Chapter Text
---
Han adjusts the focus on his binoculars, the cold metal pressing against his brow as he zeroes in on the office from the building across the street. The lights flick on---right on schedule. A moment later, Lee Minho strides into the room.
Han tracks every movement---Minho shrugging off his suit jacket, the fluid roll of his shoulders, the way he casually drapes the jacket over the back of his chair. He rolls his sleeves up to his elbows, exposing strong forearms corded with muscle and prominent veins.
Han gulps.
He watches as Lee Minho runs a hand through his hair before pulling out his chair and sitting down. Watches the way the muscles of his back shift beneath the crisp material of his shirt.
He lowers the binoculars with a grimace. God, this man is unfairly attractive.
Too bad he has to kill him.
A few weeks ago, their organination was commissioned to assassinate Lee Minho---the infamous crazed murder rabbit of the Stray pack. Rumor has it that the amount of blood he's spilled could fill up an ocean. He's the right hand man of Christopher Bang, one of the most influential alphas in the country and leader of the pack that owns the largest territory in Korea.
They used to hold only a small territory, but over the past five years, they've been initiating multiple territory wars against other packs. Territory wars aren't uncommon, but the Stray pack has been attacking every border they can reach. It's almost as if they plan to swallow the entire country whole.
And at the forefront of this operation is Lee Minho. He's the one planning and overseeing the raids. It seems the idea was his; apparently, Christopher Bang initially opposed it, but eventually gave Minho full authority over the project.
And Minho has been relentless and brutal in his approach. He hits fast, hits hard, hits everywhere at once. Packs that once boasted centuries of dominance have crumbled overnight, their territories absorbed into Stray's expanding borders. In the five years of his campaign, Lee Minho haven't lost a single territory war.
And Han is supposed to kill him.
…Riiiight. No pressure.
Han sighs as he goes back to watching Lee Minho. It's not that he doubts his own skill---despite not being the best at close combat, Han is a damn good sniper. He never misses a shot. The problem is, even if he did manage to kill Lee Minho, the rest of his pack would surely come after him.
The Stray pack is different from other packs. Most packs that hold their own territory are large, made up of the pack leader's family and extended relatives. After all, the larger the pack, the more support and power they have. But the Stray pack consists of only seven people. Normally, a pack that small would be subordinate to a larger one. It's completely unheard of for them to control a territory of their own.
But Lee Minho isn't the only monster in the Stray pack. Every one of them is an elite fighter in their own right. In fact, two of the pack's current members used to be part of a famous assassin unit called the 3Racha. The 3Racha almost dismantled the Numbers---the very organization Han is currently a part of. His "pack," if you could even call it that. The Numbers is composed of hundreds of assassins, so if 3Racha nearly took them down, then they must be terrifyingly strong and competent.
Han really wish they had succeeded.
Because if he completes this mission, he'll probably die.
But if he doesn't… he'll definitely die.
He sighs as he continues observing Lee Minho for the next few hours, tracking every movement until Minho finally stands and stretches, his shirt pulling taut across his back. Han nearly drools. Damn it. He can't believe he's getting rid of such an eye candy. It feels like a crime to kill one of God's finest creations on earth.
Well, to be fair, it is a crime in most territories to kill someone.
But unfortunately, Han has a job to do and a life to live.
---
Minho sat at the desk of his home office, reviewing the documents that had piled up over the week. Even when he's at home, Minho is drowning in paperwork. After all, having a large territory requires a lot of work. He sighed as he signed another one.
He needs a break.
He pushed the rest of the documents aside, stretching and rolling his shoulders. His eyes drifted to a picture of a smiling boy on his desk. Minho picked up the frame, tracing the boy's features with his fingers.
"Where are you, jagi?" he murmured as he traced his smile.
It's been five years since Jisung went missing. Five years since Minho last saw that smile in person. During those years, Minho had been busy waging war against the world---swallowing up other packs' territories so he could broaden his search without being confined by another territory's law.
Minho's gaze returned to the stack of documents on his desk, and he let out a soft chuckle.
"Look at what you did to me. I'm buried in work," he said, glancing back at the photo with a smile. "Come back and help with all this paperwork."
But the boy in the picture did not answer. His smile slowly dropped as the silence stretched. The familiar sting gathered behind his eyes. He blinked a few times, trying to get rid of the feeling.
Minho refuse to cry. He refuse to break down. If he started crying, he wouldn't be able to stop---wouldn't be able to pull himself back together. He would drown in his own tears, and Minho can't afford that.
