Chanyeol flicked the lighter, catching its flame and nestling it in the palm of his hand. It saved him the trouble of starting a fire from scratch every single time.

They had left Kyungsoo’s safehouse before the sun rose and made their way here, another one of Seoul’s many motels. The station couldn’t be more than a five minute walk from here and the train was set to leave at half past eight. Rush hour would be over by then and, hopefully, the station would be relatively empty.

“Ready?” Kyungsoo flicked the curtains shut. He must have seen the brothers arrive.

“I was born ready.”

“You were probably born crying.”

“Who says you can’t be ready and crying at the same time?” Their banter was nonsense, something to ease the tight anticipation. Kyungsoo had talked to the motel owner earlier and Chanyeol remembered her serious nod as she handed over the room keys. As neutral as motels were supposed to be, those who knew of SM’s dark undercurrents had always been open to help. 

Three knocks. Chanyeol closed his fist around the flame, snuffing it, as Kyungsoo watched the door. Its knob dewed with water droplets then froze over, breathy chills of magic that tickled with familiarity. Brushing off the coating of frost, Kyungsoo let the brothers in.

 It had been a while, but Chanyeol recognized them easily. Minseok came first, lips pale and bluish, and Joonmyun relocked the door behind him. When he spotted Chanyeol, his face cracked into a smile that looked as brittle as his brother’s ice.

“Kyungsoo didn’t say who was coming to help.” He extended a hand and Chanyeol took it, pulling his ex-partner into a hug.

“Missed me?”

“In your dreams. Jobs were smooth without a loose cannon beside me.” When they pulled away, Joonmyun’s smile was a few degrees warmer. “So… you made it.”

“You’ll make it too.” Chanyeol would be lying if he said he wasn’t guilty. He was a coward once and Kris paid the price. He wouldn’t make the same mistake again.

He and Minseok kept a fair distance, nodding to each other instead – not out of lack of respect. Water was tolerable for Chanyeol. A more specific type like ice was not. Chanyeol forced down the bubble of heat in his chest that threatened to burst and fight Minseok’s chill. There was a tension to Minseok’s magic that carried the same stress. Minseok couldn’t afford to waste energy now.

They’d brought duffel bags, holding what they could bring. Chanyeol and Kyungsoo took them. The brothers wouldn’t be strong enough to carry them and run after this was over.

The contract was simple to break in theory, like a promise. Undo the agreement, cut the ties and you were done. The problem: It needed magic. Enough to equal the magic that created it in the first place. If they ran out halfway through, the contract would remain intact and Chanyeol and Kyungsoo would be scraping their remains off the walls.

 

Minseok and Joonmyun sank to the floor in the middle of the room, crossing their legs beneath them and facing each other. In uncanny similarity they rolled up their sleeves and wet their lips. As soon as they tampered with their contract, the master would know and they’d be on the kill list.

 Kyungsoo coughed. It wasn't a loud or jarring sound but they startled, focusing on him with sharp intensity.

“When it breaks we’ll have to move fast. As soon as we get on that train we’re safe.”

As chaotic as the magic world was, it had its laws. Secrecy was priority and in such a public space, there was no way SM could stop them.

“What about you guys?” Minseok frowned, “how will you get back here?”

“I know someone who can get us in.” The mysterious Jongin that Kyungsoo had talked about. Chanyeol was curious to meet him. Minseok didn’t press it, they were all too aware of the time slipping away, and exchanged a glance with his brother. They linked hands, silent, in childish reassurance.

“Does it hurt?” Joonmyun whispered.

Chanyeol found himself scratching at his scar. He remembered the burning, the terrible feeling of getting torn from the contract in his blood and –

“Not much.”

“No.” Kyungsoo’s reply clashed with his, too fast to be believable, but if Joonmyun could tell then he didn’t show it. The brothers closed their eyes.

 

The room temperature plummeted.

 

Moisture beaded across Chanyeol’s forehead and, by the time he wiped it away, it had frozen. Its coldness felt like fire. He worked his jaw and his ears popped. Magic condensed with the water, thick and heavy, filling the room with its presence. Chanyeol stepped back to distance himself from the profusion of energy. Heat tugged and pulled under his skin, attempting to react, but Chanyeol kept it controlled in his veins. He could hear the magic, a silent wind rushing past his face.

 A crack shot through the air. Chanyeol whipped around to see the window webbing over with fracture lines. The pressure spiked and glass exploded, shredding the curtains. Joonmyun and Minseok’s knuckles were white with how tightly they gripped each other.

 The ink of their contracts faded, the pattern shrivelling and warping. Almost there. Chanyeol’s sneakers were frozen to the floor. Energy pulsed until he was sure his headwould explode. Was this how Kris felt, when he held Chanyeol through the same thing?

 White drifted into his vision. Snow. Right there in the room. The chill wavered.

 One final shuddering moment and the snow turned to raindrops. Frost melted and soaked into the wallpaper, staining it. The brother’s broke apart, blown away by that final blast of power. They staggered to their feet. Kyungsoo was already at the door.

“Let’s go.”

Chanyeol brought up the rear, herding them out. The master would have felt the contract break. There’d be SM mages on their tail soon enough.

