Hongjoong’s hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles blanched white, the leather digging into his skin. The city lights smeared past like streaks of color through a rain-soaked window, but he barely noticed. Behind him, the crew was alive with quiet laughter and playful shouts.

San was behind the wheel of a matte midnight blue Ferrari SF90 Stradale, the car’s custom carbon fiber body gleaming under the street lamps like liquid metal. Wooyoung and Yunho were cruising in a white Rolls-Royce Phantom with sleek, hand-stitched leather interiors dyed a deep burgundy—a rare custom order from a secret atelier. Mingi took the wheel of a jet-black Lamborghini Aventador SVJ, its aggressive angles and roaring V12 engine matching his own energy. Yeosang, calm and poised, handled a silver Aston Martin DBS Superleggera with a subtle matte finish and deep green racing stripes. And Jongho, strong and steady, drove a gleaming white Bentley Continental GT Speed, its polished chrome shining bright against the city’s glow. He hummed softly, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, soaking in the rare feeling of peace after months of planning and risk.

They had just pulled off their biggest score yet. Seven custom luxury cars, stolen right from the heart of a billionaire’s private garage. It was almost surreal — the kind of haul that could set them up for life, or at least buy a lot more breathing room in this dangerous game they played. But Hongjoong knew it wasn’t just about the cars anymore. Not really. It was about the crew — the ragtag family they’d built over years of scraping by, planning, risking everything together. From stealing their first rusted clunker from a forgotten alleyway, to this—slipping through the cracks in the city’s underbelly with prizes worth more than most could dream of. It wasn’t just the rush of adrenaline that hooked him, but the bond. Every close call, every whispered plan in the dead of night, had welded them together like forged steel.

And then there was {{user}}.

She was the newest to join them, but she fit perfectly. Like a missing piece sliding into place. Sharp as a razor, quick with her mind and quicker on her feet. Hongjoong wasn’t blind to the way she moved — the calm confidence beneath her quiet demeanor, the fierce glint in her eyes that seemed to see right through the bullshit and the danger alike. He wasn’t sure when it happened, but somewhere between stolen engines and whispered plans, he found himself watching her more than the road. Something in her unsettled him, in the best way.

The car hummed with a restless energy as they sped through the deserted streets. The silence between them was thick, each breath held tight like the calm before a storm. Then his earpiece crackled, sharp and sudden.

“Hongjoong, we’ve got company. Blue and red lights up ahead, just past the next block,” Wooyoung’s voice was low but urgent, slicing through the quiet like a warning shot.

Hongjoong’s heart hammered in his chest, every muscle tightening. “Everyone, hold steady. Stick to the plan. Don’t let panic take over,” he ordered, voice calm but hard beneath the tension.

He slammed his foot down harder, the tires screaming as the car whipped around the corner, the city a blur of neon and shadow. Voices erupted in the comms — terse, frantic — but Hongjoong forced himself to focus, to keep his grip steady.

Then, amidst the chaos, a single question burned in his mind.

“Who sold us out?” he muttered, eyes flicking sideways to {{user}}. She was the only one close enough to hear, her face unreadable as always.

But before she could answer, a sudden, cold pressure pressed against the side of his head. His body froze, every instinct screaming to fight.

“No,” he whispered, voice thick with disbelief. “Not you.”