Minho can't afford even a moment of weakness. Somewhere out there, Jisung is waiting to be found. He needs to be strong in order find him.
Minho's nose twitched as the scent of jasmine with a hint of tobacco drifted through the air.
He set Jisung's picture down, carefully straightening the frame on his desk just as the door opened. Hyunjin stepped inside, a thick stack of documents held against his chest.
"Hey, hyung. I brought more work," Hyunjin grinned as he walked toward Minho's desk. Minho made a face at him but didn't say anything.
"We've finished investigating the residents of the newly acquired territory," Hyunjin said, placing the documents in front of Minho. "Iyen-ah and I split the work. Anyone who seemed suspicious has been brought in for questioning. He's handling them now."
Minho hummed in acknowledgment, already flipping through the papers. They were registration forms---names, pack affiliations, dates of entry. He opened one at random, skimming it as Hyunjin continued speaking.
"There were also several residents who evacuated without completing an exit interview," Hyunjin added, hesitating for just a fraction of a second. "We already sent people after them."
Minho's hand paused.
"Now, how did that happen?" he asked, his voice deceptively calm.
Hyunjin swallowed, rubbing his palms together. His scent shifted, a note of fear creeping in beneath the familiar jasmine-and-tobacco mix. He'd known Minho for years now---knew that he adored him and cherished their friendship---but Hyunjin still got nervous whenever the older alpha was angry.
Well, to be fair, Minho had beaten him half to death the first time they met, after Hyunjin tried to steal from him.
"The checkpoint at the western exit got overwhelmed," Hyunjin explained quickly. "Too many people tried to leave at once. A few managed to slip through before we could stabilize the situation."
Minho stared at him as Hyunjin fidgeted under his gaze. After a moment, Minho blinked and exhaled slowly through his nose.
"And?" he asked. "Have you found any of them yet?"
"We already have a list of everyone who escaped," Hyunjin replied immediately. "We're tracking them down."
"Good. Make sure to drag them all back here." He wasn't letting anyone escape---especially not when there was even a slight possibility they were involved in Jisung's disappearance.
Minho closed the file he had been reading. "And tell Changbin to double the security around tomorrow's meeting location," he continued, tapping his finger on the table. "With Chan-hyung attending, they might try something. Check every possible vantage point. They could have snuck a sniper in."
Hyunjin nodded without question.
The leading pack they were currently at war with had surrendered far too easily. Minho didn't believe for a second that they wouldn't try anything---especially with Chan attending the meeting.
Minho leaned back in his chair and looked at Hyunjin. "Get some rest, Hyunjin-ah. Tomorrow's going to be a long day."
Hyunjin gave a tired smile. "You too, hyung."
Minho watched him leave, the door clicking shut behind him. He stared at the door for a while before he let out a quiet sigh.
He should turn in for the night as well.
Minho stood up, the chair scraping softly against the floor. He paused, his gaze drifting back to the photo on his desk.
Jisung's smile looked just as warm as it always had.
"Goodnight, Jisungie."
---
After a long day of espionage, Han climbs through the window of the abandoned building he's been squatting in and immediately flops onto his makeshift bed---which is, quite literally, just a blanket on a dusty floor.
He kicks off his shoes with a groan and wrinkles his nose. The place smells like musty, stale air and dust. He's been sleeping here for almost a week now. Usually, the Numbers provide accommodations for drawn-out missions, but security in Stray pack's territory is tight. They couldn't get someone inside beforehand to secure a safehouse.
Han barely managed to get in himself. If it weren't for the fact that the Stray pack recently acquired a new territory, he wouldn't have stood a chance. He slipped in during the chaos of people and their packs scrambling to evacuate or register under the new leadership before they build a wall around the entire area.
He pushes himself into a sitting position, shrugging off his jacket and loosening his belt to get more comfortable. God, he wish he could've just booked a hotel. But that requires a visitor pass, and to get one, he would've had to go through proper screening at the main gate before registering in the pack hall.
Under normal circumstances, that wouldn't have been an issue. Han has several fake identities, all high quality with perfectly crafted backgrounds. But the Numbers were adamant that he not register in the pack hall. Probably afraid he'd be recognized or traced back to the organization---even though Han's face isn't known to anyone except his handler.
But the Numbers is paranoid. The organization has largely avoided the Stray pack over the past few years, despite the several assassination requests they've received---probably because they were afraid of antagonizing the former members of 3Racha. Which honestly, given what happened in the past, was smart.