 

Behind the others, he could see how shaky the brothers were, could see Joonmyun stop and fumble for his brother’s sleeve. Chanyeol was close enough to hear his strangled whisper and watch the first rivulet of blood trickle from his nose. 

Joonmyun collapsed.

Darting forward, Chanyeol caught him before he could crack his head open on the floor. He didn’t think twice before picking Joonmyun up and cradling him by his chest. The still-healing wound in his hip stung reproachfully. He jerked his chin, motioning for Minseok to move.

“Go, I’ve got him – go.”

 

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How the hell did an ant get in here? Luhan watched it crawl past his shoe. Wind ruffled at his hair and he yanked up his shirt to cover it, scowling. Sehun would survive, that was for sure. He was a mage after all, no matter how young, but this constant woosh of his magic was getting on Luhan’s nerves.

In the chair beside him, Tao stirred with a small pulse of magic. The ant on the floor froze. A yawn from Tao and the ant kept going.

“Morning, sunshine.” Luhan watched as Tao rubbed his eyes and blinked to adjust to the yellow glow of sun. The hospital was safe for them, as neutral as motels were, and they should’ve been able to sleep without worry. Luhan had stayed awake anyways. He checked the time. Seven-thirty. He looked back at Sehun. Wild, panicked eyes stared back at him.

 

Sharp wind ripped the blankets off the bed. Luhan batted it away and jumped to his feet. Sehun was scrambling for the door. Luhan clenched his fist, reaching out with his magic and holding it shut. Not the best move. When Sehun tried the handle and it didn’t budge, he freaked.

 

Luhan dodged a slice of air and lunged forward. He didn’t mean to smack Sehun’s head into the floor like that but oh well. It worked. Sehun swiped weakly for his face. Luhan pinned his hands down.

“Calm down.”

The kid hissed at him, actually hissed, and struggled. “ you.”

“Do you remember us?” Luhan hoped the hit to his head didn’t affect his memory.

“Get off me.”

“Do you remember us?” Tao’s voice was softer, more unsure. At least it seemed to get somewhere. Sehun stopped wriggling enough to level a suspicious glare.

“Where am I?”

“Changchun.” Tao said. “Lu, get off him.”

“Tao –”

“Luhan.”

Grumbling, Luhan stood up and tugged his shirt back into place. The kid sat up, knees drawing close to his chest in defense. Tao sat down in front of him.

“Hi. I’m –”

“Zitao.”

“Just Tao is fine.” He titled his head, a gesture Luhan knew meant ‘get out’ in Tao’s polite code. Sighing, Luhan relaxed his magic and opened the door, easing out into the corridor. Tao was better at dealing with people anyways.

 

They hadn’t wanted to risk going outside to buy clothes for the kid, as stained and bloody as the originals were, so they’d handed those off to the laundry room and hoped for the best. Sehun could borrow their extra jackets and shoes. Luhan didn’t think he’d want to run around in a hospital gown. 

The patients on the fourth floor were all mages. Most normal people didn’t even know this floor existed. The elevator skipped this floor – the missing button was chalked up to superstition. Most buildings omitted the number, it’s pronunciation too close to the word for ‘death’ in Chinese. It was different for mages though, a lucky number. Four main elements for the first four mages ever recorded in history.

Ground floor. Where was the laundry room again – there it was. Luhan gave his name, a random made-up name, and was handed back a neatly folded pile of Sehun’s clothes. He checked the size out of idle curiosity and almost went back to complain that he’d been handed the wrong set. Sehun didn’t seem that tall. Maybe ‘kid’ wasn’t the correct term.

Back up the stairs. Floor one. Floor two. Three… Luhan waved his hand and the door for four swung open by itself. Telepathy wasn’t rare or flashy, but Luhan wouldn’t trade it for the world. He used to make himself float, accompanying Kris as he flew over rooftops and trees. Tao used to be shorter then. He’d cling onto someone’s back and laugh and shriek.

He scowled at the ugly, fake potted plants that lined the corridor. They needed some life in here. 

Luhan’s neck prickled. That woman was staring at him. Correction: she was staring at his scar. Luhan fought the urge to cover it up, glaring back. Messed up Guilds like SM were far and few between, and breaking a contract was likened to betrayal. Most mages judged the scar without knowing the story behind it. Miffed, Luhan ignored her and stepped back into their hospital room.

 

Wind slammed the door shut and Luhan jumped, biting his tongue. He heard Tao stifle a laugh as the air settled. Luhan set the clothes at the end of the bed.

“Where’s the kid?”

“My name is Sehun, old man.” He came out of the bathroom to snatch up his clothes and disappeared again. Luhan caught a flash of a bare, ridged stomach.

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-one.”

Luhan raised his eyebrows at Tao. “Okay, what happened?”

Tao shrugged, still speaking in his accented Korean. “He said he’s from Seoul and he wants to tag along with us.”

“Did you tell him how we were going to get there?”

“Uh, no.”

“Did you ask him how he got to the middle of nowhere in China?”

“Yes.”

“Then how the hell did he get to the middle of nowhere in China?”

“He didn’t tell me.”

Luhan pinched the bridge of his nose. He could feel a headache growing. Sehun’s re-entrance didn’t help. His hair was an untamed bird’s nest. It was strange, how mages of the same type could differ so vastly. Kris was a wind mage too and he never looked more than a little ruffled. Sehun limped back to the bed and gingerly sat himself down. If he wanted to come with them, Luhan hoped desperately that he’d be in full working condition.

