Prague, eighteen months earlier.
The hotel room smelled faintly of soap and expensive perfume.
Jimin stood in front of the mirror fastening a pair of earrings while her boyfriend sat cross-legged on the bed dismantling a lock that absolutely did not belong to him. The lock had arrived three hours earlier. It had already lost.
Neither of them had spoken much for the past twenty minutes. Not because anything was wrong, but because silence had never been uncomfortable between them.
"You know," Jimin said eventually, smoothing the skirt of her dress, "most boyfriends buy flowers."
"Flowers die."
"How romantic."
"It’s just factual."
She caught his reflection in the mirror. "Facts aren't romantic, baby."
"I bought you a knife once."
"Ah yes, how could I forget?"
"It had your initials engraved on it."
"It did."
"A custom knife seems significantly more thoughtful than flowers."
Jimin considered this. "That's actually a valid point."
His attention returned to the lock. "Thank you."
A small smile pulled at the corner of her mouth. "You know, most women would probably be concerned by the fact their boyfriend measures affection in weaponry."
"You and I both know that you aren't most women, Jimin."
"No."
His hands paused briefly.
"No," he agreed.
Jimin reached for her clutch resting on the dresser before turning to look at him again. "How do I look?"
"Expensive."
"You know, normal boyfriends would say beautiful."
"I assumed that part was obvious."
She rolled her eyes. "Smooth recovery."
For the first time since she'd started getting ready, he finally looked up.
Actually looked.
The dress was black and tailored perfectly, the neckline low enough to turn heads without demanding attention, understated but impossibly elegant. The entire look radiated effortless luxury - the kind that suggested old money, impeccable taste, or a very successful crime.
For several long seconds, he said nothing.
Jimin immediately notices, and a slow smile appears. "You okay there, baby?"
His eyes flicked back to the lock. "Yep."
"Are you sure?" she asked, the smile only widened.
He shakes his head and returns his attention to the lock to adjust one of the components with entirely unnecessary concentration.
"I'm fine."
"Mhm."
"I am."
"So why won’t you look at me?"
"Because."
Jimin laughed. "That's not an answer."
"It is an answer."
"It's a terrible answer."
His attention remained fixed firmly on the lock. Unfortunately for him, Jimin knew him far too well. Slowly, she crossed the room, the mattress dipping as she sat on the edge of the bed. Still he refused to look up.
"You're blushing."
"No I’m not."
"You are."
"I'm really not."
"You absolutely are."
"I’m a grown man."
"And?"
"I think you're imagining things."
"I think you're embarrassed because your girlfriend looks incredible."
He finally looked at her, for exactly one second before immediately looking away again. Eighteen months together had done absolutely nothing to prepare him for moments like this.
"Baby."
"Jimin."
"Look at me."
He sighed heavily, like she was asking him to disarm a bomb rather than make eye contact , then he looked up. This time, before he could look away, Jimin reached out and caught his chin.
"Hi."
His breath caught.
For a moment neither of them moved, then Jimin leaned in and kissed him. Soft. Familiar. Enough to make him forget entirely about the lock sitting in his lap.
When she pulled back, she was smiling.
"See?" she said. "That wasn't so hard."
"You're impossible."
Jimin looked pleased by that assessment. "I know."
She stole one final kiss before rising from the bed. The movement left the mattress bouncing gently beneath him as she smoothed invisible wrinkles from her dress.
"Try not to dismantle the entire hotel room while I'm gone."
"No promises."
She smiled in response and headed toward the door. Halfway there she paused.
"Baby?"
"Hm?"
"If anyone breaks in while I'm gone, shoot them."
"You know I don't carry a gun."
"Right." She thought for a second. "Hit them with a chair then."
The door closed before he could answer. For several seconds the room remained quiet. Then he smiled to himself and returned his attention to the lock.
The ballroom glittered beneath a forest of crystal chandeliers. Soft music drifted through the room, waiters circulated carrying champagne and canapés that cost more than most people spent on dinner. Opulence at its finest.
The kind of place designed to make rich people feel richer.
Jimin accepted a glass of champagne she had no intention of drinking and stepped into the crowd. Within thirty seconds she had been mistaken for: an investor, a diplomat, the mistress of a man she'd never met, and somebody's ex-wife.
She'd corrected none of them. After all, people were surprisingly willing to tell you things when they believed they already knew who you were.
