Taekook and the ECLIPSE

17 | Can't Push What You Don't Have

"When did you notice your things were missing?"

"When I got back from the fake slumber party. Why?"

"I don't think Jimin took anything. Not your clothes, or your pillow. The things that were taken, these were things you'd worn . . . and touched . . . and slept on?"

"Yes. What is it, Taehyung?"

His expression was strained. "Things with your scent."

"Oh!"

We stared into each others eyes for a long moment.

"My visitor," I muttered.

"He was gathering traces . . . evidence. To prove that he'd found you?"

"Why?" I whispered.

"I don't know. But, Kook, I swear I will find out. I will."

"I know you will," I said, laying my head against his chest. Leaning there, I felt his phone vibrate in his pocket.

He pulled out his phone and glanced at the number. "Just the person I need to talk to," he murmured, and then he answered. "Joon, I —" He broke off and listened, his face taut with concentration for a few minutes. "I'll check it out. Listen . . ."

He explained about my missing things, but from the side I was hearing, it sounded like Joon had no insights for us.

"Maybe I'll go . . . ," Taehyung said, trailing off as his eyes drifted toward me. "Maybe not. Don't let Hobi go alone, you know how he gets. At least ask Jimin to keep an eye on things. We'll figure this out later."

He ended the call. "Where's the paper?" he asked me.

"Um, I'm not sure. Why?"

"I need to see something. Did Jaewoo already throw it out?"

"Maybe. . . ."

Taehyung disappeared. He was back in half a second, new diamonds in his hair, a wet newspaper in his hands. He spread it out on the table, his eyes scanning quickly across the headlines. He leaned in, intent on something he was reading, one finger tracing passages that interested him most.

"Joon's right . . . yes . . . very sloppy. Young and crazed? Or a death wish?" he muttered to himself.

I went to peek over his shoulder. The headline of the Seattle Times read: "Murder Epidemic Continues — Police Have No New Leads."

It was almost the same story Jaewoo had been complaining about a few weeks ago — the big-city violence that was pushing Seattle up the national murder hot-spot list. It wasn't exactly the same story, though. The numbers were a lot higher.

"It's getting worse," I murmured.

He frowned. "Altogether out of control. This can't be the work of just one newborn vampire. What's going on? It's as if they've never heard of the Volturi. Which is possible, I guess. No one has explained the rules to them . . . so who is creating them, then?"