Kibum followed the others from the nurse’s room. The meeting room they were heading for was on the same level so they didn’t have to go far. This was the administration floor that held mainly offices and conference rooms, with only one or two cramped dance studios for emergency overflow. He still felt limp and wrung-out, but he managed to conceal his unsteadiness, though this achievement was really only thanks to the fact that Jinki and Jonghyun were still so concerned over Taemin. Jinki had his arm protectively around Taemin’s shoulders, holding him close to his side as they walked in step. Kibum could tell by the weakness of Taemin’s essence smell that the kid was completely exhausted by the emotional gauntlet he’d just run through. He rested his head tiredly against Jinki’s shoulder as they walked in front of Kibum, and again Kibum wished with all his heart that he, too, could hold Taemin and comfort him.

His guilt over what he’d done to Krystal had been temporarily pushed aside by the fresh horror of Minho’s terrible self-hatred. He’d never seen anything like it. It was destroying Minho from the inside out and Kibum could see it happening. Worst of all, he simply didn’t know what to do about it. He felt like he was watching a train wreck in slow motion, unable to affect the outcome despite knowing destruction was imminent.

He followed the others into the meeting room. This was one of the nicest rooms, with a shiny chrome table and a large, flat screen mounted on the wall for conference calls. A larger-than-life panorama photograph of Girl's Generation posing in a forest had been applied to the whole side wall, making up for the fact that there were no windows. Kibum sought out Jessica’s image among the girls. She was wearing a simple, short-sleeved white dress and bare feet, leaning against a tree and gazing dreamily into the distance. She was so beautiful, and yet...

They were a little late and the producer of their album was already there, engaged in busy conversation with Daejung. To their right sat a white-haired, broad-shouldered man in a pearly grey suit who Kibum had never seen before, and next to the stranger was Minho.

Kibum looked anxiously at Minho. He must have come straight here when he’d vanished from the nurse’s office. He was slightly slumped in his chair, gazing unfocused at the table, and his shaggy hair flopped limply over his eyes. He looked as tired as Taemin. In fact, Kibum thought sadly, the entire group looked exhausted. Jinki was haggard, and Jonghyun’s eyes were shadowed, like he hadn’t slept.

The producer stopped talking to Daejung and looked up as Jinki spoke. “Sorry we’re late,” he said quietly. “We had to take care of an injury.”

“Nothing serious, I hope?” The producer looked concerned.

“No, I just needed some ice,” Taemin explained quickly. “It won’t affect promotions.”

The producer nodded and gestured them to sit down. “This is Mr. Jang.” He nodded politely to the stranger. “He’s the founder and CEO of Jang Enterprises, a private investment and venture capital firm. Mr. Jang, here are the other four members of SHINee – Onew, Jonghyun, Key, and Taemin. Minho you met this morning, of course.”

They chorused a polite greeting to the businessman. Kibum could tell the others were curious. He was too. Why was this man sitting in on their production meeting? If he was going to invest in SM Entertainment, he was far too high-up to be involved in the mundane ins and outs of album promotion. Almost automatically, he moved to a thinner part of his number web and focused his extended senses on the businessman.

He smelled the normal, physical scents first – aftershave and deodorant, a hint of sweat, mint toothpaste and a touch of garlic – but nothing else. Frowning a little, he let his number web drop away completely. His extended senses sharpened as his awareness of everything else in the room faded. He saw in close detail the irritated follicles around his chin where Mr Jang had shaved. He listened to the thick, quick drub-drub of his heartbeat and the strong pull of his breathing. When the man moved his head, he saw each individual strand of white hair shift minutely and re-settle in place. He saw everything, sensed everything, and yet, he found nothing.

Something about this man was wrong. Something was awfully, scarily wrong - because Mr. Jang had no essence smell.

Kibum had become so accustomed to essence smells that it was like seeing a person without a face. Instead of thoughts and feelings, he sensed a strange, invisible current of energy around him. Unlike other people’s auras, it had no colour. As he focused on it, he felt the energy shift, and become aware.

Mr. Jang’s eyes locked onto his. Kibum flinched, and tasted blood – he’d bitten his tongue. The tastes of iron, copper, zinc, salt, and the hundreds of other components of his blood flooded his brain – with his number web down, he couldn’t help detecting and identifying every microscopic flavour. As he swallowed convulsively, caught in Mr. Jang’s gaze, he felt thousands of tiny pinpricks of energy flood out of the man, cross the table and swarm all over him. It was like being surrounded by a cloud of sharp-toothed fish, all of them prickling and nibbling at him, trying to sense a weakness, to find a way in.

Kibum clamped. He clamped so hard that all the colours drained out of his vision and the world went grey and pale. If he had been standing up, he would have instantly collapsed. Even in the chair he slumped, barely able to keep his body from flopping sideways, but he had no choice. There was something looking at him out of Mr. Jang’s eyes. Danger, his senses screamed, the same way they had done with Jessica. Hide!

He clamped harder. The sound of the producer’s voice faded out until he was locked in an invisible struggle in a silent, black-and-white world. He knew with a primal certainty that he was in more danger than he’d ever been in his entire life. He knew it the way a rabbit knew to hide from the shadow of a buzzard. This thing that was inside Mr. Jang must not find him. He kept on clamping, and the hundreds of biting things flowed all over him and tore at him with their tiny razor-sharp teeth, but no matter what, he must not let them find a way in.

It seemed like an eternity, but it was barely seconds later that Mr. Jang broke eye contact. All at once the sharp-toothed energy was drawn away, back towards Mr. Jang. Kibum was teetering on the brink of fainting and he knew he would pass out if he clamped any longer. He released his clamp in a desperate, uncontrolled rush. Noise and colour slammed over him like a tsunami, smashing his body and flooding into his eyes and mouth and nose. He dragged in a ragged breath, hands convulsing on the arms of his chair, trying sit up straight, to find his bearings, to remember how to count so he could bring up his number web. The numbers were elusive, sliding away from his grasp. Next to him he sensed Jinki’s sudden concern. Jinki reached for his hand, but Kibum snatched it away before Jinki could touch him. He crossed his arms tightly across his chest, huddling in on himself protectively. He hated himself for the fragrance of lilies that arose at his apparent rejection, but he couldn’t pay attention to that right now. Worse things were at stake.

Mr. Jang had no essence smell. No aura. He was dead inside, a body with no soul. But inside that hollow body, something else was alive and living. Kibum recognized it. It was the same thing that was hiding inside Jessica. It was the thing that had triggered his clamping mechanism last time - his emergency escape route, his instinctive way of hiding. It was the sickness.

He risked a glance up through his eyelashes. Mr. Jang was looking at the producer as h