After five minutes, she knew which guests were sleeping together. After ten, she knew who hated whom. And after fifteen? Well, she’d learnt that the chairman's son had a gambling problem and that the head of security was currently in the middle of a divorce.
Information, the useful kind. Maybe not immediately so, but it would be. Information always was.
The head of security’s name was Jakub Krejčí. Jimin learned that because people loved talking about him. Not to him. About him.
There was a difference.
Apparently Jakub had worked in private security for fifteen years. Apparently he was paranoid, meticulous and currently making everyone's life miserable. Apparently he hadn't smiled since his wife left him six months ago.
The divorce came up four separate times in the space of ten minutes.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Jimin took a slow sip of champagne while her eyes drifted across the ballroom. A man standing beside one of the entrances. Middle-aged, broad shoulders, expensive suit and a wedding ring still present despite the ongoing divorce.
Jakub Krejčí.
The head of security looked exactly how everyone had described him. Tired. Not physically, but something deeper than that. The sort of exhaustion people carried after discovering that money couldn't fix every problem.
His posture was rigid. Eyes constantly moving, watching guests, watching staff, watching every door.
Paranoid.
Good, paranoid people were often predictable. They looked for threats in all the obvious places.
Jimin took another sip of champagne. Across the room, Jakub Krejčí continued scanning the ballroom. Doors, exits, staff, guests, then back to doors again. Predictable, almost like a routine, an instinct.
The biggest misconception people who knew Jimin’s work was that they thought it was all based on charm. It wasn’t. Charm was easy. The difficult part is patience, timing. Most people wanted attention immediately. They approached too soon, talked too much, pushed too hard. Jimin preferred to let people make their own decisions. To let them think it was their own idea. The best kind of manipulation looked like coincidence. That was Jimin’s specialty.
Her gaze drifted away from Jakub deliberately. A mistake many amateurs made was staring, nobody liked being watched. Nobody liked feeling hunted. Not unless they never realised they were being hunted at all.
A waiter passed carrying a silver tray. Jimin recognised him instantly. Rafi. The suit fit him surprisingly well. His eyes met hers briefly, just for one second, nothing more. Years of practice condensed into a glance. All clear, no problems. Rafi moved on without breaking stride.
A minute later, Jakub Krejčí glanced in her direction for the first time. Jimin didn't acknowledge it. She was currently listening to an elderly businessman explain why modern architecture had no place in society. Something about glass buildings lacking soul, or history. Or maybe it was both.
Jimin smiled politely, asked the right questions, and let him continue his monologue. Outwardly, she appeared completely invested in the conversation. In reality, she was counting. Three seconds, five, eight. People who felt watched tended to look away quickly.
Jakub didn't.
Across the ballroom she spotted Jakub again. Watching, always watching. His attention lingered on her for half a second longer than everyone else. Good.
A few minutes later it happened once more. Human beings loved patterns, especially security professionals. Something about her had registered. Maybe it was the dress, maybe it was the fact she'd arrived alone, or maybe it was because she looked expensive enough to belong there while simultaneously being unfamiliar. Whatever the reason, she'd become a loose thread.
Now she simply had to wait for him to pull it.
A few minutes later, Jimin allowed the elderly businessman to finally exhaust himself.
"...and that's why every building constructed after the 1900s should be demolished."
"A compelling argument," Jimin said.
"It is?"
"No."
The man blinked. Jimin smiled pleasantly, touched his arm, and excused herself before he could recover.
Jimin wandered without any obvious destination. The trick was making it appear aimless. People noticed purpose, and that attracted attention. Near the far end of the ballroom, tall glass doors opened onto a balcony overlooking Prague. Perfect.
She stepped outside, the cold air hit her immediately. Not unpleasant, just sharp enough to cut through the warmth of the ballroom. She rested one hand against the stone railing and gazed out across the city lights.
Thirty seconds later she heard footsteps. Not rushed, but measured, confident. The kind that came from a man used to entering spaces he already controlled.
Jimin didn't turn around immediately.
The footsteps stopped beside her. Not too far, not too close. Professional, cautious. Exactly as advertised.
"Quite the view."
His voice was deeper than she'd expected.
Jimin smiled faintly. "I assume you're referring to the city."
A faint smile touched his mouth. "Of course."
"Good."