But it seems like whoever made the request this time wasn't someone they could ignore. And because God hates him, they were very adamant about having Han handle it.
Han sighs. Unfortunately, he only has himself to blame for that. He's currently the Number 1 assassin in the organization---and it's not because he's the best assassin they have. It's because he tends to pick targets that are easy to handle but have high bounties. Usually those spoiled members of leading packs who have grown way too comfortable in power, thinking no one can touch them. Powerful people who believe they can wander around without checking their surroundings and not end up with a sniper's bullet through their skull.
Usually, if no one specifically requests you, you can pick your own jobs. But if someone does request you, you can't refuse.
Well, technically you can, but that usually means certain death.
Han's thoughts are interrupted by a vibration in his pocket. He pulls out his phone. An alarm---reminding him to take his medicine.
He sighs again as he scrambles toward his backpack and pulls out a small box containing a syringe and a tiny bottle filled with clear liquid. He rolls up his sleeve, takes out the syringe, and fills it slowly, watching the clear liquid climb up the barrel. He flicks it once it's full.
This. This is why nobody can refuse.
Every member of the organization has poison running through their veins---undetectable, incurable. Only the Numbers can provide the antidote. And the "antidote" isn't even a cure; it just controls the symptoms and delays the worst of them. You have to take it once a month---basically a monthly subscription that keeps you alive.
Han grits his teeth as he injects himself, watching the clear liquid disappear into his skin. He lets out a small, involuntary sound as he pulls the needle out, then tosses the used syringe across the room. He throws his head back until it hits the wall with a dull thunk.
He really hates taking the medicine.
He hates pain.
He hates needles.
And he really, really hates his job.
He remembers what happened the one time he forgot to take the antidote on time---the searing heat burning under his skin, the stomach cramps so intense it felt like someone was stabbing and twisting his insides. His neck had swollen so badly it felt like he was choking. The very air had felt heavy, suffocating. His whole body had been hot, like someone was cooking him alive from the inside.
Han shudders at the memory. Fortunately, he managed to inject himself before it escalated into something worse.
Han sighs---for what feels like the thousandth time today. He crawls toward his blanket and curls up. He needs to sleep. He has an early day tomorrow.
Tomorrow, Lee Minho will be meeting with another leading pack for a territory handover. This time, the pack didn't put up much of a fight. After only two days, they surrendered.
Lee Minho would be in an open space tomorrow, which is exactly the opportunity Han needs. He had checked out the meeting place earlier---there was a building nearby with a perfect vantage point overlooking the area.
It had been nearly impossible to find a chance to kill Lee Minho. The windows in Stray's pack hall are all bulletproof, and Lee Minho is never seen entering or leaving the building. Their pack den might be inside the hall, or they might have a hidden exit somewhere. Han's money is on the latter. Packs usually don't like having foreign scents lingering around their den, and if they can afford it, they'll always keep the den in a more secluded, well-hidden place.
Han could simply walk into the pack hall pretending to be a civilian trying to fix his documents. But Han is not good at close combat, and he's not about to put himself in a situation where he has to fight in close quarters. He'd trip over his own feet before he can even manage to throw a punch. He'd be dead before the fight even started---especially if he was fighting Lee Minho.
Lee Minho, with his muscular arms and thick thighs. Yeah… he looks like someone who could throw Han around---
Han shakes his head. Nope. Bad thoughts. Go away. You're literally going to kill him tomorrow.
He shuts his eyes firmly, determined to get some much-needed sleep.
---
The next day, Han woke up feeling like he'd been run over by a truck, every inch of his body aching from a night spent on a cold concrete floor. He yawned, rubbing at his eyes. He hates getting up early, but he needed to reach the meeting site and get into position before everything started.
The sun was already high in the sky by the time he moved into place, heat bearing down on him mercilessly. He can feel the sweat trickling down the back of his neck. Han tugged at his mask, feeling slightly suffocated as it clung uncomfortably to his face.
God. He can't wait for this to be over.
Han crawled into position at the edge of the rooftop and pulled his rifle close, steady hands moving out of habit as he set it up. He lay flat on his stomach, elbows braced, cheek pressed to the stock. He adjusted the angle until everything came sharply into focus.
Below, the leading pack of the neighboring territory waited in an open space, their tension obvious even from afar as they moved restlessly and glanced nervously at one another.
Minutes passed before a row of black cars finally rolled into view.
The Stray pack has finally arrived.
