Max is wide awake, sitting perfectly still at the dining table in his hotel room. His mind is whirling with the revelation about Gyuri's second identity as an assassin, and the fact that he still hasn't managed to avenge Jaejoong's death; he doesn't even know where to start. And on top of it all, he still doesn't have the Ravenheart. He has always known that this business is one giant chess board, a game with no controls, one in which he must protect himself, but unlike every other obstacle he has faced in the past, this time he doesn't know what it is he must protect himself from.

It's 2 in the morning, a full 6 hours since Max took up his post at the dining table, when the phone rings. He's on his feet in an instant, crossing the room to where his phone is. On the way, his mind scrolls through a list of possibilities of who it could be, and the only likely people he can think of are thieves, who probably aren't even in the country and would have nothing to do with him. Max wonders briefly if any of them, the thieves, knew about the order of his death.

When Max sees the caller ID on the screen, he does a double take. The phone rings insistently, but he seems to go deaf for a moment, his ears roaring, because the name on the screen is, 'The Boss'. T.O.P

Max swallows before answering it. "Hello?"

"Hello, Max," comes the smooth answer, like silk layering waves of poison. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

"Yes." Max clenches his jaw. "Yes, it has."

"Mm," T.O.P says. "Good that you know. My point is that it has been a while, and I have seen fit to change the original plan. As of now, if you are following the original deadline, you have just over a week to complete your task. But I know that you are... more than capable, so I am revising your deadline. Your deadline is today. I want the Ravenheart delivered to me by 5pm."

Max inhales sharply. "Where?"

"There is an abandoned warehouse on a back street near the River Seine, the colour of faded rust. My favourite colour." He laughs once and stops abruptly. "Don't be late."

And with that, the line goes dead. Max stares at the handset, heart beating wildly. If, as he has discovered, T.O.P wants nothing more than his death, then it seems that T.O.P intends for tonight to be his last night.

Max takes a moment to gather his thoughts before pulling up his contacts list and dialling a number he hasn't used before, one he didn't think he'd ever have to use.

To his surprise, the person picks up on the second ring with a cautious, "Hello?"

Max wastes no time. "Look, I know I said I wouldn't bother you again, but I just need one last favour from you."

***

8 months ago

In a room above an underground nightclub in Seoul, cigarette clouds hang like mosquito nets over a dimly lit lounge, the overly yellow lights painting shadows on the faces of the men in the room. It's nearing the time when most men are pulled home by the nags of their ignorant wives, and eventually, only a few linger in the room, two of them too drunk to remember their own names.

The other two are sitting on opposite ends of a short bar, though their hands don't grip beer glasses like the other men do. They're both perfectly sober, fingers tracing wood because that's how they think, and these two think in ways that are too similar to be safe. But neither of them know that.

The man on the left waits until everyone else has left the room before finally speaking up, raising his voice a little so it can travel far enough down the bar to be heard. "I heard you have come by a wife," he says, "one almost every man in this city would kill for. Park Gyuri."

The man on the right raises his head, revealing black-lined lids that frame even blacker eyes. "You've heard correctly." His eyes light up with recognition as he takes in the stranger's face more clearly. "Ah, but I have heard of you, too."

"Is there anyone who hasn't?"

"Very many, if you would believe," the other man replies. "You wouldn't be the man that you are without the secrecy you hold so dear, would you, T.O.P?"

"Choi Seunghyun," T.O.P corrects. "I'd prefer it if you called me that. To be frank, I don't like the sound of my name on your lips, Mr Huang Zitao."

Zitao's aforementioned lips tug upwards in a soft smile. "Suit yourself," he says. "Tell me, what is it about my fiancée that interests you?"

"Oh, I'm not looking to steal her away, so there's no need to look at me like that," T.O.P replies, eyes gliding over Tao's face like his cheeks are ice rinks waiting to be cut. "I was just interested about the, uh, method you used to... propose marriage."

Zitao laughs, cold and short. "I'm sure you've heard all sorts of bull."

T.O.P shrugs. "People like to exaggerate, but I'm sure there's some truth behind their claims. Especially since I found one of my thieves murdered the same way many of her recent victims were killed."

"My apologies," Zitao says; he doesn't mean it. "It is not my fault. She kills without concerning herself about the identity of her victim; I am sure she did not know who her victim was."

"I see," T.O.P murmurs. "That must be the same state of mind she was in when she murdered the assassin you sent to kill her father, is it? Her first murder, or so I've heard. You say it isn't your fault? You're saying she didn't know who she was killing?"

Under the light, the shadows seem to deepen on Zitao's face, digging into the hollows of his cheeks as he them in, seething. "It would do you good to hold your tongue."

"I'm afraid, Zitao, that I cannot hold my tongue. That was my thief she assassinated. What reasons did she have for murdering Im Yoona?"

Zitao heaves a sigh, as if talking about an innocent's death is tiresome. "A couple of months ago, Im Yoona, the thief in question, was caught in the middle of, and inevitably witnessed, a turf war, which resulted in the murder of several gang members on both sides. She was working on the side that lost their leader. But I know none of this from Gyuri or from a client, because she did not kill Yoona. She has killed, yes, but she did not kill Yoona."

T.O.P blinks. It is rare that he is ever taken aback, and even rarer that he is rendered speechless. "What?"

"There's an imitator around, someone who kills in a similar method to Gyuri. Red crosses, cut-out tongues."

"Do you know who it is?"

Zitao shakes his head, eyes narrowing. "No. But I suspect that he or she is trying to frame Gyuri, or at  least make her other identity known."

T.O.P scoffs. "You speak of framing her like you haven't blackmailed her yourself."

Zitao shrugs a little, uncaring. "I admit that I have not been honest with Gyuri, but I could not care less, and you would be a fool to claim that I have not played my cards well. This person, however, is not thinking with their brain. There's no point in framing Gyuri, because there's nothing to gain from it. Her personal view of herself has already disintegrated into almost nothing and although it may not seem like it, she doesn't care about her fame."

"And whose fault is it that her self esteem no longer exists?"

"Mine," Zitao says, without hesitation. "I'm not going to lie. I wouldn't profess to ever having clean hands after the age of fifteen, when I learnt how to fire a gun without blinking, and I won't claim to have not messed her up, either."

"Messed her up? From what I've heard, you've practically made her your slave."

Zitao grits his teeth, hand balling into a fist. "Call her what you want. What I've made her is what she deserves. She had no business sticking her nose into matters that didn't concern her."

"Is that so?" T.O.P raises a brow. "You were going to kill her father. Assassinate him. I should think that is definitely her business."

"She killed my brother!" Zitao pounds his fist against the bar with murderous eyes. "My brother was the greatest, and she murdered him."

"Because you sent him to kill her father. Would you not have done the same?"

"I don't care what I would have done," Zitao spits. "What matters is that it happened, and my brother is dead, and if Gyuri is capable of killing people like my brother, then she will kill