Aboard the Black Swan | P.JM |

Wounds and Whispers

Y/N POV

My world had shrunk to the four walls of my hut and the dull, persistent throb in my hand. I sat on the edge of my bunk, still wearing the clothes from yesterday. They smelled of salt, antiseptic, and the lingering scent of J-Hope's coat from where I'd sobbed into his shoulder.

My unfocused gaze was locked on the bandage around my palm. The white linen was stark against my trousers. It was a twin to the one wrapped around Jimin's torso, a matching set of pain. Each pulse of pain was a tiny, punishing clock tick, counting the seconds since the infirmary, since the beach, since the devastating truth of the blank ledger, since my most recent failure.

A hollow ache had taken root deep in my chest, a void where adrenaline and purpose had once been, now filled only with heavy guilt. Sleep was impossible. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Beomgyu's waxy, still face. Food was a foreign concept, so much that the thought of it twisted my stomach into a nauseous knot. I was a vessel running on empty, anchored only by the weight of my own remorse and the cool, heavy press of the copper coin in my pocket.

The door to my quarters burst open with a violent crash against the wall. I flinched, my head snapping up, my body tensing for a threat I was too weary to fight.

Captain Kim Taehyung filled the doorway, a sharp silhouette against the bright morning light. His expression was a thundercloud, brows drawn low over dark, flashing eyes. The air around him crackled with a fury so potent it seemed to suck the oxygen from the room.

"You." The word was a whip-crack. He stormed inside, letting the door swing shut behind him, plunging us back into the dimness. "Explain. Now. All of it."

He didn't give me a chance to speak, to even draw a breath. He began to pace a short, aggressive path in front of me, his boots striking the wooden floorboards like gunshots.

"The recklessness of it!" he seethed, his voice low and dangerous. "A fake spy? A fake ledger? Blank pages? Were you even thinking? Or did you just decide the safety of this crew, the sanity of this crew, was a worthy gamble for your... your..." He gestured violently, searching for the word. "Your whim?"

I opened my mouth, a feeble apology already dying on my tongue, but he wasn't done. He took another step closer.

"The secrecy! To keep this from your captain—to involve others in this insanity! Jimin is carved up! Beomgyu..." He choked on the name, and my own heart seized with it. "Do you have any concept of what you've done? Any concept of the damage? And all to root out one single enemy?"

He was close now, looming over where I sat hunched on the bed. This was the confrontation I'd been dreading. I braced for it, lowering my gaze to the floor, waiting for the final, shattering blow.

But it didn't come. The tirade stopped abruptly, cut off mid-sentence. The furious energy radiating from him shifted, stuttered, and changed. The dim light, which had hidden me, now betrayed me. Up close, his sharp eyes missed nothing. The anger that had blinded him began to recede, and I saw the exact moment reality rushed in.

He saw it all.

I saw his gaze catch on the brutal shadows under my eyes, then drop to the unnatural pallor of my skin. I saw him notice the way my shirt collar gaped loosely. His eyes locked onto my hands—one bandaged, the other trembling in my lap.

The storm in his eyes faded, replaced by a dawning, horrified comprehension. The rigid, angry line of his shoulders softened. The captain who had stormed in demanding retribution was gone, replaced by a man seeing the devastating cost of the plan written plainly on my face.

His voice, when he finally spoke again, was utterly different. Gone was the razor-edged command. It was quieter, softer, laced with a concern that felt somehow worse than his anger.