Han's finger hovered near the trigger as he watched one of the guards step out first, scanning the area, before opening the car door. Lee Minho emerged---and fuck, even through the scope, he looks beautiful. Han closed his eyes briefly, mourning the future loss of such beauty.
Did he mention he hates job?
Right after Minho came their pack alpha---Christopher Bahng.
And whoa.
Even at this distance, his aura is no joke. So that is the pack leader of one of the largest territory in Korea---the one who would come after his head once he kills Lee Minho. Han shivered as he watched the alpha exchange polite greetings with the leader of the opposing territory.
---and then his gaze slid back to Minho.
…Who was already looking straight at him.
Han flinched.
What?
There was no way Minho could see him from this far. Sure, alphas have sharper senses than other sub-genders, but this? Han doubted Minho could even make out his shape. Was he just being paranoid?
Heart pounding, Han looked through the scope again.
Minho was still staring directly in his direction, one hand raised to the device in his ear, muttering urgently.
The gunshot came a split second later.
Han didn't have time to react. Pain exploded through his shoulder as the bullet struck. He gasped, scrambling upright, his hands flying to the wound as white-hot agony tore through him. He looked up just in time to spot two figures on the opposite building.
One of them was holding a rifle---aimed right at him.
Fuck. He got caught.
Another shot rang out. The bullet whistled past his head, tearing through the fabric of his mask and grazing his cheek.
"Fuck. Shit---fuck, fuck, fuck."
Han scrambled to his feet, his rifle clattering uselessly on the ground. Ignoring the agony tearing through his shoulder, he turned and ran, boots slamming against concrete as shot after shot chased the shadow of his retreating form.
---
"Oops. I missed." Jeongin clicked his tongue, flashing Hyunjin a wide smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
Hyunjin rolled his eyes fondly, smiling back. They both knew the younger alpha hadn't missed---not really. Jeongin just like the chase.
After all, he learned from the best.
Hyunjin's smile softened, turning a little sad. Jisung would have been proud if he could see Jeongin now.
He was about to retort when Minho's voice filtered sharply through the intercom.
"Quit playing around, you two."
Hyunjin grimaced at the unmistakable anger in his tone. Fuck. He was definitely getting scolded later.
He peered down at the scene below, where Minho was already barking orders, guards surrounding the leading pack of the opposing territory and forcing them to their knees in front of Chan.
Chan walked up beside Minho and squeezed his shoulder, his gentle voice crackling through the intercom. "Relax, Minho-ya. I don't think they have anything to do with the sniper."
He turned his attention to the trembling men kneeling before him, smiling pleasantly. "You wouldn't betray our trust like that, right? Surely you value your lives more than that."
"Yes! No---please, we have nothing to do with this!" the opposing pack leader cried. "Please, let us go!"
Chan hummed, his smile slowly fading. 'Well, we'll find out soon enough." He tapped his earpiece. "Changbin-ah, can you hear me?"
"Yeah. I'm already on his tail," Changbin huffed through the intercom. "Fuck, this bastard's fast."
"Capture him alive," Chan said calmly. "We need him to tell us whether our little friends here will survive another day." Chan gave Minho a light pat on the shoulder. "Minho-ya, go ahead and assist him. I can handle things here."
Minho nodded and turned immediately, barking orders as a few guards followed him.
"Don't kill him, okay?!" Chan shouted after him.
Hyunjin watched as Minho completely ignored that and sprinted off to assist Changbin.
"Ooooh, good thing I didn't kill him right away."
Hyunjin startled as Jeongin's breath brushed the back of his neck. He turned around, his nose filling with the scent of freshly baked bread and toasted coffee beans.
Suddenly, his mouth felt very dry.
For reasons he refused to examine, he couldn't look Jeongin in the eyes---so his gaze dropped instead.
To Jeongin's chest.
…Which has gotten really big these past few months.
Huh.
"Hyung?"
Hyunjin licked his lips, placed a hand on Jeongin's chest, patted it a few times, then shoved him away. "Yeah. Lucky." He cleared his throat. "Let's go help them out. Gotta earn some brownie points so Minho-hyung doesn't kill us later."
"Minho-hyung would never hurt me."
Hyunjin snorted, ruffling Jeongin's hair. "Fucking maknae privilege."
---
Han's feet thumped against the pavement as he ran, his footsteps echoing loudly through the parking lot. His chest burned, lungs struggling to draw in air as he weaved through the maze of parked cars. The gunshot wound in his shoulder ached viciously, pain flaring every time he moved.
His head swam from blood loss, dizziness creeping in at the edges of his vision---but he didn't stop.