That caught him slightly off guard. "Good?"
Jimin finally turned toward him. "Most men open with something embarrassing."
He raised his eyebrow. "Such as?"
"'You're the most beautiful woman here.'"
"And that would be embarrassing?"
"It would be if it wasn't true."
For the first time all evening, Jakub laughed. Not much, but enough.
Jakub looked at her again. Not the quick glance most men gave attractive women, not the lingering stare either. Assessment. The kind security professionals spent years perfecting. Jimin recognised it immediately. He was trying to figure out who she was.
Good.
"Confident," he observed.
Men like Jakub always said that eventually. Not because a confident woman interested them, but because they were trying to determine whether it was genuine. Whether it could be dismantled.
"Mm, so I’ve been told."
Jakub studied her for a moment.
Most men responded to confidence in one of two ways. They either found it attractive or treated it like a challenge. Security professionals tended to favour the latter.
"And who told you that?"
"A variety of disappointed men."
His mouth twitched. "Disappointed?"
"They usually expect me to be less aware of what they're doing."
"And what am I doing?"
Jimin tilted her head slightly. "Trying to figure out whether I'm supposed to be here."
The honesty caught him off guard. Not because she'd accused him, but because she'd been correct.
Jakub laughed softly and rested his forearms against the balcony railing. "Occupational hazard."
"I imagine it would be."
For a moment neither of them spoke.
"You know," Jakub eventually said, breaking the silence, "most people come out here because they want to be alone."
Jimin's smile softened slightly. "That's certainly one possibility."
Jakub glanced sideways at her. "And the other?"
"I'm avoiding somebody."
"A boyfriend?"
She laughed. "Why does everyone always assume a boyfriend?"
"Because it's usually a boyfriend."
"Maybe I'm avoiding a wife."
Across the ballroom, Rafi nearly dropped an entire tray of champagne. Not visibly, of course. Years of practice prevented that. Internally, however, he was having a reaction.
Because Jakub Krejčí had smiled.
The head of security hadn't smiled once all evening. Not when investors attempted conversation, not when board members tried jokes, not even when a beautiful woman in a designer dress spent ten straight minutes very obviously flirting with him near the bar.
Nothing.
The man had spent the entire evening looking like he'd recently buried someone. But now? Now he was standing on the balcony laughing at something Jimin had said.
Rafi continued moving through the crowd, tray balanced effortlessly in one hand. Internally, however, he was witnessing the collapse of several deeply held beliefs. Because Jakub Krejčí had smiled. Not in a polite, professional way. But an actual smile.
Rafi glanced toward the balcony again. They were still there. Still talking, still smiling.
"What the fuck," he muttered beneath his breath.
The problem wasn't that Jimin was attractive. Sure, she was, very much so, but there were a lot of attractive people in the world. The problem was that Jimin had a smile. Not a smile. The smile.
The version of her smile people trusted instinctively. Warm, open, effortless. The smile that made strangers tell her secrets, convinced people she was harmless. The smile she'd spent years perfecting.
Rafi had watched it work on customs agents, police officers, hotel managers, executives, politicians, and once, somehow, a man who had literally been hired to investigate her.
It was less a facial expression and more a weapon.
A very pretty weapon, at that.
Unfortunately for Jakub Krejčí, he had absolutely no idea that he was currently standing in front of it.
Rafi watched as Jimin laughed softly at something the security chief said. Not a loud laugh, not the forced kind. Just enough to make a man feel clever, to make him want to hear it again.
"Oh, he's cooked," Rafi murmured.
—
Jakub's smile faded slowly. Not completely, but enough to become something smaller.
"That would certainly be a first."
Jimin laughed softly. "Would it?"
"Most people don't joke about avoiding their spouses."
"Most people are cowards."
His eyebrow lifted. "You don't strike me as married."
"Good."
"Good?"
She smiled into her champagne glass. "I'd hate to think I was giving off responsible energy."
That earned another laugh.
Better.
The first one had been polite surprise, but this one was genuine. Jimin filed that away.
People liked being the first person to laugh, the first person to make someone smile. It made them feel special. Seen, chosen, useful.
The conversation drifted naturally after that. Or at least naturally enough. Jakub spoke about Prague, Jimin let him.
People always revealed themselves eventually if given enough room. The mistake was thinking you had to ask the right questions. Sometimes all you had to do was listen. People were often very open if you didn’t interrupt.
