my darkness
is sinking deeper

Even before I could process what was happening, the knife was in my hands.

"Don't," said the voice belonging to the person my subconscious had sensed before my eyes had seen, and I felt a strong hand on my wrist, pushing my hand down. Vernon was still wearing the mask, and his eyes were wary when they made contact with mine, telling me what I needed to know.

Jungkook was here.

In fact, the only people there were him and Vernon—and now me, of course. Both of them looked unsurprised to see me. The gymnasium seemed like it had not been used in years—there were dirty white sheets covering random boxes arranged haphazardly throughout the room, and the floor failed to shine through the fine layer of dust covering it. Someone had pulled the covers away from the window, though it didn't do much to help the sparse lighting—the only light coming from outside was that of the moon.

"You're here," I spoke to Vernon in a low voice, lips barely moving. My tone betrayed no emotion, but my eyes when they sought his were full of a nameless relief. He hadn't been caught in the gunfire, and a quick scan of his body confirmed that he had suffered no injuries whether they be major or minor.

He nodded curtly, and released my wrist. I lowered my primed knife reluctantly, and turned to Jungkook. He was studying his watch, seemingly uninterested by whatever was happening around him.

"You were supposed to be underground by now, but it's not a problem," he said, in the same stone-cold voice that held no indication of whether he cared where I was or not. "Taemin should be downstairs, herding the remaining guests—it'll be a while before he can get back, but the other exits should be sealed."

Vernon and I exchanged a look. Sealed exits meant sealed entrances, which meant that no help was coming. Our initial plan had been for Jungkook to be cornered by a good portion of the gang, but it seemed like it was up to the two of us to finish the job.

"Why was there a shootout downstairs?" I asked, my voice so hoarse from screaming that it barely carried. Thankfully, the tiniest sounds echoed in the gymnasium, and he heard me. "That wasn't part of the plan."

"It wasn't our doing, it was the Lees' doing," Jungkook said, looking up from his watch and directly at me. His eyes were vacant. Not the pensive kind of vacant, but simply that. "The gathering wasn't just for the auction, you know, it was to pick out the people who stood in their way. The gunshots weren't random, they were all aimed at somebody, so you need not worry. You wouldn't have been harmed."

"The guests didn't seem to have gotten the memo, either," I muttered.

He scoffed, which surprised me. His first real display of emotion in three years. "What did you expect them to do? Hand out fliers? The ones who panicked and ran into the line of fire only have themselves to blame. Besides, there was a crossfire, so it wasn't a massacre, just a regular shootout."

Regular shootout. Funny.

"That's not a shootout," I said, barely managing to keep the anger from my voice. The blond escort from earlier could be dead already, and I couldn't do anything about it. This was all it was—choosing the lesser of two evils—but it still kept me from saving yet another life I could have saved. "There's a bloodbath happening down there, and the escorts are going to be caught in the middle of it."

"Maybe a few, but not enough to cause any real damage." Jungkook cocked his head to the side. "And even if all of them died, it doesn't matter. You're here and untouched. I don't think the heir cares about anything else."

"Fuck what the heir cares about," I snarled. Vernon glanced at me warningly. "Is that all you see me as? A deal you can profit from?"

"That's what you've always been. It's nothing personal. It could have been anyone else in your place and I would've done the same."

There's a hole in his heart that he's trying to fill, I recalled Yeeun telling me about Jungkook. And if I know anything about people, he's going to fail miserably—maybe end up with two holes, one of them quite literal.

I silenced myself, knowing that if I said anything else, I could provoke him into attacking. I doubted it, though. He seemed like nothing could faze him at that point.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Vernon asked quietly. He was looking at Jungkook with hooded eyes, the same scary calm expression on his face that he wore during a deal. With a start, I noticed that he had slowly let his hand rest on the holster at his belt. Gun. "About the shootout?"

Slowly and deliberately, Jungkook tilted his head to the side. Their expressions were eerily similar. Empty eyes, still hands, unmoving lips. "Unfortunately, Hansol," he said in a voice close to a whisper, "your services are no longer required."

Before I could realize what was happening, Vernon's gun was out of its holster and in his hand. By the time he managed to point it, Jungkook kicked it out of his hand, and pulled out a wicked-looking knife from inside his jacket. No, not a knife. The blade was too long and thin for it to be a knife. Then he flicked his wrist, and light sparked off the handle. Dagger.

They circled each other like vultures circling their prey—they moved almost exactly the same way, and it was so dizzying to watch that I could only watch, paralyzed by a sick sort of fascination. It was like watching someone dance with a mirror.

Jungkook made the first move, thrusting the blade forward directly towards Vernon's abdomen, a move so crude and brutal that it didn't suit him at all. Vernon was obviously surprised too, because of sidestepping, he grabbed the knife, right around the blade.

Blood seeped from the edges of his fisted hands almost immediately, the blade so thin that they travelled a couple of centimeters along its edge before dripping onto the floor. Vernon let go of the knife and stepped back, so confused that his shock showed unbridled on his face.

