"Generosity is near," Yoongi said, his voice dropping to a dangerous rumble as he hit the glass table, his face tightening with frustration.

The air in the high-rise penthouse was thick with tension, smelling of expensive cologne and gun oil. Reshmi stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, looking out over the Seoul skyline, her heart hammering against her ribs. She wasn't supposed to be here—she was supposed to be safe. But safety had vanished the night Yoongi, with a terrifyingly calm stare, had told her about their blood pact.

"We won't let him get to you," Yoongi said firmly. "We would never give up on you, Reshmi".

“We sold ourselves, Reshmi,” he’d whispered, the memory sending a shiver down her spine. “All seven of us.”

"Run?" She recalled Namjoon asking earlier, followed by her own shaky reply. "How? He would just shoot us as soon as we leave the house."

But standing here now, looking at Yoongi’s intense gaze, she didn't want to run. She wanted to fight with them.

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