“Ok, ki – Sehun. You need to tell us what happened to you.”

“I really don’t want to talk about it.”

“Well, at least tell us how bad the whole SM situation is.”

“It’s pretty ing bad.”

“That doesn’t narrow it down.” Luhan sighed. “Ok. Yes or no questions. Were you alone?”

“No.”

“Are your friends alive?”

“… probably not.”

“You don’t look too bad for someone who saw your friends die.”

“I said probably because I didn’t ing see them. Can we keep it to yes or no?”

Luhan opened his mouth to continue but a Tao stopped him, fingers brushing lightly down his arm. He let Tao talk.

“Are you currently in a Guild?”

“No.”

“Did you want to join SM?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know the truth about the contract?”

Sehun frowned at him. “What truth? It’s just a Guild contract right?”

Luhan’s heart sank. Kid didn’t know.

“Do you know why you ended up like… this?”

“No.”

“Is SM after you?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know why?”

“Yes.” Sehun hesitated. “Yes and no. They’re after me because I escaped, but I don’t know why they wanted to kill me in the first place.”

“Can we move past ‘yes or no?’”

“Yeah.”

Tao’s speech was getting slower and slower, his tongue picking through the words more carefully. “How many people were with you?”

“Ten, including me.”

“Who attacked you?”

“Our instructor.” Sehun took a deep breath. “I signed up for a training program in SM, they said we’d travel out here so we could use our magic freely.”

“Did your instructor have a contract? What did they look like?”

“Uh, yeah. She had a contract.” Oh no. “She looked really young. Short hair. Tom-boyish?”

Luhan jerked, sudden realization zipping down his spine. “We need to get out of here.”

“Wha –”

“I saw her, outside. She recognized my scar. Sehun, we’ll explain how we’re getting back to Seoul in the car ok?” Luhan forced himself to stay calm. There was only one mage out there. They’d handled worse before. “I’ll go distract her. You guys run for the car.”

Tao nodded but, of course, Sehun had to object. “By yourself?”

“Yes.”

“Can you really do that, old man?”

“I’m twenty-eight. Let’s meet in the middle and agree to call each other by name?”

Sehun laughed. It was short, high-pitched and nervous. “I’m bad at keeping promises.”

“Just stay behind Tao.”

Right before Luhan could leave the room again, Sehun’s whisper reached his ears.

“Thanks. For helping me last night.”

“No problem, kid.” Then he left, cutting off Sehun’s retort.

 

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Kyungsoo’s original plan had included five people. Kris was no longer in the equation. They’d have to make do. No one payed much attention to them. There was that extra kick of something in mages that deterred the non-magic populace. 

It had already been heavy with clouds outside, so Chanyeol wasn't paying too much attention to the sound of muffled thunder until Joonmyun gripped his sleeve. Ahead, Kyungsoo and Minseok stiffened.

“Who is it?” Chanyeol asked them, frowning, trying to sense this new player on the field.

“Lightning mage.” Kyungsoo motioned for Chanyeol to move ahead of him. They were so close, one more long underground passageway to the platform to go. “I’ll meet you on the train.”

“Like hell you are.” Chanyeol set Joonmyun on his feet and reached for his lighter. He flicked it experimentally. Earth was a slow sort of magic, no matter how strong, and Soo would have to work to keep up with lightning. Chanyeol gave Kyungsoo a little shove. “You go. If I’m not on the train when it leaves, I’ll be back at the motel.”

 

There wasn’t a moment to spare. Kyungsoo led the brothers away, Minseok leaving him with one last piece of information.

“His name is Jongdae.”

Eight-fifteen. No one else in the passageway. Chanyeol’s hair stood on end with an uncomfortable prickle. There wasn’t another way to the platform unless you wanted to scale the station, break through the roof and jump down. Too conspicuous.

 

A spark and the lights above died. It wasn’t the same magic Chanyeol had felt last night with Baekhyun. This one was jittery, jumpy, excitable. Mischievous. Another spark. Chanyeol couldn’t quite see the corners of the ceiling but he was pretty sure that was the security cameras. It wasn’t pitch-dark, light from either end of the passageway illuminating the space, but Chanyeol flicked the lighter and drew flame.

Footsteps approached and suddenly, the space was alive with electricity. It buzzed through the air and his clothes stung with static. Chanyeol splayed his hand and drove the power back a few paces with heat. All he could see of Jongdae was a shadowy silhouette.

“Get out of the way.” Jongdae's voice didn’t match his magic, dead serious. Chanyeol clapped his hands and twined fire with his fingers.

“No.”

“Look, you’re Baek’s job. Not mine.”

“And you are?”

“Someone who doesn’t want a fight.”

“Neither. So if you could leave, that would be great.” He heard Jongdae sigh, knuckles cracking as he stretched. Were those his bones or his magic?

“The name’s Jongdae.”

Chanyeol opened his mouth, about to introduce himself, when Jongdae’s magic crackled to life.

 

Lightning arched between them. Chanyeol’s fire danced to meet it and magic dissipated, cancelling each other out. It left behind an unpleasant burning smell. 

