Irene’s receiving room was quiet. It was nearly two in the morning, and Seungwan was tired, but she couldn’t even think of sleeping. She knew she wouldn’t be able to rest until she knew Jongdae was okay. She’d told Irene before that he was a survivor, and she believed it. She knew he was skilled, one of the best in his game, spoken of with awe or with dread among the gang circles, depending on who you asked. All the same, she couldn’t help but worry. The man who had given him the knife wound she’d treated yesterday had lured Jongdae there. The man who’d tried to kill him. By the sounds of the conversation between Irene and Jongdae when she’d come in, this Suho was both unpredictable and extremely dangerous. 

Irene sat quietly in her Victorian chair. She had a large TV screen set into the wall a couple of hours ago, and her eyes were gazing in the general direction of the screen, but Seungwan was sure she wasn’t watching it. The sound was so low it was almost inaudible, just a little background noise in the quiet room. It was just the two of them now. Minseok had been looking more and more ill as the night went on, but had refused to go home and rest until an exasperated Irene had called Minseok’s friends and told them to come get him. Minseok, despite being unable to even stand on his own by this point, had still refused to leave until Seungwan had promised to call him the second they heard anything from Jongdae.

How long was this supposed to take? Jongdae had been gone for nearly six hours now. Surely just watching the handover of files couldn’t take this long. Seungwan was desperate to call Jongdae herself, but she knew she mustn’t. She didn’t know what he was doing. She could distract him at a crucial moment. 

She shot another glance at Irene. She looked so calm, so poised, just like she had in prison. Seungwan wondered if she felt as calm as she looked, if she was able to keep her emotions as under control as her face. It would be nice to be able to do that. 

Seungwan fidgeted a little on the chaise-longue. The pictures on the late-night TV would have been inane even if she hadn’t been restless with anxiety. She wished she could do something. She wished she could help somehow.

A tap on the door made both their heads move, Seungwan’s a jerk, Irene’s a graceful glance. The door opened to show Yeri, on the night shift at reception in a skimpy red dress that clung to every curve and heavy makeup that made her look much older than her eighteen years. Her hands were twisting together anxiously.

“Miss Bae,” she said. “Jongdae is here.”

Seungwan gasped as relief flooded her. He was back.

“You should have sent him straight up,” Irene snapped. “I told you he has free access tonight -”

Yeri winced. “I know, Miss Bae. I told him to go straight through, but he just sat down on the floor beside the desk and closed his eyes. He has a lot of blood on his clothes. I wasn’t sure what to do, so…”

Heart in , Seungwan was on her feet before Yeri even finished her sentence. She ran to the door and pushed past Yeri to the stairs. In the reception area she found Jongdae, as Yeri had said, sitting on the floor, leaning against the reception desk, eyes closed. She immediately saw the blood Yeri had mentioned, glinting dully on his black shirt in the lights of the reception. It covered his entire right sleeve and was splattered on his shirt and black jeans.

She was on her knees beside him before she knew what she was doing. She reached out to touch his shoulder. “Jongdae!”

His eyes opened. Even in this condition his reflexes were still fast enough to catch her wrist before she could touch him. He gripped her wrist tightly, staring into her eyes. His pupils were very wide, almost consuming the colour in his eyes, and she was vividly reminded of the last time she’d seen his eyes look like that.

“Well, this is better than putting a knife in my face,” she said, striving to keep her tone light and free of the intense worry she felt. “But it kind of hurts. You have a strong grip for someone who looks half-dead.”

She saw the realisation dawn in Jongdae’s face. He released her wrist, looking dazed. His face was so pale she thought he might faint, even though he was sitting down. She assumed he’d done so to stop himself from blacking out.

Yeri arrived beside her. She knelt down, tugging at the incredibly short skirt of her dress to keep it over her thighs. “Is he okay?” she asked Seungwan. “Irene called some guards to bring him up to her room.”

“Jongdae, where are you hurt?” Seungwan asked. 

“I’m okay,” Jongdae told her. “Got grazed by a bullet, but it’s already been treated at the hospital. Nothing to worry about.”

Seungwan rocked back a little. “Grazed by a bullet?” she echoed. “Nothing to worry about?”

A hint of amusement deepened the corners of Jongdae’s lips. “I’m not bleeding anymore. I’ll be fine.”

“You said you were just going to watch! How did you get in the way of a bullet?”

“The situation changed,” Jongdae mumbled, closing his eyes again.

“Shouldn’t you still be in the hospital?” Seungwan asked anxiously. How could the hospital staff let him go when he was like this? She was answered when Jongdae explained faintly that he’d signed himself out after getting stitches and a bag of IV fluids. They’d wanted to give him another one and admit him for overnight observation, but he’d refused to stay. Seungwan sighed. That was just typical. She was honestly astonished that Jongdae had even gone to a hospital in the first place. This was the man who’d bought Disney Princess band-aids for a gashed-open head and superglue and duct tape for a stab wound.

