The hospital corridor buzzed with tension. The harsh scent of antiseptic did nothing to mask the iron stench of dried blood on Yoongi's clothes. He sat in silence, hands coated in crimson, his shirt clinging to him with her blood, his head low as he stared at the floor.

Jin paced the hallway, furious."I told you. We all told you not to bring her here," he hissed, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "You knew the risks, Yoongi. You knew exactly what could happen, but you still did it. And now look at her—" his voice faltered for a second as his gaze flickered to her injured form. He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Was it worth it? Because this isn't just on you. We're all paying the price now."

Namjoon stood by the wall, arms crossed, his gaze burning with restrained anger.
"She's fine—this time. But what if she wasn't? What if something worse had happened to her?" His voice was sharp, each word laced with frustration. Without another word, he dragged his fingers across the fresh cut on his arm, the sting grounding his anger. He let out a bitter chuckle, shaking his head. "Look where we are now. You ignored my warning, and now she's hurt. You happy with that?"

Taehyung sat on the bench, fists clenched, jaw tight. His eyes, usually filled with playful mischief, were hollow now. His leg bounced restlessly, but he said nothing—because what was there to say?

The harsh fluorescent lights of the ER cast a sickly glow over the sterile walls, the air thick with antiseptic and the distant wails of patients in pain. But none of that mattered. Not to them.

Yoongi didn't move. Didn't flinch. Didn't react. Not to the anger simmering around him. Not to the blood drying on his hands—her blood. Not to the chaos of the hospital surrounding them. His eyes stayed locked on the doors of the operating room, where Y/N had been taken over an hour ago.

"She almost died," Jin snapped again, voice sharp enough to cut through the tension. His patience was wearing thin, his chest rising and falling with heavy, frustrated breaths. "Do you even realize that, Yoongi?"

Still, Yoongi said nothing.

Because he did realize it.

Every second she spent behind those cold, sterile doors was another second of torment clawing at his insides. Every passing minute felt like an eternity, like time itself was mocking him. He could fight, he could kill, he could command power with a single word—but this? This was the one thing he couldn't control.

And that—that—was eating him alive.

Jungkook stood nearby, shoulders hunched, his hands clenched at his sides. He wanted to defend Yoongi, to say something—anything—to ease the suffocating weight pressing down on them. But how could he? How could he, when Y/N was lying on the edge between life and death?

The sterile hospital air felt heavy, thick with the scent of antiseptic and something else—something darker. Regret. Guilt. Fury.

The silence stretched until Jimin finally broke it.

"We got the name," he said softly, carefully. "It was Raghav Malik. We're sure of it."

Yoongi didn't even look up. Then, his voice came—low, dark, and cold enough to freeze the air around them.

"No, it wasn't."

The boys exchanged confused glances.

"What do you mean?" Namjoon asked cautiously, his voice steady, but there was an edge of unease in it.

Yoongi's eyes finally lifted, and for the first time since they arrived at the hospital, they saw it.

That look.

The quiet, deadly, controlled rage simmering beneath the surface. A storm waiting to destroy everything in its path.

"It's not him," Yoongi repeated, his tone eerily calm. "Because Raghav Malik already paid."

Taehyung's brows furrowed, a flicker of realization crossing his face. "You mean...?"

Yoongi nodded slowly, deliberately.

"He's dead."

A sharp silence fell over them. The kind that stole the breath from their lungs. Jin swallowed hard, his jaw tightening. His voice was quiet, but the weight of his question hung heavy in the air. "When?"

Yoongi's expression didn't change. His next words were like a blade—precise, sharp, final.

"Two hours ago." His gaze remained steady, unwavering. "I took care of it myself."

Jungkook stared at him, disbelief and shock flashing across his face. "Hyung, what the hell—"

"Don't."

Yoongi's voice was like thunder now—low but powerful, cutting through Jungkook's words before they could fully form. His hands trembled slightly, barely noticeable, but the rage in his eyes burned steadily.

"He came after her." His voice was rough, each word dragged from somewhere deep, somewhere raw. "He tried to lay his hands on the only person I can't live without."

His voice cracked—just slightly—at the end.

And that single crack was more terrifying than his fury. The pain, though hidden behind the stoic face, was written all over him—in the tremble of his hands, the way his knuckles were white from clenching too hard, the blood that still stained his shirt like a badge of failure. It was in his hollow eyes, the exhaustion that clung to his features like a shadow, the way his chest rose and fell in controlled, measured breaths—as if keeping himself from unraveling entirely.