Jongdae bolted and Chanyeol almost missed him, catching him by the hem of his shirt and yanking. Electricity jumped up his arm and his muscles spasmed, fingers going out of control. Orange lashed, hot, driving Jongdae and his magic away. Chanyeol’s attack was relatively harmless, aimed for defence, and most of Jongdae was out of the way. That was, until Jongdae sidestepped straight into the fire. 

Chanyeol balked at the last second, the intensity of his flames dwindling. It still carried enough force to knock Jongdae off his feet. The smell of singed cloth reached Chanyeol’s nose as Jongdae picked himself up. There was no more charge to the air. Jongdae coughed, casting a vague hand towards his blistered skin. 

“This isn’t a good enough excuse.” The master didn’t like failed jobs. If Jongdae wanted to return empty-handed, he was going to have to return half-dead. Chanyeol fiddled with the lighter, unwilling, until Jongdae spoke again.

“There’s only me.” Only him on this job?

“Why?”

“The brothers were popular.” Ah. The master wasn’t an idiot, he knew a job had higher chances of success if the mage doing it held no personal ties. Then who was Jongdae, if he knew the brothers but not enough to care? “I was the only one close enough to catch up.” 

Eight twenty-six. Chanyeol had to go. 

He approached with gritted teeth, reaching out slowly enough for Jongdae to run if he wanted to. He didn’t. Fire leapt forth, searing, and when Jongdae’s scream clawed into his ears, Chanyeol felt twenty years old again on his first kill order, choking on the smell of burning flesh.

 

He left the SM mage there, hoping someone found him soon and got help. Chanyeol ran for the light at the end of the passageway, squinting, jumping up the stairs to the platform. 

He took the first open door onto the train. It closed behind him and he leant back on it, breathing hard. Pain flared in his hip – that damn stab wound felt like it’d been ripped open again – and his hand, the one that had come into contact with Jongdae, couldn’t clench properly. Chanyeol shook it, massaging the pricks of pins and needles from under his skin. Which seat were they in? He patted around for his ticket.

 

They’d booked one of those booths where the front two seats faced backwards. Chanyeol found them three cars down as the train began to move, collapsing into the seat by Kyungsoo’s.

“You made it.”

 Chanyeol melted, turned to jelly as the tension bled out of him. The brothers had their eyes closed, pale and seemingly asleep. They’d have time to ask about Lay later. It was going to be a long ride and they all could use a break for now.

 

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Where was she? Luhan could feel her, muffled and far away. He was getting closer. Warm. Warmer. He turned a corner. Hot. She had her hands stuffed into her pockets, sleeveless arms sculpted with muscle. He should have looked closer before, because now he could see the black peeks of SM’s contract under her hairline.

“Good morning.” What was her magic? Jumping in blindly was a really bad idea. As an escaped mage himself, she must know all about him. “Are you looking for someone?”

“Get out of my way.”

“Rude.”

“I don’t want to kill more than I have to.”

“Did you really kill all his friends?”

Her lips thinned. Luhan noted how pale her skin was, but she seemed steady, nothing like a newbie to SM’s jobs. Had he met her before he left? She took a steadying breath.

“You aren’t my job. So move.”

“Yeah, that’s cool. I have this self-employment sort of thing going where I try to prevent SM murdering kids –” Luhan ducked and her fist went over his head. His back hit the wall and she was still coming at him like a truck. He flipped to the side and her punch sank into the wall, cracking the plaster. Enhancement-type magic. She could break his neck with her pinky. 

Luhan twisted, shoving back with an open palm. Physically it wouldn’t have hurt a fly, but the magic he piled behind it slammed into her gut. She wheezed, stumbled and – kicked Luhan so hard in the ribs he was pretty sure something broke.

 

Fingers curled around his throat and the world tumbled upside down.

“Wait, wait!” Luhan gasped. “Name?”

Her grip tightened. “Amber.”

She was really going to kill him and she would have, if Luhan hadn’t crooked his finger and brought that ugly, fake potted plant crashing into her face. It shattered upon impact and Luhan could breathe again. He got to his feet. She did too, barely looking fazed. 

He was aware of cracked open doors, curious gazes surveying their fight. No one would intervene. If a mage picked a fight, they would finish it. By now, Tao and Sehun’s energies were fading, almost out of the building. 

Amber charged and Luhan fled. Not to the stairs. Back to the their room. He barged through the door, almost tearing it off its hinges, and reached for the metal rails of the hospital bed just as Amber caught his sleeve. 

An elbow cracked across his cheek and his head snapped back. Luhan clenched his fist and yanked with his magic. Metal shrieked. Amber dragged him backwards. The railings ripped free, straightening out, and Luhan sent it shooting towards her.

 

She screamed, a sound that scratched into his ears, and Luhan was freed. He turned, panting. Blood dripped, the thin piece of metal having gone through her shoulder and into the wall. Pinned like a bug in a display case. Luhan stumbled out of the room. His ribs felt like they were on fire. 

It was a hospital. She’d be fine. 

He needed to move his . His sense of balance was just enough to save him from an express trip down the stairs.

People stared as he walked out of reception. No one stopped him.

Car. Tao had foreseen the most probable outcome and taken the wheel. Luhan didn’t have the strength to complain that Sehun had taken shotgun. He flopped into the backseat, scrambling to pull the door shut then flopping backwards until he was lying flat out across the seats.