Jungkook smiled without parting his lips, not drawing back the dagger. His eyes were still soulless, so the smile conveyed no emotion at all. "Is that all you learned after eight years of fighting by my side?" he asked, and I thought I could detect a smidge of mocking cockiness in his tone. "Now you've gone and incapacitated both hands."

Vernon looked up, a strange pallor on his face, just as Jungkook pulled back the knife and kicked him straight in the chest. He went flying back, and crashed into the wall a few feet away before crumpling to the ground.

That was what it took to break me out of my stupor. I glanced briefly at Vernon as my fingers curled more firmly around the hunting knife, who groaned and began to sit up, before turning my complete attention to Jungkook. He was wiping the bloodied blade on the hem of his jacket, paying no attention to me.

I threw the remaining heel at him—not the best opening attack, I admit, but I had to get rid of the deadweight before I could actually do something. Jungkook dodged it easily, but it got him to pay attention, at least.

"You really shouldn't try," he said without a trace of feeling, and I charged without a thought.

All the long hours of training with him condensed into one singular aim. My mind was filled with renewed fear after seeing his approach during the first fight with Vernon, when Jungkook had acted completely opposite to his instructions. Never go for the abdomen, he had told me, the enemy expects it, and your arms are easier to break downwards. Maybe that was why he had done that with Vernon, because he wouldn't have expected it. I realized, slowly and with a sinking feeling, that perhaps he had taught Vernon too.

My mind was blank when I rushed towards him, holding the knife perpendicular to my forearm, the blade outwards opposite my thumb. He swiped at me, and I blocked his arm with my armed hand, dropping the knife and catching it with my free hand. I stabbed at his side, but he evaded it, backing up a few feet.

I held the knife out, moving on the pads of my feet, every move cautious as I tried desperately to remember. His knife cut the air in front of my face, and I had to lean back to avoid it. I was barefoot, which was a blessing in disguise for mobility on the wooden floor. Even the dress helped my legs move faster. You can't afford to be slow.

This wasn't sparring or play-fighting, this was the real deal. Jungkook was actively trying to hurt me. And even though I knew he couldn't kill me, he could maim me or cause me extreme physical pain. If I lost, it wasn't just my future on the line. It was Vernon's life.

I yelled and lunged at him again, anger refueled by the realization. He spun out of the way, but before he could regain his stance, I shifted the knife to my dominant hand and sliced upwards, the tip of the blade catching his forearm. Jungkook drew in a sharp breath in surprise, and dropped the dagger, which I kicked away in a quick, fluid motion.

I stepped back and away, both surprised and triumphant at my small victory. He touched the cut on his arm, an eyebrow arched, then looked up at me. The cut wasn't deep enough to get to his bone, but I knew it was effective enough in having done considerable damage.

"Nicely done," he said, softly and thoughtfully, and I blinked in surprise. But perhaps I had rejoiced too soon, because scarcely seconds after he had spoken, he kicked out at the knife, which went flying from my hand, and when my guard was down, hit me square in the chest.

I collided with the wall and collapsed in a heap on the floor. Slowly, I tried to sit up, and gasped at the sharp pain that flared up in my ribs. Stars danced in my vision. With a knife, I still had a chance, but without it, I was powerless against his brute force.

I hadn't noticed it earlier, with my full focus having been directed at Jungkook, but Vernon had gotten to his feet. He charged at Jungkook now, and their bodies connected heavily. Vernon yelled, his shoulder against Jungkook's chest, arms around his waist in the manner of a tackle. Jungkook kneed him in the abdomen and then in the face, loosening his grip enough to get out of it.

Vernon stumbled. His mask had fallen somewhere along the way, and there was a cut on his cheek, blood dripping from the corner of his cheek. Jungkook picked up an object from the floor. At first, I thought it was the mask, but when he lifted it into the light and aimed it at Vernon, I realized what it was.

Vernon moved to get out of the way, but was too late. Jungkook pulled the trigger, and the noise of the concentrated explosion of the shot ricocheted around the gym as Vernon fell backwards.

Jungkook dropped the gun, chest heaving in a soundless sigh. He turned around. "You should have given up after the first try."

I'm still not completely sure what happened next.

I blacked out, and the next thing I knew, I was rushing towards Jungkook with his dagger in my hand. He turned, but not quickly enough—by the time he was halfway there, the dagger was buried in his back, right up to the hilt.

Rage had brought me strength. Jungkook arched, lips parting, but no sound escaped him. It was hard to tell where the blade had pierced, but an experienced eye would have been able to tell that it had gone through his heart.

"What did my father pay you for keeping me alive?" I rasped. I could barely see, and out of the uncountable questions in my head, my lips had picked this one to voice. "I know you didn't do it for free."

Jungkook coughed, and blood spattered his lips. He looked me in the eye, and for a split second, I saw emotion blaze in them. Wonder, as bright as a dying flame, and just as short. "A daughter," he whispered, choking on his own words. "He gave me a daughter."

Saying this, he fell forwards, and I released the knife. My thoughts still felt like someone had taken a knife to them; all I could see was red, red, red. On the floor, on my hands, framing his body like a murderer's wreath. The first blood had been spilled.

Jeon Jungkook was dead.