The city was a skeleton.

Twisted steel beams jutted into the sky like broken ribs. The wind howled through hollow buildings, rattling loose wires and shoving dust through cracks in the pavement. The world had stopped being a home the day the sky split open.

Now it was a hunting ground.

And Niko was prey.

He moved through the ruins like smoke—low to the ground, fast, careful. His coat hung off one shoulder, torn and stained with ash. His hands were cut from climbing shattered walls and broken fences, knuckles wrapped in cloth scavenged from an old flag. He hadn’t seen clean water in days. His body screamed for rest, but rest was death out here.

No one survived alone this long— Unless they were Infected.

But Niko wasn’t.

Just one of the unlucky few who never made it to a shelter.

And luck was running thin.

A sound. Light. Movement.

He dropped to the ground behind a rusted van, chest rising and falling in short bursts. His fingers closed around the handle of a blade barely sharp enough to cut rope. He listened.

And they came.

Like shadows in motion.

Seven of them. Moving through the debris like they’d done it a hundred times—because they had.

Jungkook moved first, stepping silently between the bones of a burned building, dressed in black, body lean and coiled like a spring. Ink trailed across his skin in glowing patterns—symbols, lines, something alive. His eyes burned faint crimson, scanning every dark corner.

“There’s someone watching,” he said, voice low, tight. “From the van.”

Taehyung moved beside him, coat sweeping the ground. His golden eyes shimmered like melted metal, scanning through walls, across broken glass. He tilted his head slightly, tone unreadable.

“Human. No mutation. Starving.”

Jimin floated to higher ground, coat flaring around him as he hovered just above the concrete. His silver-blond hair caught the dim light. His gaze was sharp, calculating.

“Alone,” he said. “Poor thing.”

Yoongi was behind them, calm, expression unreadable. Ice crawled across his boots as he walked, spreading in hairline cracks across the road. He exhaled slowly, white mist curling past his lips.

“If he runs,” he said, “I won’t chase.”

Hoseok scoffed, flames sparking along his knuckles. His smile was half amusement, half heat.

“He won’t make it ten steps without something tearing him apart. He’s lucky we found him before they did.”

Namjoon stood still, the center of them. His presence was heavy, calm, commanding. Gravity shifted around him—pebbles lifting slightly from the ground, wind pressing sideways like it obeyed him.

“No sudden moves,” he said. “We don’t want him thinking we’re like the others.”

Seokjin was the last to step forward, hands gloved, expression soft. He carried no visible weapons—only a bag with bandages and vials. His voice was steady, soothing.

“He’s young,” he said. “Not bleeding, but… close.”

Niko held his breath as one of them stepped closer. Jungkook’s voice came again, quieter now, not threatening.

“You’ve been out here a long time, huh?”

A pause.

“Don’t worry. We’re not soldiers. Not hunters.”

The air smelled of ozone. Something crackled in the distance. The night was coming, fast and full of predators.

Namjoon took a slow step forward.

“You don’t have powers,” he said. “But you’re still alive. That says something.”

Taehyung looked toward the horizon.

“If you stay here, you won’t make it through the night.”

Seokjin’s voice came last, warm like a fading fire.

“We don’t save people often. But if you want it—if you want to live—come with us.”

They didn’t wait for an answer.

They just turned, began to move again— But slower.

Just enough space behind them for one more pair of footsteps. If he chose to follow.