 

“Drive.”

 

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“Of course his real name isn’t Lay.” Minseok frowned. His fingers tapped a steady beat on the window but, exhausted as he was, no ice bloomed over the glass. “He’s Chinese, called Yixing – Zhang Yixing. You already know he’s a blood mage.”

“How similar is he to the master?” Kyungsoo asked.

“Very.”

So he was unpredictable, savage and halfway to crazy. That’s great. Chanyeol shivered. “So he can heal?”

“Maybe even better than the master does. We saw him take a bullet to the leg once, it popped out and he kept running. Didn’t even blink.”

Joonmyun leant forward to take Chanyeol’s hand. He’d been digging his nails so hard into his scar that he’d drawn blood. “Don’t do that.”

“Sorry.”

“Anyways,” Kyungsoo let his own hand drop into his lap, unaware it had been imitating Chanyeol’s. “What’s the extent of his magic? Is it any different to the master’s?”

“Mostly similar, only one big difference. The master needs something like the contract, an agreement, to control another’s blood. Yixing only needs physical contact.” Joonmyun said.

“Physical contact with someone or specifically their blood?”

“Specifically their blood. But then again, we have never seen him use it offensively. He leaves behind a trail of miraculous recoveries – that’s how he finds a place to stay. He does favours for the motel owners and they keep him safe.”

He sighed. Blood was a strange sort of magic, a type that had its bases in water. Chanyeol knew Joonmyun had always been the type to worry easily, but healing like blood mages did was something he couldn’t do.

“Do you have pictures?”

“We sent you a file…” Minseok craned to look as Kyungsoo pulled out his phone. It reminded Chanyeol that he was still running on some Chinese sim card needed a working phone quick.

 

Zhang Yixing was similar to the master. Very. It wasn’t in his features. It was in the way he looked straight out of the digital, dead picture and into their souls. Chanyeol nudged the phone back to Kyungsoo, unsettled, and let the earth mage ask the questions.

“So we look through the motels.”

“That’s a viable option, but there’s another.” Minseok said. “He works at Pyeong-on Hospice. He takes shifts from four in the afternoon to four in the morning.”

“That can’t be enough to live off.”

“Well, he doesn’t have to pay for somewhere to live in.”

There wasn’t much after that. Chanyeol zoned out, exhausted, lulled by the relative silence.

 

Outside the train was a blur of greens and dull blue. Chanyeol watched the countryside pass, peaceful and soothing. As fast as the land changed, the clouds stayed the same – wispy and soft but a cold, steely grey. Like Kris. He’d never been ferocious enough to be likened to the unruly nature of wind. Kris would always be present, sometimes imposing, sometimes dark, but mostly a reassurance. Chanyeol never liked the open sky. 

Another hour in and Joonmyun and Minseok were asleep again. Chanyeol needed a distraction fast or he'd be thinking about Kris forever.

“Soo.” He waited for Kyungsoo to turn. “You said the teleporter would get us back. Is he…”

Yours? Your lover? Your heart? Kyungsoo had only mentioned this guy twice, but the way his stony expression melted told Chanyeol enough. He was expecting it again, that softness, but Kyungsoo’s face hardened.

“Jongin is – he’s still in SM.” Kyungsoo was scratching at his scar again. “He’s like you.”

 

If Jongin was what Chanyeol had been, then Kyungsoo was Jongin’s Kris.

 

Chanyeol remembered the fear, the kick of terror whenever he returned to SM building after spending the night in Kris’s bed, whispering SM’s secrets and plans over the pillow. They’d been so desperate, so lonely. Chanyeol had always been by himself, other young mages keeping away from his random bursts of fire. Kris’s friends had left. They’d met, they’d ed, and the very first time Chanyeol woke with Kris’s arms around him he was offered an escape.

“Does he want to run?” He must.

“He said he would but…” Kyungsoo was not the type to go fragile and shaky when he was anxious. Chanyeol could feel his magic settled around them, heavy and upset. “Do you remember the light mage, from last night?”

How could he? “Yeah, why?”

“We were friends. Once.” It sure didn’t seem like it. Baekhyun had looked ready to kill. “He loves Jongin as much as I do.”

“Is Jongin staying for him?”

“That’s half of the reason but, Jongin’s – I think he’s staying for me too.” Kyungsoo said, irritably carding a hand through his hair. “He contacted me, after I left, and I was stupid enough to tell him I needed an insider, someone who could tell me everything.”

Chanyeol had nothing to say to that.

 

The rest of the train ride passed in fitful naps. The train had no jerk to it when it stopped, so Chanyeol and Kyungsoo roused the brothers. Joonmyun and Minseok insisted on carrying their own bags. They looked a shade better, steadier on their feet as they walked through the underground station complex and found the exit to the airport. 

Chanyeol had his eyes peeled and senses prickling for any sort of magical interference but, surprisingly, there was none. He wasn’t going to complain. An escape that went smoothly was reason to be happy.

For some reason, they stopped outside the airport’s sliding glass doors. Chanyeol and Kyungsoo weren’t meant to pass, a strange restriction they’ve imposed upon themselves. They felt no right to freedom, not without Kris or Jongin.

“Where will you go?” Chanyeol asked them.