After five minutes she knew which district he lived in, ten minutes in he’d talked about the restaurant he frequented every Wednesday. And after thirteen? She learned about the thing she'd actually come here for, the private elevator. An abundance of information without ever directly asking.
Jakub never realised that he’d made the comment. The schedule, the maintenance issue, the fact that security had temporarily rerouted access through a service corridor while repairs were completed.
Information rarely arrived looking important, it usually arrived disguised as complaints.
A voice crackled suddenly through the earpiece hidden beneath Jakub's collar. The effect was immediate, his posture straightened, the relaxed expression he’d been wearing vanished so quickly it was almost impressive.
"Excuse me."
Jimin watched him press a hand against his earpiece.
A pause.
Then:
"What do you mean missing?" he replied, jaw tightening. "No, don't call the police."
Another pause.
"I'm on my way."
The irritation in his voice suggested somebody was having a very bad evening.
Jimin lowered her champagne slightly. "Everything alright?"
Jakub exhaled through his nose, one part frustration, one part exhaustion.
"One of the guests appears to have misplaced a watch."
"A watch."
"A very expensive watch."
"Mhm."
"Apparently that distinction matters."
The corner of Jimin's mouth twitched.
Jakub rubbed a hand across his face. "Duty calls."
"A tragic ending."
His mouth twitched. "I'll try to recover."
"I'm sure you'll manage."
For a second he hesitated, not for long, but long enough for it to be obvious.
"You know, I never caught your name."
There it was, finally. Jimin smiled, not a warm one, but not a dangerous either. Something comfortably in between.
"That'd be because I never gave it."
Jakub laughed. "Are you always this difficult?"
"Only when I'm enjoying myself."
Jakub laughed again, quieter this time. "That sounds exhausting."
"So I've been told."
"Repeatedly?"
"Almost exclusively."
His smile lingered for a moment before he shook his head. "I should probably go deal with my missing watch."
"You should."
"And you're still not going to tell me your name."
Jimin tilted her champagne glass slightly. "Where's the fun in that?"
Jakub stared at her for a second before huffing out another laugh.
"You know, most people spend conversations trying to seem less suspicious."
"And yet here we are."
"Here we are indeed."
For a brief moment he looked as though he might say something else. Ask another question, push a little harder. Instead the voice crackled through his earpiece again. Whatever was said this time immediately erased the last traces of amusement from his face.
"Right," he muttered.
Jimin watched him straighten, professional again. The brief glimpse of something human disappearing beneath routine and responsibility.
"Good luck with the watch."
Jakub sighed. "Thank you, I have a feeling I'm going to need it."
Jimin smiled. "You probably will."
He gave her one last look before heading back toward the ballroom. The glass doors opened then closed. And just like that, he was gone.
Jimin waited. Five seconds, ten. Long enough to ensure he wouldn't glance back. Only then did she lift her champagne glass and casually brush two fingers against the stem. An action that’d be meaningless to everyone else, one that Rafi caught immediately.
Rafi's expression didn't change, neither did hers. Years of practice, of jobs, of conversations without words.
Message received. The route was open, the next phase could begin.
And somewhere in the ballroom, completely unaware of the role he'd just played in his own downfall, Jakub Krejčí was probably still thinking about the mysterious woman he'd met on the balcony.
Jimin smiled faintly then headed for the bar.
Her work here was done.
—
Four floors below the ballroom Keys sat cross-legged in front of a vault door worth more than most houses. A small penlight rested between his teeth while tools lay neatly arranged beside him. The vault itself looked intimidating, but not to him.
Jack’s voice crackled through his earpiece. "How’s it going, Keys?"
"Well, it's a German design," he eventually replied. He never really understood why that nickname had stuck. One bad joke from Jack eight years ago and apparently that was his entire identity now.
Keys.
As if he'd never done anything else.
"And that means?"
Keys adjusted the penlight between his teeth and peered into the exposed mechanism. "It means somebody got paid by the complication."
Jack sighed through the earpiece. "English, Keys, in English, please."
"It means the engineer responsible for this lock woke up one morning and decided simplicity was for cowards."
Across the comms, Rafi snorted.
"He's saying it's difficult."
Keys carefully removed a tiny brass component and placed it beside the others.
