probably. But I couldn't resist going out there."

I glanced up at the rafters worriedly. They were at such a height that they seemed to swim before my eyes. "What if you'd fallen?"

"Can't think like that," he said quietly. "Besides, I have a lot of experience with heights. My gang usually trades at the docks, and I have to be at high places to have a good view."

There was a pause. "Thanks."

He looked up at me, bewildered.

"For saving my life," I explained, unable to meet his eyes. "I know he wouldn't have killed me, but still. It's the principle of the thing."

Ten's eyes were soft, but he nodded in understanding. "It's not just a job now, you know," he said lowly, and it was my turn to look at him in surprise. I wanted to ask him more about what he meant, but guessed that we didn't have much time to waste. Ten seemed to have come to the same conclusion, because his voice was grim, hand urgent on my shoulder when he stepped forward.

"We'll leave this one here as warning," he said, gesturing to the unconscious orange-haired man. Suddenly, he looked a little sick. "I'd kill him, but I don't have much experience in that area, so if you want to do the honors..."

I glanced down at the man. He seemed peaceful now that his face wasn't animated, and I felt a lump in my throat. It gets easy after the first time. "No," I said, surprising even myself. Clearing my throat, I looked away. "Let him be. Search him for weapons, take anything he could use, and leave him here."

Ten nodded, face gray, and bent to frisk him. I began walking towards the door, the gun still clenched tight in my still hands. "Where are you going?" he called.

"Upstairs. See what I can find," I answered without turning. For some reason, I didn't want him with me. Or anyone, for that matter. It just felt like I was putting them in more danger. "Stash the weapons here if you can't carry them all."

I didn't pause to hear him answer, and took the stairs two at a time, reaching the first floor much quicker. The hallways were carpeted, polished-wood walls reminding me of the night at the theater, me with bare feet and a dress that made it impossible to move. Well, I could move now, and I knew where I was going.

A thin film of dust coated everything, from the carpets to the walls to the balustrade. Walking through the corridors in pin-drop silence, I felt like I was thrumming with energy, but icy calm at the same time. There was a numb certainty that had replaced doubt, certainty that there would be someone from the other side who would find me, and that I would have to wet my hands with blood again. I didn't feel unhinged, like the night at the casino, but unafraid of what I might have to do.

The doors that lined the walls were mostly open, but I checked each one methodically as I made my way down the hall. Enter, left, right, door. Enter, left, right, door. It became meaningless after a while, just a repeated pattern that my body executed perfectly without my mind having to work to make it move.

Doubt had only just begun to crop up in my mind when I heard a door slam. I went still, the muscles of my face relaxing, all the blood going to my chest. Slowly, I turned, surveying the area for anything that could have made the noise. It had been a jarring noise, haunting in the stillness of everything else. It was still daylight outside, but everything in the building was choked off, leaving nothing but thin slivers of sunlight entering through open doors, dust floating like solute in water in the air where the light touched it.

I advanced towards the door, gun still held out in front of me. Where is everybody? There weren't many of us—ten, including me. Taehyung and Jinyoung were scouring the outside, and Ten, Yeeun, and Lucas were still downstairs. I had no idea where Jun was—in an adjacent building, probably, sniping. Jaebum had headed up to the roof.

Where were Vernon and Taeyong?

I shook the thought from my head and moved to the room. Half of me wanted to wait for help, but the other half knew that if I stayed put, I'd be more vulnerable. And it wasn't like they could kill me. I moved to the door; it was open, empty at first glance, but I thought I could see a shadow dance in there. Curtains? I couldn't afford to assume. I stepped into the room, gun raised as I moved it around the interior.

And the door shut behind me.

I whirled, already a sinking feeling in my gut. He leaned against the closed door, packed muscle and black gear, threads of blonde hair tumbling loose over his ears and forehead. He looked relaxed, as a predator before a kill, and mournful—he looked like me.

"Hello," Taemin said.