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The car ride was completely quiet. The kind that weighed heavily between them Chanyeol looked out the window looking at his surroundings. Chanyeol stared out the window, taking in the stark contrast of the upper east side's polished elegance compared to the worn streets of the lower east side. He couldn't shake thoughts of Yoora, wishing for a brighter future for her—one that he could never fully grasp himself.
Fuck, Baekhyun and Yoora.
He pulled his phone from his pocket, his heart sinking as he saw five missed calls and frantic texts from Baekhyun and Sehun. He had promised Baekhyun he'd be home in two hours.
Chanyeol: The building we were at got shot up. I got held up. I'll pay you back for what you lost once I get paid.
Baekhyun: Shit. Everything okay?
Chanyeol: Yeah, no one got hurt. Seems like whoever it is was just trying to make a statement.
Chanyeol: I'll call once I get to the hotel.
He shoved his phone back into his pocket, turning his gaze to Chaeyoung. Her palms trembled in her lap, her cheeks stained with tears, and dried blood dotted her forearm where she had scraped it against the wall. The sight twisted in his chest.
When they arrived at the hotel, the air felt thick with tension. Mr. Park's assistant had secured three rooms, insisting they stay away from home for safety. Chanyeol unbuttoned his suit jacket and loosened his tie, the fabric suddenly feeling constricting.
He stepped into his suite and pulled out his phone, searching for Baekhyun's contact.
"Hello?" Baekhyun's voice was laced with sleep.
"How's Yoora?" Chanyeol asked, desperate for news.
"Well, I'm doing fine, asshole, and she's good—she's in your bed sleeping." Relief washed over him, a small comfort in the chaos.
"Good," he sighed. "Where's Sehun?"
"Sehun went to try and handle the job on his own since I couldn't come," Baekhyun replied. "How's the princess and her dad?"
"They're fine," Chanyeol sighed, running a hand through his hair. "But Chaeyoung... she's completely shaken up. I can tell her dad is too, even if he's trying to hide it."
"Why are you staying at the hotel with them, then?" Baekhyun's voice crackled through the phone, laced with concern.
"Mr. Park insisted it was for safety reasons. Whatever that means," Chanyeol replied, his tone heavy with the weight of the situation.
"Do you think you'll be back in the morning? I need to turn in my shares." The underlying worry in Baekhyun's voice made Chanyeol's chest tighten.
Chanyeol's mind briefly wandered to the grim realities of his life as a hunter, where each week meant proving the death of their targets. Turning in a 'share' was more than just a requirement; it was a testament to the brutal world they lived in. They would provide something tangible—like a thumb or a tongue—that their boss could trace back to a life extinguished.