But rage burned beneath it all. A fury so deep, so consuming, that it made the room feel colder. Yoongi exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his disheveled hair, his fingers briefly pausing at his temple before clenching into a fist. His voice, when he spoke, was low, steady—but lethal.

"Tell the team to search again." The words came like a command, sharp and unyielding. "Find the real one behind this. No more mistakes. No more false names." His gaze darkened, voice dipping into something almost inhuman. "And when we do—" he let out a humorless chuckle, the sound empty, void of warmth, "whoever it is... they'll wish they never took their first breath."

His fists clenched tighter, blood seeping into the fabric of his sleeves.

"I'll make them feel hell on earth."

A heavy silence settled over the room, thick with tension.

Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he added, "I won't let this go."

Namjoon sighed heavily, rubbing his temples. The weight of the situation, the weight of Yoongi's words—it was suffocating. "You can't act recklessly," he said, his tone firm but not unkind. "Not when she's involved. This isn't just about revenge, Yoongi. This isn't just about war."

Yoongi finally looked up, his eyes void of any softness, of any hesitation. The storm within him had settled into something more terrifying—pure, calculated vengeance.

His lips pressed into a firm line.

"It is now," he murmured, voice ice-cold. Then, his next words came like a vow, final and unshakable.

"They involved my wife. So it's more than revenge. More than war."

The doors to the OT suddenly swung open.Everyone stood up at once.A doctor walked out, mask lowered. His expression was calm but serious.

"She's stable. The wound was deep, but we managed to stop the bleeding. She'll be in recovery for a while. No visitors yet."

For a moment, the world around Yoongi blurred. His ears rang, his vision tunneled, his body felt weightless—then heavy all at once. His legs nearly gave out in relief, and he sank onto the bench like a man who had just been pulled from drowning. He dragged a shaky hand through his hair, his fingers gripping at the strands as he let out a breath—one he hadn't even realized he was holding.

She was safe for now.

His chest ached, the weight of fear still lingering, refusing to let go completely. But then—his jaw clenched, his fists curled. The relief that had momentarily washed over him was quickly overtaken by something darker. Because someone out there still dared to come for her. Someone thought they could lay their hands on her—on his wife.And for that, They were going to burn.

Muted sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting soft, uneven shadows across the sterile hospital floor. The room was quiet, save for one sound—the steady rhythm of the heart monitor, each beep slicing through the silence.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Life is Still there. Fragile but present.

Yoongi sat at the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees, his bloodstained hands loosely folded together. He hadn't changed clothes. The once-black shirt had dried patches of red across his chest and sleeves. His face was pale under the dim hospital light, but his eyes—his eyes were darker than ever, clouded with something heavy. Something that refused to lift.

She lay on her stomach, her back slightly raised on the medical padding to avoid pressure on the wound. The bandage on her lower back, near her waist, wrapped around the right side of her body—just above her hip. The area was swollen, stitched with precision, but Yoongi's mind couldn't forget the sight of her blood pooling into his hands.

That moment had carved a hole inside him.

His eyes trailed along the curve of her shoulder, down to her delicate hand resting near her cheek. She looked peaceful, but the machines reminded him she wasn't just sleeping. She was recovering—from pain, from chaos, from him.

Carefully, he reached for her hand, his fingers ghosting over her skin. Just hours ago, he had held this same hand, slipping red bangles onto her wrist—each one clinking softly, vibrant and beautiful against her skin. A symbol of love, of tradition, of the life they were supposed to share.

Now, those same hands were marred with bandages, scratches, and dried blood. The bangles had been replaced with sterile gauze, the delicate touch of glass lost to the cruel reality of violence. His grip tightened slightly, a storm raging within him.

She was supposed to be safe with him.

Not lying here, fragile and broken.

He leaned forward, voice cracking under his breath.
"I failed you."

His fingers reached toward her hand, trembling. He didn't touch her—afraid that even a brush might cause her more pain.

"I promised I'd protect you... and yet..." He swallowed hard, his throat tightening. "You bled in my arms, YN. You almost—" He stopped himself. He couldn't say it.

Tears welled in his eyes again. They slid down silently, streaking his pale cheeks.
No one saw the deadly Min Yoongi cry. No one... except her.

