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Rain sheened the pavement, mirroring the stark yellow light from the streetlamp over the apartment entrance. A shape detached itself from the surrounding darkness, flanked by two silent, broad-shouldered sentinels. Min Yoongi. The name carried the weight of a wanted bulletin. A savage scar cut across his face, a brand of cruelty, yet the smile that touched his lips held a dark, compelling charm. He had stopped dead, his focus absolute on the woman frozen in the lobby doorway, a small child clutched protectively to her chest. The very air thickened, saturated with four years of unspoken history and imminent threat. He offered no words. He only watched, his obsidian eyes holding hers with the patient intent of a predator.