He couldn't.
Not when he could hear the heavy footsteps of someone pounding after him.
Fuck.
He forgot Minho wasn't like his other targets. Not some spoiled rich kid riding on his pack's coattails. Of course Minho would sweep the area for snipers first.
And Han---stupid, fucking Han---had chosen the most obvious and convenient vantage point in the area.
He risked a glance over his shoulder and grimaced.
The buff man barreled after him like a charging bull, muscles straining as he tore through the parking lot. Fuck, he looks terrifying. Han was lucky the guy had short legs. He really, really didn't want to get caught by him.
The man looked like he could fold Han in half---and not in the fun, sexy way.
Smack!
As Han rounded a corner, something slammed into the side of his head. His vision exploded into stars as he stumbled, crashing hard onto his back. Pain detonated throughout his body, stealing the breath from his lungs.
Blinking through the haze, he looked up.
A man stood over him, a baseball bat gripped loosely in his hands, looking down at him with a neutral expression.
:Nice! Seungmin-ah!" the short buff man cheered, slowing to a jog as he approached. He paused, hands on his hips, sucking in a deep breath. "Woooh, you really gave me quite a workout there."
Fuck.
Han tried to get up, but his body screamed in protest---his back, his head, his shoulder. Fuck---everything hurt.
The man with the bat---Seungmin---wrinkled his nose as the buff man slung an arm around his shoulders. He pinched his nose, trying to shove him away. "Let go of me! You're sweaty---and you smell like a fucking alpha!:
"That's because I am an alpha, you big baby!" the other man laughed, barely budging as he grabbed the hand pushing him away and made exaggerated kissy faces. "Now let Changbin-hyung reward you with a kiss for doing such a good job!"
"Fuck off, hyung!" Seungmin shrieked.
While the two men were distracted, Han rolled onto his stomach with a hiss and started to crawl away.
Shit. Everything hurts---but if they caught him, everything would hurt even more. They'll definitely torture him to get information on who hired him.
"Hey---Hey! Where do you think you're going?" the buff man---Changbin---exclaimed.
Strong hands grabbed Han's waist, effortlessly lifting him off the ground. Han immediately started thrashing.
"What the fuck---stay still, man!" Changbin snapped.
Han thrashed harder. "Let me go!" he hissed.
At the sound of his voice, Changbin's grip loosened. Han twisted free, staggering forward. He nearly collapsed again but forced himself upright, limping away as one hand clutched his bleeding shoulder. Nausea curled in his gut, his head spinning violently from the injury and blood loss.
A hand caught his arm.
"Wait---Ji---?"
Han didn't let him finish.
He yanked the knife from his leg holster and swung back blindly. The blade caught skin---just barely---nicking the man's neck as he dodged.
"Hyung!"
Changbin froze, eyes wide, a hand flying to his throat. The cut was shallow---barely more than a scratch---but he stared at Han as if he'd taken a fatal blow.
"Hyung---what? Hey! You okay?" Seungmin rushed over, grabbing Changbin's hand away from his throat and inspecting the wound. When he saw how minor it was, he scoffed. "Why the fuck are you acting like that? I thought he managed to slit your throat!"
Seungmin kept fussing, but Changbin didn't respond.
He just stared wide-eyed at Han.
Like he'd seen a ghost.
The fuck?
Han staggered back, turned, and tried to run again.
Then promptly crashed straight into someone.
The impact sent him sprawling onto the ground once more. This time, he didn't managed to get up. The world spun violently, his vision swimming as darkness crept in at the edges.
"What the fuck are you two doing?" a harsh growl snapped. "Are you all here just to play around?"
A boot came down on Han's wounded shoulder.
Hard.
"This little bitch almost managed to escape. And you two have the guts to keep fooling around?"
It twisted.
Han swallowed a scream, hands scrambling desperately at the leg of the person pinning him down. Fuck---shit---it hurt. It hurt so bad---
"No! Minho-hyung! Stop!"
Tears streamed down Han's cheeks as a whimper escaped him, fingers clutching at the foot grinding into his injury.
Then---suddenly---
The pressure was gone.
Voices erupted around him, urgent and panicked. A trembling hand tugged gently at his mask, pulling it away from his face. Han gasped desperately as cool air rushed over his skin.
Everything was blurry.
Sounds were muffled and distant---like he was sinking underwater.
Then, through the fog clouding his mind, a soft, trembling voice cut through.
"Jisung?"
The world faded into darkness.