Unnoticed, her eyes fluttered open.

She watched him—watched the way his body curled in on itself. The way his lips trembled even as he pressed them tight to keep from sobbing. He was breaking in front of her, the strongest man she knew, dissolving like a lost boy.

And then—

"Yoongi... why is a 32-year-old grandpa crying like a 5-year-old baby?" she whispered, her voice low but teasing.

Yoongi's head snapped up, his teary eyes meeting hers in disbelief.
"YN..."

She smiled faintly. "I'm fine, dummy."

"You're not fine," he whispered, moving closer to cup her cheek gently. His thumb brushed away a small smudge of dried blood on her temple. "You almost—"

"But I didn't." Her voice was firm. "And this isn't the first time someone's tried to hurt me, Yoongi. You do remember how famous your wife is, right?"

He blinked, startled at her tone.

"I'm the CEO of Velmeta Couture. The 'Boss Lady' of Seoul." She smirked slightly. "Do you think I made it that far without a few bumps, cuts, and stalkers?"

He let out a breathy laugh—broken, but real.
She reached up with difficulty and wiped his tear with the edge of her thumb.

"Besides," she added playfully, "I've got a swarm of fans. Some are mine... and some are still fans of my very hot husband. I mean, it's always a war zone in the comment section."

He laughed again—but this time, he held her hand. Firmly.

"You think this is funny?" His voice was low, eyes glimmering.
"No," she whispered, serious now. "But you crying breaks my heart more than this damn wound."

Yoongi bit his lip, the guilt hitting him harder. "I should've stopped it. I should've protected you. I am no—"

"And I'm telling you—" she squeezed his fingers gently, "—you're the best husband I could've asked for. You love me fiercely. You respect me. You see me." Her eyes filled slightly now. "What more could I want?"

He dropped his forehead to her hand, holding it against his lips. His tears continued to fall—but this time, they were quiet, softer. Cleansing.

"You scared me," he whispered into her skin. "I've seen people bleed before. I've caused it. But when it was you... I couldn't breathe."

She ran her fingers through his hair slowly, calming him.
"Then breathe now... for me."

The hallway outside YN's room buzzed with faint hospital sounds—footsteps, whispered updates from nurses, the distant beep of machines. But for the six men sitting in the private waiting area, there was only silence.

Jin paced the room, running a hand through his hair. Taehyung sat hunched forward, elbows on knees, his jaw clenched. J-Hope leaned back in the chair, staring blankly at the ceiling, his fingers twitching restlessly. Jungkook sat quietly in a corner, arms crossed tight, as if keeping his emotions locked inside. Jimin looked like he had aged in hours—his usual brightness dulled, replaced by a somber stillness.

And Namjoon stood by the window, his back to them all. Still. Unmoving.

No one spoke. Not after Yoongi had walked into the room bloodied and broken, eyes too hollow for words. Not after he said nothing—just collapsed into the chair outside her room, his head in his hands.

The guilt hung like thick smoke in the air.

Jin broke the silence first.

"She's stable now," he said quietly, as if trying to convince himself. "Doctor said the cut was deep, but it didn't hit any organs. She's going to be okay."

No one replied.

Taehyung's voice was low, hoarse.
"That was supposed to be a normal day. A goddamn market stroll." He swallowed. "We were supposed to protect her."

Jungkook's eyes darted to the ground, filled with guilt. "I... I was right there. I thought I saw it in time. I thought—"

"It wasn't your fault," Jimin cut in sharply. "None of us saw it coming." Then he looked at Namjoon's back, his voice softening. "Hyung..."

But Namjoon didn't turn.

He hadn't spoken a single word to Yoongi since it happened. Since that night outside, when tempers had flared and the tension had nearly boiled over. Not after the attack. Not when he saw her collapse in her husband's arms. Not even when she was rushed to the OR, unconscious and bleeding.

Because that sight—the sight of his little sister, covered in blood—was burned into his memory.

And he blamed himself for it too.

He clenched his fists against the windowsill.

"Do you know what it's like," Namjoon said suddenly, his voice low but steady, "to watch your baby sister fall in a pool of blood and not be able to do a goddamn thing?"

Everyone turned to him slowly.

"I do," he said, eyes still on the glass. "I know she's strong. I know she's married. But that doesn't stop the part of me that still sees her as the girl I used to walk to school. The one who'd hold my hand crossing the road, trusting me to keep her safe."

