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That night, in my room, I kept replaying Jungkook's words in my head. A weapon is an emotion. The absolute, defeated conviction in the way he had said it, as if he really believed it. As if it was the only thing he believed.
A weapon is a promise. A promise of what? Of death? Of the fact that if you killed with it, the blood would never come off your hands?
I thought back to the last time I had wielded my knife, before Minho. I had stabbed Yeosang with it, and he had told me he didn't want to hurt me moments before Vernon had killed me. I hadn't killed him with my own hands, even if my pocketknife had tasted his blood—but it still felt like I was the reason for his death. Were killing someone, and being the reason they were killed, two very different things? Were they different at all?
Yes, it was a promise. The worst kind of promise that could possibly exist.
The gauze around my hand felt alien. It had been so long since I'd been injured like this, but for some reason, it didn't scare me as much as it could have. Perhaps I had accepted my fate, and my future, which was doubtless filled with blood.
"Penny for your thoughts."
I froze, then relaxed as I realized the source of the voice. Taeyong's smile was hot and cold as he sat down next to me, propping his legs up to rest his elbows on them. I breathed in deeply, and released my breath slowly. Just being next to him felt strange, filling me with dread and want.
"You can have them for free," I said, trying for a smile, but it wouldn't come.
He raised an eyebrow. "Will they give me nightmares?"
I laughed. "Probably," I admitted.
"You can keep them," he said, his face a mask of playful horror, and I smiled. It was genuine, and though it wasn't even close to what I wished for, it was enough for that moment. The short conversation wasn't forced, or uncomfortable, but there was something hidden in the spaces between that felt like a warning. Like ignoring the storm clouds in the sky, and wondering if you could ride a wave and live still.
My thoughts were a jumbled mess, oscillating between ecstasy and guilt, from Taeyong to Vernon. It almost felt like Seoul all over again, when I had sat in The Dragon's Tail, tensed and distressed about leading so many people on at the same time. The situation now was more or less the same, except that the choice came down to two people, neither of who I could stay away from if I could help it.
I was supposed to be wary of Vernon, who had broken my trust in a single moment, shattering so much of it that it had felt like I would never be able to trust him again, but I still did. And Taeyong—family to the person who was trying to kill mine, and had actually joined their side for a few years. Now they were both back, both as boldly beautiful as ever, no longer a phantom pain that made me want to curl into myself and shun the world.
