Unseen Allies
The room was heavy with silence. Not the calm kind, but the brittle, crackling kind that filled the air right before something shattered.
Chan stood by the table, hands clenched at his sides, breathing hard through his nose. His voice was low, but laced with barely restrained frustration. “You’re telling me now? A whole week, Bin. A week.”
Seungmin stood stiffly near the window, arms crossed, eyes avoiding Chan’s. Changbin sat on the edge of the couch, shoulders hunched forward, the guilt practically written across his face.
“I know,” Changbin muttered. “I know. I should’ve said something. But I didn’t want to panic everyone before I figured out if it was legit or not.”
“That wasn’t your call to make,” Chan snapped, pacing the floor now. “If there’s a group out there threatening us—threatening Jisung—you don’t sit on that kind of information. Especially not after everything we’ve been through.”
Seungmin finally looked up, his voice quieter but firm. “We weren’t trying to keep it from you to be careless. I caught him digging into restricted files late at night. I didn’t know about the letter until then either.”
Chan stopped pacing and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to reel himself in. “I’m not mad because you were trying to help. I’m mad because we don’t have the luxury of playing catch-up right now. We got attacked by an A-Class anomaly that was planted. Someone knew where we’d be. They knew about Jisung.”
“And they’ll come again,” Changbin said quietly, lifting his gaze. “I’ve been digging for a week straight. I hacked into the backdoors of three old agency databases—don’t ask how—and I’ve come across some names. Agents who’ve gone off-grid, who used to work on classified clean-up teams. Some of them left for a reason.”
Chan sighed, finally slumping into his chair. The weight of leadership pressed on his shoulders, a little too visible.
“I don’t know where to go from here,” he admitted, more to himself than anyone else.
“You’re not alone, hyung,” Seungmin said quietly. “You’ve got us.”
Changbin nodded, more solidly this time. “I’ve got a few old friends—agents I trust, ones that owe me favors. They’re off-grid now, but they might be able to help. Give us insight into the agency that took Jisung. Maybe even protection.”
Chan's jaw clenched, but the anger started giving way to something heavier. Exhaustion. “You trust them?”
“I trust that they know more than we do,” Changbin said. “And they hate the corrupt side of the agency as much as we do. I can get a hold of them, then maybe we can get ahead of whatever the hell this is.”
I’ll make the calls,” Chan said after a beat. “But from now on, no more secrets. Not about this.”
They both nodded, and Changbin scribbled something on a piece of paper before pushing it towards Chan, as well as the letter. “These are their names and details. Some of them might be able to meet face-to-face, if we’re careful.”
As the room slowly cleared, Chan stayed seated, staring down at the letter like it might open its mouth and bite him. Behind him, Wolf Chan nuzzled his side gently, sensing the weight of his worry.
The clock was ticking now.
And they were running out of time.
~~~•~~~
Changbin and Seungmin had given him space, sensing the stress written all over his face. His brows were furrowed, a hand raking through his hair every few seconds as he waited for the call to connect.
After a short beep, the screen lit up with three unfamiliar faces. One of them, a sharp-eyed man with a lip ring, leaned forward.
"Bang Chan, right?"
"Yeah," Chan nodded. "Thanks for taking the time."
The man beside him—long black hair tied back, with a scar over one brow—crossed his arms. "Changbin mentioned it was urgent. Something about an A-Class anomaly and a threat letter?"
Chan’s jaw clenched. "It’s… more complicated it sounds. The anomaly seemed like a warning. We're worried there’s more coming."
"Did he show you the letter?" the third person asked. His voice was calm, but there was something about the way he said it that made Chan pause.
"He did. Just recently. I wish he’d told me earlier."
The second man snorted. "Classic Binnie. Always thinks he can carry the weight himself."
Chan gave a dry chuckle. "Yeah, well. I think we’re past that now."
There was a brief silence before the first man leaned in again. "You want help?"
"I want answers," Chan said seriously. "And I think you might be the only people who can help me find them. You’ve worked with off-grid agencies before, right?"
The three exchanged glances before nodding.
"We’ve seen what they’re capable of. If the one that had your agent is the same one we’re thinking of… you’re gonna need more than answers."
Chan’s expression hardened. "Then we meet. Face to face."
The third man nodded. "Tomorrow night. There's a secure bunker a few cities out, near Sector 17. We'll send the coordinates."
"Good," Chan said. "And... thanks. For trusting me on this."
The screen went black. Chan exhaled sharply, sinking into his chair.
He’d taken the first step. Now he just hoped they weren’t already too late.
—————————————
The lights in the training room flickered faintly in the dim morning haze. Jisung stood in the center, soaked in sweat, chest rising and falling as he forced himself through another rep. His hands trembled. His whole body was trembling, honestly—he’d pushed past his limit three exercises ago, and the burn in his muscles had turned into something cold and dangerous. But he couldn’t stop. He didn’t want to stop.
A tremor of vibration spilled from his fingers and shook the nearest dummy into splinters. He winced. His legs nearly buckled, but he gritted his teeth and stayed upright.
Then—
“You’re gonna collapse, dumbass.”
Minho’s voice echoed from the doorway, calm but sharp, carrying with it the usual dry edge.
Jisung didn’t turn. “Go away.”
Minho stepped inside anyway, Leebit silently gliding behind him and hopping up onto the windowsill like it was his stage. “Not happening.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re shaking.”
“I said I’m fine.”
Minho walked up behind him, stopping just within reach. “You’re not. Sit down.”