Two bodyguards arrived. They got Jongdae to his feet and began helping him up the stairs towards Irene’s room. Yeri went back behind the desk, and Seungwan followed the guards and Jongdae. Remembering her promise to Minseok, she called him as she followed them up the stairs. She got his friend Tao, who told her in his thick Chinese accent that Xiumin was sleeping and he didn’t want to wake him, but promised to pass the message on as soon as he woke up. That task complete, Seungwan hurried to the elegant kitchenette off the side of Irene’s rooms while the bodyguards helped Jongdae to the couch beside Irene’s chair. Irene had come to the door to meet them, and though her face was still impassive, Seungwan knew that showed just how worried Irene was. 

She filled a glass with water. The hospital had wanted to give Jongdae another bag of IV fluids, she guessed because he’d lost a lot of blood. He needed to rehydrate. She came back into the room as Jongdae leaned back against the couch, the bodyguards retreating. Irene sat back down in her chair, eyeing him sharply.

“I’m sorry to come to you in such a state,” Jongdae whispered. “I would have changed, but I needed to see you right away, and...”

“I’ll let you off this once,” Irene said. “You don’t have to sit up, either, Jongdae. Lie down if you need to.”

“I’m fine.” Jongdae looked up when Seungwan stood before him, holding out the glass. 

“You need to drink all this,” Seungwan told him. He reached up with his left hand and took it from her. Their eyes met. Jongdae looked drawn and haggard. There was so much pain in his eyes that Seungwan almost flinched. It was worse than she’d ever seen him look. She desperately wanted to sit next to him and hold him until the pain went away, but she made herself back away and sit on the chaise-longue. Irene had wanted her to get close to Chanyeol, not Jongdae. She didn’t know how Irene would react if she knew they’d kissed. She made herself as small and unobtrusive as she could, praying Irene wouldn’t send her away. She wanted to know what had happened, and Chanyeol would, too. She’d called him after Jongdae had left, explaining what was going on.

“What happened, Jongdae?” Irene asked.

Jongdae closed his eyes briefly. “It was a lure, but not in the way we thought. Jun...Suho wanted me to hear him get information out of Jwi. He knew I’ve been looking for the person who killed...the cop who died at the old school. The one I’ve been framed for killing.”

Seungwan went cold all over.

“Surely it wasn’t Jwi?” Irene asked. “From what I’ve heard, the sniper was very accurate. Jwi’s not a gunman.”

“He was working for the man who arranged the kill,” Jongdae said. He glanced quickly at Seungwan, then away again. “The cop was undercover at the scene of the Solaria Hotel deal. Jwi kidnapped him, but Suho thought he was after the drugs and caught him. Jwi lured the cop out into the open and told the sniper up on the hill who to shoot.”

“You didn’t find out who the sniper was?

Jongdae shook his head slowly. “Jwi wouldn’t say. But the sniper was there, at the meth lab. He was up on the roof, and…” he broke off, his face tightening. “He shot Junmyeon. I tried to save him. I knocked him down, that’s how I got hit, but the sniper got him on the ground. Irene...Junmyeon is dead.”

Irene looked like she’d been turned to ice. She sat, completely frozen, staring at Jongdae. Seungwan bit her lip, glancing between them. Had she understood wrong? From what she’d heard before, they both hated Suho. He’d tried to kill Jongdae yesterday. But Jongdae had tried to save his life, had put his own life at risk to do so. What was she missing?

It didn’t matter. Right now, her immediate problem was wondering whether to go to Jongdae or Irene. Jongdae looked ready to fall apart, and Irene’s frozen body and face was betrayed only by the raw pain welling in her eyes.

“The bastard.” Irene’s voice was little more than a whisper. “Jongdae, are you sure?”

Jongdae nodded. “He died in my arms, Joohyun, I am so sorry...I tried.” Jongdae’s voice broke. “I’ll never understand all the things he did. But he told me to tell you...that he never stopped loving you.”

Irene was so still.

“He told me to give you this. I am sorry I couldn’t keep it clean, but…” he slipped his hand into his pocket and held out a small, blood-specked square of fabric. It looked like an old-fashioned handkerchief. Irene took it from him and unfolded it, revealing a delicate lace edging and what was probably a name, in the old Chinese characters, embroidered into the corner. 

“I gave him this when we were together,” Irene said. Her voice was emotionless. “When you were just a child, Jongdae. It was my grandmother’s. She was all I had. She died when I was only twelve. I was on the streets after that. I had two and I gave Junmyeon one. They were my most precious things. We thought we’d be together forever, back then.” She laughed, a broken sound. “We were just children, really.”

“He kept it all that time,” Jongdae said. 

“Crazy bastard,” Irene said, and suddenly there were tears rolling down her face. Seungwan didn’t think any further. She jumped up and went to Irene’s chair and wrapped her arms around her. The chair was wide enough that they could both just squeeze into it. Irene felt fragile in Seungwan’s arms. Her body trembled, but she didn’t make a sound. Just the tears flowed down her face, the handkerchief clutched tight in her hand. 

Seungwan looked at Jongdae. He wasn’t crying, but he was so white. So drawn. Seungwan could not begin to understand this relationship, but she understood loss, and the pain of it, only too well. She wished she could split herself in half so that she could be with both of them.

“Junmyeon told me, yesterday, to get you out. To get us out,” Jongdae said. “He asked me to take you