“Shanghai first, then we’re taking the ferry down to Fuzhou. We’ll be too late for the boat tonight so we’ll be on the one tomorrow morning.” Minseok bowed, a full ninety degrees, and Joonmyun followed suit. “Thank you.”

Neither Kyungsoo nor Chanyeol were saints. “Thank you too, for telling us what we needed.”

This time it was Joonmyun who wrapped Chanyeol in a shaky hug. His head barely brushed past Chanyeol’s shoulders. “I hope we meet again.”

“We will.” Chanyeol smiled his radiant smile, knowing that Kris would have been able to pick up on the strain behind it. But Kris wasn’t here and his anxious little secret was safe.

 

They watched the brothers pass into the airport, fading behind glass doors, and let out a huge sigh of relief.

 

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“Lu –”

“I’m fine.” Luhan gritted his teeth and tried very hard not to move. He didn’t think his ribs were splintered or anything, just fractured. He’d be back to normal in two days. The bruises on his neck and face were already fading. Maybe his cheekbone was fractured too – it hurt a lot. “Just keep your eyes on the road, please.”

“Should we call Yixing?”

“Well, we sure as hell aren’t going to catch that ferry to Seoul by tonight so yes, we should call him.”

“Who’s Yixing?” Sehun twisted around in his seat to stare at Luhan’s prone form.

“He’s none of your business.”

“Hey –”

“Please don’t speak too loudly.” Tao said. “I’m not very good at driving.”

Sehun turned back to the front with a huff. “I just want to know what’s going on.”
“Yixing is our friend. He wants us to come back to Seoul.”

“Actually, you never said how you were getting back there.” Sehun’s voice sounded curious. Luhan couldn’t see his face because he’d opted to shut his eyes. Tao could handle this.

“We’re driving to Shanghai and taking the ferry to Seoul. We intended to board the boat by tonight, but we’ve missed it, so we’ll try and get a place in the one tomorrow morning.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s ok, it’s not your fault.” Tao said and Luhan could almost see that timid, sweet smile of his. “Um. Could you grab our phone?”

“Sure, what’s the password.”

“Uh. There isn’t one.”

“Oh.” A few moments of silence. Luhan guessed he was flicking through their contacts. “This guy?”

“Yep. Put it on speaker?” It started to ring.

 

Their phone bill this month would be insane.

 

The ringing stopped.

“Hello?”

Tao stayed silent. Luhan answered for him. “Hey, Xing, we’re going to be late.”

Yixing answered with a confused hum and it tailed off into that eerie tune again. Sehun looked creeped out, jumping when Yixing spoke again.

“How long will you take?”

“We’ll be there really early in the morning, day after tomorrow.”

“Mmmmm – okay.” Yixing paused. “We?”

“Yeah, Tao’s with me.” Explaining Sehun would be too complicated. Luhan ignored Tao’s frantic head shaking. “Tao, say hi.”

 

“Hi.” His voice was tiny.

 

Yixing hung up on them.

Luhan gave a long, drawn out sigh and winced as pain lanced through his chest. “You and Xing really need to make up.”

“I’ve tried before, Lu.” He had. Yixing hadn’t been very cooperative.

 

They stopped for lunch in one of those country towns where the sweat of its workers stained the buildings instead of fixing them. These sorts of places were always the friendliest. Luhan stayed rather uselessly in the car and kept his breathing even.

The door opened and Tao perched by his head, looking out at the empty rice fields and clear blue skies. His breaths misted in the air.

“Where’s Sehun?”

“He’s calling his parents.”

Oh. Parents. Luhan had forgotten they were a thing. “Did he say what he was going to tell them?”

“He said he was going to lie about it until he met them face to face.”

“That’s probably a good idea.” No need for random freaking out. “Tao.”

“Hm?”

“You okay?”

Tao laughed and poked him on the forehead. “That’s what I should be asking you.”

“You know what I meant.”

“I’m okay. Like, only okay. It’s not the best situation right now.”

“Do you think we should have just left him in the hospital?”

“No way.”

“Good, I didn’t think so either.” Luhan shifted to stop the seat belt from digging into his hip and groaned. “Ow.” 

 

Tao stopped speaking. Luhan knew that look on his face. It was the I’m-thinking-really-hard-about-something face. “Luhan…”

“It’s a bad idea.”

“I haven’t even said it yet.” Tao kicked his legs against the car and light vibrations travelled up Luhan’s spine. “You can’t go through all the fights by yourself anymore.”

“Yes I can.” If there was one thing that Luhan was absolutely sure about, this was it. “You’re not fighting. Not on my watch.”

 

Tao was the youngest mage SM had ever exposed to the contract, had ever sent to kill someone. Time was rarer than blood, so useful, and the master didn’t give two s about age when it came to jobs. Luhan never wanted to see Tao panic again - not in the way he used to where he screamed and kicked and no one could calm him down. 

“Luhan, I don’t want to, but I’ll have to. Sooner or later, you know I will.”

“No you won’t.” Luhan reached for Tao’s hands, warming them with his own. He still remembered how Tao’s magic wrapped around others, stopped their hearts, cut their time short. After SM, Tao never really regained full control over his magic. “You won’t have to. Not while I'm still alive.”

Really, the only reason why he thought of Sehun as a kid was because he looked about as old as Tao. They weren’t so much different in age – Tao was only two years older.