He turned around then, his eyes red, raw with emotion.

"And where was I this time?" he said bitterly. "Across the street. Looking for threats. Like an idiot. And I wasn't even on the fucking phone."

Silence.

Jin stepped toward him. "Namjoon, you couldn't have known. None of us could've."

But Namjoon wasn't done. His gaze shifted across the room—landing briefly on the chair outside YN's room where Yoongi still sat.

Still silent. Still motionless.

"And he hasn't said a word to me since either." His voice cracked a little, but he pressed on. "Not after I yelled at him. Not after I blamed him. Not even when I saw his hands soaked in her blood."

Jungkook closed his eyes. Jimin lowered his head.

"Maybe he doesn't have to," Taehyung muttered. "Maybe he knows there's nothing he can say that'll make it right."

Namjoon exhaled shakily. "That's the problem. None of this will ever feel right again. Not until she opens her eyes. Not until she looks at us and smiles like she always does—like she always forgives everything."

They all fell silent again, the weight of Namjoon's words settling deep.

Jin walked over, placing a hand on Namjoon's shoulder. "You don't have to carry that alone, you know."

Namjoon didn't reply. His eyes drifted back to the door that separated them from her.

"She's my sister," he said softly. "I will always carry it."

--------------------------

Two hours after the nurse had said YN was awake. Two hours since Yoongi went inside and shut the door behind him. And two hours of Namjoon pacing, Taehyung fiddling with his rings, Jungkook gnawing his lip, and the others stealing glances at the clock every few minutes.

They had waited. Patiently. Respectfully.

But Namjoon was done waiting.

"Okay, this is getting ridiculous," he said, stopping abruptly. "It's been two hours. How long does it take to talk to your wife?"

"Hyung, he's just emotional—" Jimin tried to reason, standing from the chair.

"We all are," Namjoon cut him off. His tone wasn't angry—just laced with frustration and the deep ache of worry. "She's not just his wife. She's my sister."

And before anyone could stop him, Namjoon turned on his heel and marched down the hallway, straight to her room.

"Namjoon, wait—!" Taehyung called out, but he didn't stop.

So, with no other choice, the boys scrambled after him.

Jungkook reached the door first and gently pushed it open.

And what they saw made all of them freeze at once.

Yoongi was lying on the hospital bed, half-sitting, with YN draped over him like a protective blanket. Her head rested under his chin, pressed right over his heart, her cheek nestled into his chest. One of Yoongi's hands was cradling the back of her head protectively, his fingers lost in her hair, while his other arm was wrapped tightly around her waist—securing her to him like she might disappear again if he let go.

His eyes were closed, forehead gently leaning against hers. He didn't even notice the door opening. It was Namjoon who cleared his throat first, forcing their attention. YN stirred, turning her head slightly to look at him. Her eyes widened in surprise.

"Joonie?" she breathed, voice still groggy. "When did you all—?"

Yoongi followed her gaze, spotting the six men at the doorway. And when his eyes landed on Namjoon, the tension crackled instantly. Namjoon glared. The pain, the unresolved emotions—they flashed in his stare like lightning. But Yoongi didn't flinch.

He rolled his eyes and leaned down, brushing a feather-light kiss across YN's forehead. Then another. And another. His lips didn't leave her skin even once.

"Yoongi..." she whispered, shifting slightly. "Let me get up, they're here—"

"No."

His voice was firm, low.

"But—"

"I said no."
He tightened his arms around her, not enough to hurt her, but enough to make her understand that he wasn't letting go.

Not now. Not yet.

The guys exchanged glances—Jin raised a brow, Jimin smiled softly, and Taehyung looked away with a quiet sigh. Jungkook's shoulders dropped, the tension slightly easing. Namjoon said nothing, just stepped further into the room, his arms crossed.

After a beat, Jimin stepped forward.

"YN..." his voice cracked slightly, eyes glistening. "I'm sorry. I was there—I was right beside you. I should've seen it coming. I should've stopped it—"

"Me too," Yoongi murmured bitterly. 'I was with you, and I still couldn't protect you.'

Jungkook added quietly, "We promised you were safe with us."

She looked at all of them, soft warmth blooming in her heart. Even though she was injured, weak... seeing them there—like a circle around her—it made her feel whole.

She lifted her hand, brushing her fingers through Yoongi's hair gently.

