Xiumin hated being injured, and he’d had a bad run of it lately, barely recovering from his life-threatening stab wound to the gut, only to be caught unawares by Suho. It had been four days now since the bastard had got the jump on him. The cut on his arm, well-stitched up by Chen, he could ignore, but the symptoms of concussion hadn’t proven so easily pushed through. He’d had near-constant nausea, dizziness, and an irritating sensitivity to light, all on top of the ever-present headache, and it made Xiumin feel uncomfortably vulnerable. He needed to be able to defend himself at all times.

At least he was doing better today. He'd managed to eat something solid and keep it down, and he was glad, because Chen needed him for the hit they were planning on Gwangju. Chen had managed to get one of Gwangju's men released, so that they could go down under the guise of returning him, but he wouldn't let Xiumin come if he didn't think he was up to it.

Xiumin would normally be swearing revenge on Suho for doing this to him, but, as his current task was reminding him, the bastard had already gotten his comeuppance. Xiumin had no attachment to the man. He'd caused so much trouble for Chen, and Xiumin was not at all sad to know he'd never be able to screw with his best friend - or with Xiumin, for that matter - ever again. The only regret about the whole incident Xiumin had was that Chen had still clearly had some lingering attachment to Suho from his childhood. He'd looked devastated when he'd come to visit Xiumin the day after he'd gone to the meth lab and told him what had happened. Xiumin didn't really understand it, but he knew Chen well enough to know he cared about people. He cared a lot, and it was something all the brutality of rising through the ranks had never managed to stamp out of him, no matter how good he was at acting like a seasoned killer. Xiumin was one of the only people who knew that Chen had never actually killed a man. He thought probably Irene knew, too, but he doubted anyone else did.

It was Irene who had asked Xiumin to get hold of Suho's things and bring them to her. Xiumin hadn't known where Suho's hideout was, and nor had Irene or Chen, but it turned out the runner kid, Luhan, had been Suho's before Heechul had gotten his filthy paws on him, and had known where Suho was operating out of in Seoul. So Xiumin had brought Tao, Lay, and Kai with him to Suho's hideout, where he was forced by the ever-watchful Tao to sit down and rest while they packed up the few things Suho owned into boxes. He supposed Irene wanted to go through them and make sure there was nothing she wanted to keep. Irene, too, had cared for Suho. How they could, despite all that he'd done to them - gotten Irene arrested, tried to kill Chen multiple times - Xiumin would never understand.

Suho didn't have many possessions, but he did have a collection of beautiful Japanese combat knives that all three of his men were eyeing as they packed. If Irene didn't want them, Xiumin would ask her if they could have them. Suho also had a bunch of files and papers, all neatly stored away in plastic boxes, and Xiumin had brought them too. Now they were back at Irene's hotel. Kai and Lay carried the boxes up to Irene's rooms, Tao hovering at Xiumin's elbow like a tall, lanky shadow as they followed them up the stairs. After three days of this, Xiumin had given up barking at the kid to stop hovering. Tao listened to him in just about everything, except, it seemed, when it came to Xiumin's health, and Xiumin had resigned himself to the fact that Tao would not leave him alone until all the symptoms of his concussion had resolved. If he was honest with himself, he was grateful. Tao was a lethal fighter, even better than Xiumin himself. If Xiumin wasn't quite on top form, he knew he could trust Tao to have his back.

Irene was waiting for them. Unlike Chen, her face betrayed no grief as she coolly directed Kai and Lay to place the boxes on the low table between the couch and chaise-longue. Chen probably only let Xiumin see his grief, though. Xiumin knew how good Chen was at masking his feelings. If he showed them to Xiumin, it was a mark of how much they trusted each other.

Perhaps, though, his best friend might show his emotions to Seungwan. There was something about that girl, something Xiumin couldn't put his finger on. There was a sincerity to her that was rare to come by, a sweetness that was not put on, the way it was by so many of the other girls here. Chen had told him they had been in the same orphanage, and he hadn't wanted Seungwan to find out that the boy she'd known as Jongdae was now Chen. But Seungwan had found out and stuck by Chen anyway, and that put her firmly in Xiumin's good books. He'd seen the way Chen and Seungwan looked at each other, and he hoped for Chen's sake things would work out. Chen had always had this faint air of unhappiness to him, no matter what Xiumin did, and it had only gotten worse over the last three months. If Seungwan could heal even a little of that unhappiness, Xiumin would support her forever.

The last time he'd seen Seungwan was here with Irene, but she wasn't here now. Xiumin sat down on the couch at Irene's nod and began to help her unpack the boxes. This, at least, was something he could do without aggravating his headache. Irene shot him a glance, then looked across at where Tao, Kai and Lay were now standing near the entrance, waiting for their next instruction. Xiumin understood. She wanted privacy, and the lower-level men out of her rooms.

"Some quality knives, here," Xiumin said casually, laying out the sheathed Japanese blades in front of her. "Would be a shame for them to just gather dust."

Irene got his meaning immediately. "Fine," she said. Xiumin supposed she had no use for knives. He beckoned Tao over, and gave the knives to him.

"Wait downstairs," he told the younger man. "Lay and Kai can go."

Tao bowed gravely, the knives gathered in his large hands, and left. Xiumin knew he'd share the blades with the other two. Once out of sight of Irene, he was sure they'd be crowing like children over their shiny new toys, and allowed himself a slight smile at the thought.

He lifted out folders and put them on the table for Irene to check through. He wasn't sure what she was looking for. When everything was unpacked he leaned back against the couch and closed his eyes. His head felt a lot better today, but the light sensitivity was still annoying. It was Irene's fault he had this injury, so the least she could do was let him relax while he was here.