"Quite the opposite actually, I respect it."
"That doesn't sound good," Jack replied.
"No, it's fine."
The reassurance arrived far too quickly.
Jack immediately frowned. "Why did you say that like that?"
"Like what?"
"Like somebody standing in the middle of a burning building saying everything's under control."
Keys considered this. "That's a valid observation."
"How much time?"
"Ten minutes."
Jack relaxed slightly.
"Maybe fifteen."
Jack's eye twitched.
"Depends."
"Depends on what?"
He tilted his head, listening to the soft clicks hidden inside the mechanism. "Whether the secondary lock is real."
"What do you mean whether it's real?" asked Rafi.
"Sometimes manufacturers install fake mechanisms."
"Why?"
"To be assholes."
"That's not a real reason."
"It's the only one that makes sense."
A quiet chuckle crackled through the comms.
Jimin.
The sound arrived unexpectedly and immediately pulled a smile onto his face. For a brief second the ballroom, the vault, the timers and schedules and plans all disappeared.
Then the moment passed and his attention returned to the mechanism in front of him.
A tiny click sounded beneath his fingertips. "Aha."
"What?" asked Jack immediately.
"The fake lock."
Rafi groaned through the comms. "Oh, come on."
"I told you."
"Nobody installs fake locks."
"They most definitely do."
"Why?"
Keys carefully removed a thin brass plate from inside the mechanism. "Because engineers are deeply unhappy people. They need to get laid more."
No one replied, he paused, waiting for the inevitable objection. Nothing.
"...Tough crowd," he muttered.
He slid the brass plate aside and peered deeper into the mechanism. Most people imagined vaults as impossibly complicated machines, giant steel puzzles designed by geniuses. But most vaults weren't. Most vaults were simply layers of steel and laziness.
The trick wasn't forcing your way through, it was understanding the person who built it. Every lock told a story. This one told him several. German engineer, middle-aged, probably divorced, definitely arrogant.
A small click sounded beneath his fingertips making his smile widen. Beneath the false mechanism sat the actual locking assembly. Smaller, cleaner, far more elegant. Exactly where he'd expected it to be. Because engineers loved hiding things. And they loved being clever.
Unfortunately for them, clever people tended to leave fingerprints all over their work.
His hands moved carefully. Not quickly, never quickly. The difference between an amateur and a professional wasn't speed, it was confidence. Amateurs rushed. Professionals understood that a vault wasn't going anywhere.
The silence stretching through the comms told him everyone else had noticed the change. Jack had stopped talking, deciding to make his way down to the vault. Rafi had stopped joking. Even Jimin had gone quiet. They all recognised this version of him. The one that appeared whenever a lock stopped being a problem and started becoming a conversation.
Another click, then another. A sequence, a rhythm, a melody. One that made him close his eyes briefly. Listening, feeling, understanding.
As the mechanism shifted beneath his fingertips, a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"Oh, that's beautiful."
"What?" asked Jack immediately.
"The solution."
"Can you be less cryptic?"
"No."
Rafi and Jack groaned.
Slowly, carefully, he inserted a final tool into the mechanism. One turn, half a turn. A pause. Then-
CLUNK.
The vault door shifted. Not dramatically, there were no alarms or flashing lights. Just several tons of reinforced steel quietly acknowledging defeat.
He removed the penlight from between his teeth.
For a moment nobody spoke.
"I’ll be with you in thirty seconds," said Jack.
The vault door eased open another few inches, cold air drifted from inside.
Jack arrived twenty seconds later, breathing slightly harder than usual from taking the stairs.
His eyes immediately found the open door. "Show off."
"You say that every time."
"Because every time you act surprised when you're done before schedule."
Jack stepped past him and into the vault. Rows of deposit boxes lined the walls. Gold, documents, jewellery. Enough wealth to ruin generations of families. None of it mattered.
Jack's attention moved immediately toward the far wall. Box 427, smaller than expected. Grey steel, completely unremarkable. The sort of thing most people would walk past without noticing.
"That's it?"
"That's it," Jack replied.
For several seconds neither man moved.
Months of planning. Fake identities, bribed staff, surveillance, blueprints, risk. All for a metal box barely larger than a shoebox.
"You ever wonder what we're actually stealing?"
Jack removed a folded photograph from his pocket and compared the number.
427.
"Constantly."