"It's not your fault," she said clearly, voice still calm despite her condition. "Do you even know how famous I am?" A teasing smile curled at her lips. "I'm a global fashion icon. CEO of Velmeta Couture. Of course, people are obsessed with me."

The guys blinked, surprised.

"I mean," she continued, turning her gaze toward Jin with a smirk, "I'm even more worldwide famous than Mr. Worldwide Handsome here."

Jin gasped dramatically.
"Excuse me?! That title is sacred!"

"And inherited," she quipped with a wink.

Everyone chuckled, the heaviness in the room lifting just a bit.

"You should've seen me in Milan last year," she said with a shrug. "Fans everywhere. Even some of Yoongi's fans switched sides, poor man."

Yoongi groaned playfully, burying his face in her hair.
"You're making it worse."

"You love it."

He didn't answer. He didn't need to. His grip around her only grew more tender. Namjoon stepped closer to the bed now, finally speaking.

"You scared the hell out of me, YN." His voice was rougher than usual. "You were lying there, and there was just... so much blood..."

She looked at her brother, eyes softening.
"I know, Joonie. But I'm okay now."

He didn't say anything. Just stared at her, then glanced briefly at Yoongi—who still held her like she was his entire world.

"You didn't even come out once," Namjoon muttered.

"I couldn't," Yoongi replied, meeting his gaze, calm and unbothered. "I almost lost her. If I stepped away even for a second, I would've shattered."

That silenced the room again.

Then YN, with her usual charm, smiled up at them.
"No matter what happened... you're still the best men I know."

Her eyes drifted back to Yoongi.

"And you... you're the best husband a woman could ask for. Even if you're a clingy little dramatic grandpa sometimes."

Yoongi huffed.

"You're lucky you're injured," he mumbled into her shoulder.

"You're lucky I chose you," she shot back.

The boys all laughed—some through misty eyes, some still shaking their heads at the surreal moment.

But they were all there.

Together.

And in that room full of heartbeats, banter, and soft sobs...
The world finally felt like it was healing.

-------------

The week had passed in a blur of hospital routines, hushed conversations, and unspoken concerns. Though YN had been surrounded by the people who cared about her most, she could still sense the heavy atmosphere that clung to them.

Today, however, she was finally being discharged. The relief was evident on everyone's face, yet there was something else—hesitation, a reluctance.

They had talked about leaving for Korea. At first, YN had thought it was a joke, but when she realized they were serious, she refused immediately.

"Because of me, you're all cutting your trip short?" she asked, her voice laced with guilt.

Jimin had shaken his head quickly, giving her a reassuring smile. "Of course not! We just... we've seen enough of India, that's all."

Jungkook joined in, flashing his signature bunny smile. "Yeah, besides, we just realized India is way more fun than we thought. Who even wants to go back so soon?"

They were trying to make it seem lighthearted, but she wasn't convinced. Something wasn't right.

Her gaze flickered to Namjoon, whose silence was the loudest of them all. He was standing by the window, arms crossed, looking out with an unreadable expression. He hadn't spoken much since the incident, not to Yoongi, not even to her.

Despite their excuses, the truth was clear—they wanted to leave not because they were tired of India, but because they couldn't bear to stay after what had happened to her.

But leaving was no longer an option. Not while she was still recovering. The doctor had made it clear that long flights were out of the question until she had healed properly.

So, they stayed.

While the others were busy packing up the hospital room, Yoongi had a different priority.

He stood beside the doctor, his hands shoved into the pockets of his coat, his expression unreadable. His voice, however, was firm and demanding.

"The wound... how long until it completely heals?"

The doctor flipped through the reports before responding. "She's healing well. The external wound will take a few weeks to fully close, but the pain and internal recovery will take longer. She must avoid excessive movement or strain."

Yoongi's jaw clenched slightly. He already knew what YN would ask once they were alone. She would want specifics, not just vague reassurances.

"And the scar?" he asked, his tone sharp.

The doctor hesitated. "It will fade over time, but it won't completely disappear. Some marks always remain."

That answer didn't sit well with him.

He exhaled slowly, rubbing his forehead. "And the pain?"

"It will lessen gradually, but for now, she needs to be careful. No lifting, no sudden movements, no stress."

Yoongi let out a quiet, humorless chuckle. "No stress? Do you know my wife?"

The doctor smiled knowingly. "I figured as much. But she should at least try. Emotional distress affects physical healing too, Mr. Min."