Jisung swayed slightly but stubbornly stayed standing. “Why do you care?”
“Because if you pass out, someone’s gonna have to carry your dumb ass to the medbay.” Minho snapped, stepping in front of him now. His tone softened just barely. “Sit down, Jisung.”
It wasn’t the command that got to him—it was hearing his name from Minho’s voice like that. And maybe it was the exhaustion, or the way his legs were close to giving out, but Jisung dropped down to the floor with a frustrated sigh.
He leaned back against the cool wall, head tilted toward the ceiling. The silence was tense but not hostile now—just tired.
Minho leaned against the wall next to him, arms crossed, eyes not quite meeting his. “You always do this?”
“Do what?” Jisung muttered, shutting his eyes.
“Push yourself until you break.”
Jisung gave a humorless laugh. “Gotta be useful somehow, right?”
Minho said nothing.
The silence stretched, and for a moment, it felt almost peaceful—until Jisung cracked one eye open and asked quietly, “Why’d you save me that day?”
Minho stiffened.
Jisung didn’t clarify. He didn’t have to.
There was a long pause before Minho finally answered, “Because I didn’t want you to die.”
Jisung huffed a soft laugh, sarcastic and biting. “Should’ve let me get crushed. Would’ve solved everyone’s problem.”
Minho turned sharply to look at him. “Don’t joke about that.”
“It wasn’t a joke.” Jisung looked away, eyes unfocused now. “Kinda wish you hadn’t saved me, honestly.”
Minho didn’t speak for a long moment.
Then softly, he asked, “What happened to you… after you moved?”
Jisung’s expression hardened instantly. The walls shot up like reflex. “None of your business.”
Minho frowned but didn’t move away. “I’m making it my business.”
Jisung tried to stand, but his knees buckled and Minho caught him on instinct.
“Let go.”
“No.”
“I said let go—”
“You’re not okay, Jisung.”
“I’m fine, I’m always—” His voice cracked.
Minho was still holding onto his shoulders. Gentle, steady.
And Jisung, suddenly trembling all over again—but not from the training—snapped.
His voice broke, desperate and sharp and bitter all at once: “Why do you care, Minho? Why do you care now, after everything?”
Minho didn’t answer right away.
“Why do you suddenly get to act like you give a damn? Where were you when I needed someone—anyone?”
Minho opened his mouth, but Jisung cut him off, his voice breaking completely now. “You abandoned me, Minho. You all did. And I needed you. And now I don’t know what the hell I’m doing here or why you keep looking at me like you care—like we’re something we’re not.”
Minho looked like he’d been punched in the gut.
Jisung let out a shaky breath, wiping angrily at his face.
“I should’ve stayed gone…”
The words fell like a stone between them. Heavy. Final.
But Minho finally spoke.
“No,” he said quietly, but firmly. “You shouldn't have. I’m glad you're here. I’m so glad you're here, Jisung.”
Jisung let out a bitter laugh, trying to turn away again, but Minho stepped forward and caught his wrist—gentler this time—and didn’t let go.
“You want to know why I saved you?” Minho’s voice shook slightly. “Because I still care about you. I never stopped caring about you. Not for a second.”
Jisung froze.
Minho took a shaky step closer. “You think I didn’t feel like the biggest piece of shit for what I did back then? I was a piece of shit, Jisung. I know that. Every day since that time, I’ve wished I could go back and undo it.”
Jisung clenched his fists. “Then why didn’t you stop them? Why join them?”
“I was stupid,” Minho said, desperately. “I was scared and insecure, and I let them convince me that fitting in mattered more than doing the right thing. You were—god, you were my best friend. And I betrayed you.”
Jisung didn’t respond, but his shoulders were stiff, unmoving.
Minho continued, taking another step, his voice growing more unsteady. “You told us you didn’t get your powers, and I could see the way it hurt you, even more so when they started mocking you. I laughed too. I laughed even though it made me feel physically sick, cause I knew it was wrong but I didn’t want to be the next target. And I thought it would blow over. But it didn’t.”
Jisung stayed silent, lips pressed tightly together, but his eyes were trembling.
“When you moved away, I didn’t even get to say goodbye. I tried finding you. I begged my parents for your address, I tried messaging your old number—I wanted to apologize, but you were just gone. And as more time passed, the more I hated myself for what I did.”
Minho stepped closer, slowly, as if testing a fragile wire between them.
“And when my members brought you in that night, bleeding and unconscious—I thought my heart had stopped. I recognized you instantly, even with all the scars and bruises. And I swear, Jisung, it felt like my world had just come crashing down.”
He was close enough now to wrap his arms around him. And this time, he did.
Minho hugged him from behind, burying his face into Jisung’s shoulder. His hands trembled slightly against Jisung’s sides, clinging, like someone scared he’d be pulled away.
“I thought you were dead. I thought I’d lost my chance forever. And now you're here, and I still don’t know how to fix what I broke, but I want to. I don’t care how long it takes. I just—please don’t disappear again.”
Jisung didn’t move at first. He just stood there, stunned, barely breathing.
He could feel Minho's shoulders shaking ever so slightly. The warmth of his body. The weight of his regret. His voice, finally cracked fully, raw with sincerity.
“I’m so sorry,” Minho whispered. “I’m so fucking sorry, Jisung.”
And something inside Jisung—tight and buried and hardened over years—cracked just a little.
He didn’t speak. He didn’t cry. He didn’t forgive him.
But he let himself lean back into the embrace—just slightly.
Just enough.