"And?"
Jack looked at him. "I make it a point to not let curiosity win."
The answer didn't surprise him. Nobody hired crews like theirs to steal things they wanted people asking questions about.
Jack crouched beside the box. "Can you open it?"
"Jack."
"Right. Stupid question."
"Extremely."
The first sign something was wrong came seven minutes after the van left the premises. Nobody said it aloud at first, the roads remained clear. No sirens, no pursuit, no checkpoints.
Nothing.
The crew had already crossed the river when Rafi's voice suddenly cut through the silence.
"...Guys."
Nobody liked that tone.
"What?" asked Jack.
Rafi stared at one of the tracking feeds on his tablet. "The building’s locked down."
The atmosphere inside the van changed immediately.
"How locked down?" Eli asked, his grip on the wheel tightening slightly.
Rafi didn't answer immediately, which was never a good sign.
"Rafi," Jack repeated.
"Full lockdown."
Eli's hands had now become white by how tight he was gripping the steering wheel. "Define full."
"They’ve sealed every exit."
The van fell silent.
Rafi zoomed in on one of the camera feeds. "Main entrance. Side entrances. Service entrances. Everything."
"Police?" Jack asked.
"No."
That got everyone's attention.
"No police?" Eli repeated.
Rafi shook his head. "No police."
Jack leaned forward slightly. "Are you sure?"
"I'm looking directly at the security feeds."
The tablet illuminated Rafi's face in pale blue light.
"Just the original private security, maybe more. Nobody's calling the police."
Silence settled heavily inside the van, that was wrong. Very, very wrong. If management discovered a theft, they called the police. If they suspected a robbery, they called the police. If they found an open vault, they definitely called the police.
But they hadn't.
"What are they doing?" Jack eventually asked.
Rafi zoomed in further. "They're searching."
"Searching for what?"
Nobody answered, because everyone already knew. Them.
The comms crackled.
Jimin.
For the first time since the job began, there was no amusement in her voice.
"They know."
The van fell silent.
Jack looked down immediately. "How badly?"
A long pause followed, one that made everyone in the van uncomfortable. Eventually, she spoke again.
"Badly."
The answer landed like a brick.
Eli swore quietly. "What happened?"
"I’m not sure."
Nobody believed her. Jimin always knew. Which meant whatever she'd figured out wasn't good.
In the background they could hear noise, footsteps, voices. Doors opening and closing.
She was still inside. The realization hit all of them simultaneously.
"Jimin," said Jack carefully. "Where are you?"
Another pause.
"Still in the building."
Up until that point, he’d been quiet. But when he heard that, his head snapped up "What?"
Nobody missed the immediate change in his voice. Not Jack, not Eli, not Rafi. And especially not Jimin.
"I'm fine."
"Why are you still there?"
"I'm working on it."
The response only made him more anxious. Because Jimin never said things like that. Not during jobs. Not ever. Not when everything was under control.
Rafi stared at the tablet. The lockdown was spreading, more security arriving, more doors closing, more people moving.
The entire hotel looked like somebody had kicked an anthill.
"Jimin."
This time Jack sounded less like a leader and more like a man trying to understand a rapidly deteriorating situation.
"Can you get out?"
Another pause, that lasted too long. Far too long.
"Maybe."
Nobody liked that answer, not one bit.
"Maybe?"
"I'm assessing."
"You hate assessing."
"I know."
That made everything worse, because he was right. Jimin never assessed, she just knew. Always.
The comms crackled again. When Jimin spoke again, her voice sounded different. Focused, sharp, dangerously calm.
"You guys should keep driving."
Nobody moved, nobody spoke. Even Eli's hands froze on the wheel.
Jack frowned. "What?"
"You heard me."
The silence stretched.
"Jimin," Jack said carefully.
"No."
The interruption was immediate, firm, absolute. No room for arguments.
"No heroics. No detours. No discussions."
His stomach dropped. Because suddenly it sounded like a goodbye, and Jimin didn't do goodbyes.
She continued before anyone could interrupt. "The package is secure."
"Jimin-"
"The package is secure."
Jack closed his mouth. The message wasn't for him, it was for the mission. For the crew, for the months of work they'd put into this, for the thing sitting inside the toolbox.
"You keep driving."
Keys leaned forward. "No, Jimin, no."
Everyone looked at him, his eyes never left the radio.