Yoongi didn't respond to that. Instead, he gave a curt nod before heading back to the room.

When Yoongi walked into the hospital room, the atmosphere was tense.

Namjoon was sitting on the edge of YN's bed, holding her hand in his. His fingers traced over the IV line on her wrist absentmindedly, his face set in a deep frown.

The others were moving around, packing up their things, pretending not to notice the undeniable tension between the two men.

Yoongi stopped in the doorway, his gaze locking with Namjoon's for a brief second before he wordlessly walked over to YN. He placed the discharge papers on the table beside her, then carefully pulled the blanket up to cover her legs.

He could feel Namjoon's eyes burning into him.

But Yoongi didn't care.

His attention was solely on YN. "You ready to go home?" he asked, his voice soft, his fingers brushing over hers.

She gave him a small smile. "More than ready."

Namjoon, however, wasn't done.

He stood up abruptly, making the others pause. "I'll go get the car," he said, his tone clipped, before walking out without waiting for a response.

Jin let out a sigh. "He's still upset, Yoongi."

Yoongi didn't respond. He simply exhaled deeply and turned his attention back to YN, brushing his knuckles against her cheek.

Right now, all that mattered was her.

The ride back was quieter than usual.

YN sat in the backseat beside Yoongi, her head resting lightly against his shoulder. He kept an arm around her the entire time, his thumb absently tracing circles on her arm.

Namjoon sat in the front with Jin, his silence deafening.

The mansion felt colder when they arrived, despite the warm Indian air outside. The boys moved around, unpacking and settling in, but there was an undeniable weight that lingered over them.

Yoongi helped YN into their room, settling her on the bed carefully. "Comfortable?" he asked, brushing her hair back.

She nodded. "You don't have to treat me like I'm fragile, you know."

His jaw clenched. "You were bleeding out in my arms a week ago. Forgive me if I don't take chances."

She reached out, gripping his wrist gently. "I'm okay now, Yoongi."

He didn't respond. He simply leaned down and kissed her forehead, lingering there for a moment longer than necessary.

Outside, the tension between him and Namjoon remained unresolved. But for now, that wasn't his priority.

Right now, all that mattered was her.

The night air carried a soothing warmth as YN and Yoongi sat outside in the backyard. After returning from the hospital, she had rested for a few hours before waking up in time for dinner. The others had been cautious around her, keeping the conversations light, but she could sense their underlying concern.

Now, as they sat under the soft glow of the outdoor lights, Yoongi kept her close, his fingers absentmindedly playing with hers as they enjoyed the rare moment of peace.

"Feeling okay?" he asked, his voice low.

YN hummed softly. "Mhm. Just a little tired."

That was Yoongi's cue. Without another word, he helped her up and led her back inside. "Time for your medicine."

She groaned. "I feel like all I do these days is eat, sleep, and take medicine."

Yoongi smirked. "That's what recovery looks like, sweetheart."

Back in their room, Yoongi helped her freshen up. His hands were gentle yet firm, supporting her as she sat on the bathroom counter while he carefully wiped her skin with a warm sponge.

YN closed her eyes, feeling the warmth seep into her muscles as Yoongi moved with the same precision he did with everything in his life.

When he was done, he grabbed one of his oversized shirts and a pair of his shorts, helping her into them before carefully placing her on the bed.

"Comfortable?" he asked, brushing a damp strand of hair away from her face.

She nodded sleepily, already snuggling into the pillows. "Mhm."

Yoongi smiled slightly, pulling the blanket over her. "Good. Get some rest."

He pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead before heading to the bathroom himself.

While Yoongi was in the bathroom, YN lay on her front, propped up on her elbows, scrolling through her phone. The soft glow of the screen illuminated her face as she read through the articles with increasing unease.

"How long does it take for scars to fade?"
"Can deep scars disappear completely?"
"What if a scar never goes away?"

Her chest tightened as she scrolled through different answers. Some said scars faded within months, some took years, and others... never faded at all.

What if it never fades?

She bit her lip, her fingers trembling slightly as she read the words over and over again.

At that moment, Yoongi stepped out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped loosely around his waist. His damp hair stuck to his forehead, droplets of water sliding down his chest.

But the moment his eyes landed on her, his movements stopped.

She was so engrossed in her phone that she didn't even notice him.

