FATE'S GAME | | BTS FF (18+)

CHAPTER NINE

KIM TAEHYUNG

"Hello, son."

My mother's voice.

My mother's voice.

Not a recording from the past.

New.

Shaky. Like it was recorded in a rush. Or fear

"I don't have much time," she said, voice trembling but urgent. "If you're hearing this, it means I'm closer than you think. Closer to danger. Closer to the truth."

I gripped the edge of the desk, heart pounding. How was this possible?

Her voice cracked. "Listen carefully, Taehyung. You've been lied to — about everything. Your father, the city, even me."

Even me.

My nails dug into the desk. Blood welled where skin split, but I barely felt it. I had buried her once closed the lid on her coffin with shaking hands and a hollow heart.

Was it all a lie?

The message grew faint, as if she was being interrupted.

"Dock 17. Midnight. Find the black crate with the red symbol. It's all there."

I sat frozen, the weight of her message settling like ice in my veins. Dock 17. Midnight.

No one else could know about this.

No one.

Because if this was true , if she was really alive everything was about to explode.

I had to move fast.

I had to find the truth.

I rose to my feet. My legs were stiff, but adrenaline surged like fire in my blood. I grabbed the USB drive from the laptop, crushing the lid shut. No one could see this. Not until I found out the truth.

I stared out the window. The city lights shimmered like lies .......beautiful, bright, and blinding.

Midnight. Dock 17.

And if my mother was really alive...

Then someone was going to die for keeping her from me.

The city had a different face at midnight.

Gone were the polished cars and polished lies. What was left behind was metal and rot, shadows and secrets. And me.

I parked a block away from the docks and continued on foot, hood drawn low, gun strapped to my back beneath my coat. Just in case.

Dock 17 rose like a skeleton against the dark sea, wind howling through its rusted frame. Lights flickered overhead, barely holding on. The stink of salt and diesel hung thick in the air.

I stepped inside.

Empty.

Or so it looked.

My boots echoed on the concrete floor as I moved toward the far end. Stacks of crates lined the walls—some fresh, some long forgotten. Rats scurried, watching like silent witnesses.

Then I saw it.

A black crate. Red symbol scrawled across the front like blood smeared by a dying hand.

My heart stopped.

I crouched down, running my fingers across the red mark. It was real. Tangible. Just like her voice.

I pried it open.

Papers. Tapes. Photos. A sealed envelope with my name on it.

And something else.