"No."
A brief silence, then Jimin laughed softly. Not her usual laugh. This one was different. Smaller, tighter.
"Baby."
"No."
The word came out harsher this time.
"Tell me where you are."
Another long pause.
"I love you."
The van went completely silent. Jimin never said things like that during jobs.
"Jimin."
Static answered.
Then the comm clicked. Dead. Gone. Silence.
For several seconds nobody spoke. The only sound was the engine, the road beneath the tires, the faint hiss of empty comms channels.
"Let me out."
Eli turned to look at him. "What?"
"Let. Me. Out," he choked out, already reaching for the door handle.
And for the first time since the crew had formed, the man who was always the calmest in the room looked genuinely terrified.
The hotel had become a living organism.
Security moved through corridors in coordinated groups. Doors that had stood open all evening were now locked. Staff clustered together whispering nervously. Somewhere upstairs, somebody was undoubtedly having the worst night of their professional career.
Jimin moved through the chaos without attracting attention. A different outfit, hair pinned and a staff access card hanging from her neck that absolutely did not belong to her. The trick wasn't avoiding attention, it was looking like you belonged wherever you happened to be. People rarely questioned confidence.
A security team hurried past the intersection ahead. Jimin slowed slightly and waited, counting. One, two, three. Then she continued walking.
The lockdown was irritating, but manageable. Security was focused inward rather than outward. They were searching for a crew of professional thieves. The problem was that nobody actually knew what the crew looked like. Not really.
She'd be out within fifteen minutes. Twenty, tops.
A voice crackled through a radio somewhere nearby, Jimin ignored it. Another corridor, another turn, another route. Simple, predictable.
Then she heard footsteps. Not unusual, except they were moving toward her. Fast.
Jimin glanced up and stopped. For one long second she simply stared. Absolutely fucking not.
The man standing at the opposite end of the corridor looked equally frozen. Toolbox gone, maintenance jacket missing, dark hair dishevelled and breathing harder than he should have been. Because he wasn't supposed to be here, he was supposed to be halfway across Prague. She had very specifically told him not to do this.
For a moment they stared at each other in silence. Silence eventually broken by Jimin.
"What the fuck are you doing here?"
His shoulders visibly relaxed. Relief, actual relief. The sight somehow made her even angrier. Pure, violent, unreasonable rage.
"There you are."
"There I-" Jimin cut herself off before saying something she knew she’d live to regret.
"You came back?"
He blinked. "Obviously."
"Obviously?"
Her voice rose an entire octave. "Obviously?"
Several things happened simultaneously. First, he realised she was furious. Second, Jimin realised she was furious too. Third, a security guard appeared around the corner behind him. Moving toward them too deliberately, too directly. Years of instinct immediately screamed danger.
The man reached inside his jacket. Everything happened at once. Jimin moved first. Years of instinct screamed the same thing simultaneously. Weapon.
The security guard's hand emerged gripping a knife. Not a gun, a knife. Which somehow made it worse.
The corridor exploded into motion. The guard lunged, and Jimin watched her boyfriend freeze for half a second. Not from fear, but surprise. Because people weren't supposed to pull knives in luxury hotels. They weren't supposed to be here. None of this was supposed to be happening.
Jimin moved without thinking. One step, two, she shoved him out of the way. Then came the impact. White-hot pain exploded through her side as the knife buried itself in her.
For a second nobody moved, nobody breathed. The guard looked shocked. Her boyfriend looked horrified. Jimin looked down, then back up.
"Oh."
The word escaped before she could stop it.
The security guard recovered first.
Big mistake.
Because the second Jimin realised she'd been stabbed, every remaining ounce of patience vanished. The man's hand was still wrapped around the knife, trying to pull it out.
The moment he touched her again, something inside Jimin snapped. Something colder, cleaner possessed her. Like a switch had been flipped. The world narrowed, the pain stopped mattering. The only thing that existed was the man who had tried to stab her boyfriend.
The guard suddenly found himself staring into the eyes of a woman who no longer looked human. No fear, no shock, no hesitation. Just a smile. One he’d never seen on another human before.
The security guard's wrist snapped with a sound that made even her boyfriend flinch, his scream echoing through the corridor. The knife clattered to the floor, and for a brief second nobody moved.