His jaw clenched slightly when he saw what she was searching for.

Without a word, he walked over and gently snatched the phone from her hands.

YN blinked in surprise, looking up at him. "Yoongi—"

But he didn't say anything. He placed the phone on the nightstand before climbing into bed, pulling her onto him effortlessly.

Her breath hitched as he shifted, making her straddle him, her hands resting on his bare chest while his arms wrapped around her securely.

"Stop thinking ridiculous things," he muttered against her temple.

YN opened her mouth to protest, but he tightened his hold around her waist.

"The scars will fade," he said, his voice firmer this time. "I already talked to the doctor."

Her fingers curled against his skin. "But what if—"

Yoongi cut her off, his hand sliding up her back, pulling her closer. "Even if it doesn't, you don't need to think about it."

YN let out a shaky breath, burying her face into his shoulder.

Yoongi ran his fingers through her hair, his voice softer now. "You're still the most beautiful person I've ever seen, scars or not."

Her eyes burned slightly at his words, her throat tightening with emotion.

Yoongi shifted again, pressing a lingering kiss to her hair before whispering, "Now stop worrying and go to sleep, baby."

YN sighed against him, nodding as she let herself relax in his arms.

For the first time in days, she felt safe.And in that moment, nothing else mattered.

The living room was dimly lit, the only source of light coming from the screens of their laptops and phones. Jungkook sat on the edge of the couch, one hand clenched into a fist while the other rapidly scrolled through reports. Jimin was next to him, his knee bouncing anxiously, while Taehyung leaned back against the sofa, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. Jin stood near the window, his gaze fixed outside, lost in thought.

Namjoon was still in his room. Since dinner, he hadn't spoken much to anyone, retreating into silence as his mind battled between anger and helplessness. He couldn't shake off the image of YN bleeding, couldn't stop hearing her voice when she reassured them she was fine. But she wasn't fine. None of them were.

J-Hope had gone out.

He was their last hope.

They had been at this for hours, tracking every possible lead, calling every contact they had in India and Korea, but nothing. No clue, no face, no name.

"Damn it!" Jungkook slammed his fist on the coffee table, making everyone look up. His jaw was clenched so tightly his teeth hurt. "How the hell is there no trace of the attacker? No one sees anything? No cameras? Nothing?!"

Jimin exhaled sharply. "We've been digging through all the security footage around the area, and still, it's like whoever did this was a ghost."

Taehyung leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His face was calm, but his knuckles were white from how hard he was gripping his own hands. "There's no such thing as ghosts. Someone did this, and they knew exactly what they were doing. This wasn't random."

Jin rubbed a hand down his face. "The security cameras near the hotel were tampered with, weren't they?"

Jungkook nodded, frustration rolling off him in waves. "Yeah. All the footage from that night is useless. Someone wiped it clean."

A heavy silence filled the room.

They had men investigating in both countries, questioning people, scanning for any unusual movements, but there was nothing. The attack was precise, planned, and left behind no evidence—which only meant one thing.

The person behind this wasn't just anyone. They were professionals.

Jimin spoke up again, his voice lower this time. "I checked with our sources in Korea too. No one seems to know anything about an attack being planned against YN."

Taehyung scoffed. "Then either our sources are blind, or the person responsible knew how to cover their tracks really well."

Jin finally turned away from the window. "J-Hope went out to check with a few people. If anyone knows anything, it would be them. But..." He trailed off.

Jungkook looked up. "But what?"

Jin's lips pressed into a thin line. "We're running out of options. If we can't find anything, then..."

No one finished the sentence.

The unspoken words hung in the air like a heavy weight on their chests. If they couldn't find anything, that meant the person responsible was still out there. That meant they could strike again.

And that thought was unbearable.

Namjoon finally stepped out of his room, his expression unreadable as he joined them. He didn't say anything at first, just walked over and poured himself a glass of water.

"Anything?" His voice was rough.

Jungkook shook his head. "Nothing."

Namjoon's grip tightened around the glass. He looked at the clock—it had been three hours since J-Hope left. He should be back by now.

Jimin sighed. "He's our last hope. If he doesn't come back with anything..."

No one finished the thought. So they waited. And for the first time in years, they felt powerless.

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Here's Chapter 4 with 5.9k words! ✨ I just hope you all enjoy it. Don't forget to vote⭐, comment💬, watch👀, and share—your feedback means everything to me! 💖

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