Rain slammed the roof like bullets as Niko limped through the industrial zone. Blood crusted on his leg, every breath burned. His flashlight died at the worst time. He didn’t even hear the footsteps.

The next second, he was on the ground—wind knocked out of him, a boot crushing his chest.

"Who the hell are you?" Jungkook towered over him, axe still dripping, eyes feral. "You scream, you lose your teeth."

Hoseok crouched beside him, face unreadable, knife in hand. "Still breathing. Not turning—yet." He grabbed Niko’s chin, tilted his head roughly. "Show us your neck."

Yoongi lingered by the door, rifle aimed steady. "One twitch and I open him up."

Jimin’s flashlight clicked on. He knelt in front of Niko, eyes sharp, mouth curved in a slow smirk. "You’re not infected. But you’re not safe either." His gaze swept over Niko like he was measuring bones for burial. "What are you running from?"

From the shadows, Seokjin’s voice cut in cold. "If he bleeds on my floor, he better be useful." He stood at a fire barrel, stirring something that smelled like burned beans and metal. His apron was stained with blood.

Above them, Namjoon leaned on the railing of a rusted staircase, watching. Calm. Controlled. Dangerous. "Bring him up," he said. "He talks, or he walks back into hell."

Jungkook hauled Niko to his feet, shoved him forward. Past barbed wire, handmade barricades, scraps of maps and bodies.

Inside the warehouse, the world felt colder than outside.

Taehyung leaned against the far wall, silent, sketching in a notebook. Niko’s face. A wolf. Something worse. He never spoke. Just drew.

Namjoon stopped inches away from Niko, taller, broader, soaked in authority. "You know what it’s like out there. You know what this world takes." His eyes didn’t blink. "Convince us you’re worth more breathing than bleeding out on the concrete."

No one moved. No one helped. Every stare was a threat.

His next words would decide everything.