Tao didn’t press it but Luhan could tell the subject would come up again. Luhan willed his ribs to heal extra fast. There was no use in praying for SM to stop attacking them. It would happen eventually. 

A sharp gust cut into Luhan’s clothes and drew out a shiver. Sehun had returned. He handed back the phone and they settled back into their places, seatbelts clicking. Another seven hours to Shanghai.

 

>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><< 

 

No cliché shaft of sunlight woke Jongin. Instead, it was the boom of thunder. Someone had put a blanket over him. It had to be someone because Jongin didn’t remember doing much of anything before he passed out last night. Baekhyun hadn’t opened his door and now, when Jongin checked, his room was empty. The bed was made too, which was unusual. Baekhyun only did that when he had too much on his mind. 

What’s the time? Jongin checked. Almost one in the afternoon. Kyungsoo should be texting him soon.

With nothing more to do, Jongin dragged the blanket back to his bed and folded it neatly, listening to the sound of rain. He waited. His phone buzzed.

He tapped open the message. A picture. It looked like a quiet corner of street, easily found in any city, but Jongin studied it and chewed his lip. Kyungsoo had said they were in Mokpo and Jongin had said he could do it. It didn’t mean doing it was easy.

 

He stripped off his jumper and left his feet bare. Really, it was a mental reassurance. Less weight, easier teleportation. He’d have to get pretty damn far this time, to a place he’d never even been before. He sent a quick text back, just to give himself some time to calm down.

I’m coming.

Then he set the phone down on the couch and shook himself out. The image was embedded in his sight, clear and perfect, a real place he could step into. On his inhale, he drew up his magic, wrapped it around him and dragged himself out of his current space. He held his breath, already winded, as the world around him warped and turned in bursts of sound. Then he exhaled and stepped forward from the shadows into dreary afternoon light.

 

The scene before him was exact, a perfect landing. No one was around. He tapped his ears, working his jaw, until his hearing returned. Someone was calling his name.

The pavement was rough under his bare feet. Jongin turned and round eyes stared back it him, tilted up in that smile he knew so well. Kyungsoo’s arm wrapped around his waist and his heavy, earth magic grounded Jongin into this new space, reassuring. Jongin couldn’t help but lean over to press a kiss to the top of his head.

“Hey.”

“You okay?” Kyungsoo pulled back to look, no doubt taking in the dark circles under his eyes and the paleness of his usually tanned skin. Jongin smiled and nodded. Someone cleared their throat.

“Um.”

Jongin turned quickly, remembering what he was here for. Park Chanyeol did not look so tall last night – to be honest, Jongin didn’t think he would make it. He shuffled away from Kyungsoo, suddenly self-conscious, and waved hesitantly.

“Hi. I’m Jongin.”

He grinned and Jongin relaxed. “Soo’s talked about you.”

“Nothing too weird?”

“I mean, we’re all pretty weird.” Chanyeol had one of those sunny faces that radiated warmth and comfort. Kind of like how Baekhyun used to be.

Jongin laced his fingers together and stretched out his arms, shaking his muscles loose again. The maximum he’d ever carried with him was a group of five and he’d almost killed himself doing it. Three of them should be a doable strain. He held out his hands. Kyungsoo instantly took his right, clutching tight, but Chanyeol hesitated, a certain nervousness to his expression.

“Um, if you don’t mind me asking, what happened to the other teleporter?”

“He exploded.”

“Ah.” The fire mage looked rather queasy.

Kyungsoo rolled his eyes. “Yeol’s always hated teleporting.”

“I prefer flying around, actually. Heights are ok.”

“I’d take exploding over spontaneous combustion any day.” Kyungsoo’s lips twitched and Jongin knew he was fighting down a laugh. “C’mon.”

Chanyeol relented and grasped Jongin’s left hand and – hot. Jongin flinched but he didn’t let go.

“Ok, basic rules of travelling. Please don’t use magic or anything related to magic whilst I teleport, it could throw me off and we’ll explode.”

Chanyeol’s grip on him tightened. Jongin decided to stop teasing the poor guy. 


He didn’t give them any warning.

Gritting his teeth, Jongin forced his magic to stretch, including the other two men. It grew thin and Jongin prodded cautiously with his mind, checking. It didn’t tear. They were good to go. Kyungsoo’s living room flooded into view, their destination, then Jongin was dragging them forward. 

Instead of the usual slip through space, Jongin shoved and pulled, heaving them along, all the while keeping the living room set clearly before him. The faded shapes and white noise lasted for a few seconds longer than usual before it broke and they were back in rainy Seoul. Jongin released them and braced his hands on his knees, panting as if he’d sprinted a mile.

 

Someone handed him a cup of water. The heated plastic warmed his hands. Kyungsoo didn’t turn the overhead lights on, the only illumination coming from outside, and Jongin gave a grateful sigh. Bright lights gave him headaches when he was tired.

When Kyungsoo reappeared, Jongin had gotten his breath back, easing the kinks out of his sore arms. He never fully understood why he ached after copious magic use. Maybe he was getting closer to exploding. Smaller hands wormed around his waist.

“I’ve missed you.” The little apartment block seemed to shiver. It was on ground floor – Kyungsoo hated to part from the earth for any period of time – and Jongin took comfort in his magic. There were certain precautions Kyungsoo had taken to stay under SM’s watchful eyes and it cocooned Jongin.

