The penthouse door shut behind them with the kind of final click that sounded like a coffin lid sealing on whatever was left of her old life. Jungkook didn’t speak. He never did when he was moving pieces on his board. He just walked ahead, sleeves still rolled from the basement, dried blood flaking off his forearms like dead skin. YN followed because there was nowhere else to go. The basement had been chains and concrete and the wet sound of Seo choking on his own blood. This was… something else. Something worse, maybe, because it pretended to be softer.

His room.