He drifted a little on the faint rustling sounds of Irene looking through the papers, losing track of time, until a small noise from Irene drew him back. A little cry in , a half-gasp that sounded shocked, and Xiumin opened his eyes, immediately alert.

"What is it?" He glanced around, but the room was as empty and peaceful as ever. He looked at Irene and saw her holding a couple of sheets of paper in her hands. They looked old, printouts from years ago, with the ink fading to grey. Irene's hands were gripping the edges of the sheets too tight, so that they crumpled a little beneath her fingers. Her face registered shock and distress, eyes wide, lips parted as she stared at the papers. It was the first time Xiumin had ever seen an unguarded expression from Irene, and something about it shook him right to the core. He’d always known Irene was beautiful. Anyone with eyes would know it. But now, with her emotions written plainly across her face, it felt like the first time Xiumin had ever truly seen her.

He reached out to take the papers from her. Irene let him, seeming to barely even notice him tugging them out of her hands. Her fingers were cold as they brushed his own. A little alarmed now, Xiumin glanced down at the papers to find out what had shocked Irene so.

The top sheet of paper was a police personnel file. Xiumin recognised that instantly, the neat boxes with the officer's details typed in fading hangul, the headshot of the officer in uniform at the top, along with his name. He remembered that Suho had been an undercover prosecutor. Perhaps he'd had access to this kind of information early on, before he'd gone rogue. Xiumin looked at the photograph of the officer, squinting a little as his headache made it hard to focus.

It took him a second to understand what he was seeing. When he did, he felt it like a bolt of electricity straight to the chest. His heart stopped beating for a second that felt far too long, then started up again, twice as fast.

He knew the face looking out of that photograph. The high cheekbones, the soft brown eyes, the mouth that was permanently curled up at the corners despite the solemn expression on his young face. It was Chen, as he'd met him back in jail, when Chen was 19 years old and Xiumin was 20. Chen had been caught running drugs. Xiumin had been in a violent fight and was serving time for gang-related assault.

Xiumin couldn't take in what he was seeing. How could he be seeing a photograph of Chen, in police uniform, on an old printed-out personnel file? Was he dreaming? Was his concussion making him loopy? Suddenly desperate, heart still pounding too hard against his ribs, he read the file rapidly, searching for some clue that would tell him this wasn't true, that he'd understood wrong. But the name on the file was Kim Jongdae. The date of birth was right, the blood type, even the parentage, mother's name filled in and marked deceased, father's left unknown. His next of kin had been filled in as Park Jeongsu, and that name, Xiumin knew. Park Jeongsu was the current chief of Seoul Gangdong Police Station.

He read the rest of the file numbly. He read Jongdae's history. He'd gone through the police academy at the age of 18, graduated a year later, and gone straight undercover, sent to jail to infiltrate the gang from the inside up. That was all the information on the file. It was old, after all.

White noise filled Xiumin, body and mind, as the paper crumpled in his unconsciously clenching fist. He was on his feet, hearing Irene saying his name, but he paid her no heed. The world had been yanked out from beneath his feet, leaving him in freefall.

An undercover cop. It made a strange, terrible kind of sense. If Chen's goal was taking down the drug ring, he'd succeeded, at least in Seoul. Things were a disaster. There was no supply at all, the distribution heads turning out of desperation to the watched import lines from Malaysia and the Philippines, where they were snapped up like minnows by the cops. All Chen would have to do was get Gwangju, stop him from setting up anyone else in Bakwi's place and providing ingredients, and the South Korean meth industry would be destroyed.

And Chen was going to get Gwangju. They were to go down this very afternoon, Xiumin to bring Tao, to back Chen up as he took over. Xiumin was to get Bakwi's old position, head of distribution in Seoul, while Chen held Gwangju's. Together they would rule the whole country. Finally, Xiumin's trust in Chen was paying off.

And it was all a lie. Chen was going to betray Xiumin. He'd use his new power to get everyone involved behind bars. That meant Xiumin, too.

Xiumin should be furious. He was furious. Somewhere, among this white, buzzing shock, he was so furious that he didn't even know what to do with it. It would hit him soon enough, he knew. But right now...right now he felt like crying.

He stormed from Irene's hotel, Chen's file still crumpled in his fist. He no longer felt his concussion. He barely even felt his own body. Tao was waiting in the car. Xiumin got in and barked the address of Chen's place to him.

Tao started the car, looking hesitantly between Xiumin and the road. It was obvious, even through Xiumin's white rage, that he was wondering if Xiumin was okay. Despite everything, Xiumin found himself turning the paper over, hiding the incriminating information. If people found out Chen was undercover...Xiumin didn't even want to think about what would happen.

He wasn't sure what he was going to do. He wanted to kill Chen, except he didn't. He wanted to cry or scream or hit something, or all three. He had to talk to Chen. Maybe there was still a way he could explain this. Xiumin didn't know how he could ever explain this, but he clung desperately to a shred of hope that it was all a mistake, or a secret plan, or some kind of crazy game of Suho's. Whatever, Xiumin didn't care, so long as it wasn't true.

---

Seungwan stared at Chanyeol.

"What?" she asked. Her voice sounded as stunned as she felt.

"I'm pulling you out," Chanyeol repeated, quite calmly, as if he wasn't proclaiming words that would shatter Seungwan's world for the second time over. They were in Seungwan's old apartment, sitting at the small kitchen table. The same place Seungwan had first begged Chanyeol to let her go undercover.

"But...why?" Seungwan asked. "I'm doing well. I'm close to Irene, close to Chen. Chen's going to find out who the shooter is. I need to stay in!" Her voice was rising, too emotional. She tried to get a grip on herself. Chanyeol wouldn't be impressed by her throwing a tantrum like a child.

"I don't need you anymore," Chanyeol said, and the words hit Seungwan