“I have a bit of time.” Jongin brushed Kyungsoo’s hair playfully. It was growing long – he knew Kyungsoo liked to keep it as short as he could without actually being bald. Chanyeol, forgotten until now, coughed, startling them out of their world.

“Uh. I’m just gonna take a walk.” The fire mage didn’t wait for a reply before leaving, the sound of the front door closing muted by the walls.

“Is that a good idea?” Jongin frowned. “SM’s still looking.”

Kyungsoo sighed and went after him. “God he’s an idiot – Chanyeol!”

The fire mage was still pulling his shoes on, hopping around on one foot. “Yeah?”

“Get back in here.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Yeol –”

“I’m serious. I’ll just drop by the hospice to see if I can find Yixing’s shift. Joonmyun said he doesn’t work today anyways.”

“We already know his shift times.”

“Then I’ll go get lunch or something. It’s almost two.” Chanyeol finished pulling on his shoes. “You guys do you.”

“Chanyeol –”

“I need some time on my own, Soo.” He gave a small, awkward wave and walked away so fast it was almost a run. They let him go.

 

Kyungsoo closed the door but he didn’t lock it. He leveled a gaze at Jongin that made him shiver. Jongin cupped Kyungsoo’s face, bending down to press their lips together. Something sparked inside him, his messy magic settling, anchored down by Kyungsoo’s earth. His hands wandered, finding the scarred patch of skin under Kyungsoo’s ear and rubbing small circles, tracing the ridged patterns. Kyungsoo went loose under his touch, hot breath brushing his lips, and Jongin tugged him closer with a groan. 

They could kiss for hours. They didn’t have hours.

Jongin bit lightly on Kyungsoo’s lower lip. It looked red, swollen from his ravishing, and the glistening sheen of saliva sent a bolt of arousal down Jongin’s spine. He bit again, harder, and Kyungsoo moaned.

“Quickly –” He pushed gently and Jongin went along with it, tumbling backwards onto the couch without complaint.

 Desperate for intimacy, they didn’t break their kiss. Jongin winced when teeth dug into his tongue. The faint taste of iron shared between them. He sat up and Kyungsoo’s weight shifted, his thighs wrapping around Jongin’s waist. Jongin laughed, out of breath for the second time in under ten minutes, and lifted his chin, allowing Kyungsoo to nose down his neck. Kyungsoo’s hum buzzed into Jongin’s veins. Nails scraped under the hem of Jongin’s shirt and he leaned back, helping Kyungsoo tug off their shirts, impatient.

 

Kyungsoo broke away for air, a flush to his pale cheeks, and they stared, inches away from each other. Jongin moved slowly, his hand sliding between Kyungsoo’s legs. Kyungsoo shivered under his touch, arching impatiently for pressure. at those red, slicked lips, Jongin gave in and ground the heel of his palm against Kyungsoo’s crotch.

Kyungsoo threw his head back with a breathy moan and Jongin left his lips to at his neck instead. Soft red bloomed, a steady path down to his collarbone. Jongin knew they’d turn dark purple by tomorrow morning but he wouldn’t be there to see it. The thought only made him harder, rolling and tugging skin with his tongue and teeth, living off the way Kyungsoo’s throat worked around his gasps.

“Jongin –” Kyungsoo dropped his weight, grinding downwards and trying to press closer.

“Soo, slow down.” Jongin stopped, his hand merely resting over the outline of Kyungsoo’s half-hard . They had a bit of time to mess around – more than they usually did. As soon as that thought crossed his mind, Jongin froze, horror creeping into his bones. Maybe they had time for today, but the day after that and the day after that…

“Soo – Soo stop.”

Kyungsoo stopped. They could always read each other so easily. He untangled himself from Jongin smoothly, sitting cross legged beside him instead. “What’s wrong?”

Jongin hadn’t changed out of his clothes last night – does he still have the note? He’d shoved it out of his head last night, with Baekhyun to deal with, and he’d ignored about it purely because he wanted to. But he couldn’t do that anymore. Jongin fished the handwritten note Jongdae had given him and straightened it out. Kyungsoo took a long time to read it. Only three words.

Kill Do Kyungsoo.

“When did you get this?”

“Just last night.” Jongin folded it up and put it back in his pocket.

“What’s the time limit?”

“A week.”

“You need to get out of there.”

“I can’t.”

Kyungsoo chewed on his already abused lips. His thoughts were so loud, Jongin could almost hear them.

“You can always take Baekhyun out with you.”

Baekhyun would never. Jongin’s heart hurt. “He’s different now.”

“What do you mean?”

Jongin picked up his discarded shirt and picked at it, not meeting Kyungsoo’s gaze. “I’ve told you before, that he’s changed.” 

That was a terrible night, one spent with Kyungsoo peppering kisses into his hair as he cried and spilt all his worries. Baekhyun didn’t talk to him like he used to. Baekhyun didn’t smile anymore. Baekhyun didn’t do much of anything, really, other than grind through his jobs like some sort of machine.

“The Baekhyun I knew would take freedom without a blink.”

Jongin shook his head and flopped sideways. They rearranged themselves, Jongin’s cheek resting on Kyungsoo’s shoulder.

“He’s not that Baekhyun anymore.”