Then the guard reached for something inside his jacket. Another mistake. Jimin slammed him into the wall. The impact cracked plaster. The man's head struck concrete with a dull sound before he collapsed bonelessly onto the floor.
The violence lasted perhaps three seconds. Maybe four. By the end of it, the guard was unconscious.
The corridor fell silent.
For several long seconds, neither of them moved. Jimin stood perfectly still. Blood soaked steadily through the side of her uniform.
The knife wound burned, but her breathing remained steady, her expression remained blank.
"Jimin."
She looked up.
His eyes immediately dropped to the blood, back to her face, then back to the blood. Like he was trying to convince himself he'd imagined it.
Unfortunately, he hadn't.
"Please don't do that." His voice cracked.
"What?"
"That thing."
"What thing?"
"The thing where you act like being stabbed is an inconvenience rather than an emergency."
Jimin looked down at herself. "Well, it is mildly inconvenient."
His expression suggested he might actually strangle her.
"Baby, stop looking at me like that."
"I'm looking at you like you've been stabbed."
"Well, yes, I guess that’s factual."
"Jimin."
"What?"
She glanced down. Blood continued soaking steadily through the side of her stolen uniform.
"Huh."
His eye twitched. "Huh?"
"Well when you say it like that, it does sound slightly concerning."
"SLIGHTLY?"
The volume of his voice echoed down the corridor.
Jimin winced. "Could you maybe not yell? There are still security teams looking for us."
"You got stabbed."
"You keep mentioning that."
"Because you got stabbed because of ME!"
The words echoed down the corridor and for a moment neither of them moved.
Jimin stared at him, really stared. At the panic in his eyes, at the way his hands were shaking, at the blood he'd immediately noticed before anything else. At the fact he'd come back.
The anger she'd felt when she first saw him was already fading, replaced by something far more dangerous. Affection.
God, she loved this fucking idiot.
"Yeah," she said.
His expression twisted. "Jimin-"
"I know."
"No, I don't think you do."
"I do."
Blood continued dripping slowly onto the floor between them.
He looked seconds away from a complete breakdown. "You could have died."
The words came out rough. Not angry, but terrified.
Jimin's gaze softened. "I know."
"Then why would you do that?"
For a second she looked genuinely confused by the question. "Because it was you, baby."
Silence.
His face somehow got worse, as though that answer had hurt more than any other.
"Jimin."
"If it happened again, I'd do it again."
The corridor went completely still. She didn't say it dramatically, didn't say it like a confession. Just a simple statement of fact.
"If it happened a hundred times," she continued, "I'd do it a hundred times."
"Jimin, you can't just-"
"I love you."
For a moment neither of them moved, the corridor felt impossibly quiet. Somewhere in the distance, voices echoed through the hotel. Security teams. Radios. Footsteps. But none of it seemed particularly important.
His eyes remained fixed on her. On the blood, on the knife wound. On her.
"I love you too," he said finally.
The words left him rougher than usual.
Jimin smiled. Not the smile she used on targets or on strangers. Just hers, small and genuine. One reserved for him.
"There you are."
His expression immediately soured. "Don't."
"Don't what?"
"Get stabbed and then start acting cute."
"Those feel unrelated."
"They're extremely related."
Despite everything, despite the blood soaking through her uniform and the unconscious guard on the floor, Jimin laughed. The sound made something unclench in his chest.
"Come on," he muttered, stepping closer. "Let's get you out of here."
Jimin glanced down at the spreading stain on her side. "That's probably a good idea."
"Probably?"
"Moderately good."
He closed his eyes. "Jimin."
"Sorry."
"You are absolutely not sorry."
"Not at all."
He sighed heavily and wrapped an arm around her waist. Immediately she leaned into him. Not because she needed the support, but because she wanted it. Together they started down the corridor. Behind them, the mess they’d created was becoming somebody else's problem.
When they finally reached the van, nobody spoke. Not when Jimin climbed in with blood soaking through her stolen uniform, and not when he followed behind her, one arm locked around her waist like he could physically keep death away if he held tightly enough.
Not even when Eli looked at the blood, then at him, and realised with cold certainty that this was exactly what he had been afraid of.
Jimin smiled weakly.
"Good news," she said. "I found the exit."
Eli stared at her. "You got stabbed."
"People keep saying that."
And that was when Eli decided for the first time that love had no place in their line of work.
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