The opera house was quiet now. The applause had faded, the guests escorted out under the guise of "technical difficulties." Only the brothers remained, and a single, cold spotlight that still shone over the piano like a ghost refusing to leave.
Y/N sat on the edge of the stage, feet dangling, a glass of water in hand.
Jin was inspecting the sniper nest above, while Namjoon and Yoongi stood in low conversation near the exit.
Hoseok returned from a phone call, his face unusually pale.
Y/N: "Everything alright?"
He forced a smile.
Hoseok: "Yeah. Just... something weird at one of our eastern warehouses. I'll check it in the morning."
But Y/N knew that look.
He was hiding something.
Back at the penthouse, the debrief was brief — too brief.
Namjoon said Inho was in holding. Jin said they'd secured the footage. Yoongi said nothing.
But the air was different. Thicker.
Jimin stayed behind as the others filtered out.
Jimin (quietly): "You were brilliant tonight."
Y/N (soft): "I was scared."
Jimin: "Then you're smarter than most people in this family."
She smiled faintly, but he hesitated.
Jimin: "I have to tell you something. But not here."
Y/N: "What is it?"
Before he could answer, Yoongi re-entered.
Yoongi: "Y/N. Now."
She stood immediately. Jimin just nodded once, but his expression said: Later.
In the private surveillance room, Yoongi pulled up three screens.
Yoongi: "We've got a leak."
The footage played — a shadowed figure disabling a rooftop camera two nights before the gala.
They wore gloves. Hoodie. Efficient.
Yoongi: "This isn't Baek. Not Seo. This is someone who knows our system. Our code."
He turned to her.
Yoongi: "The kind of move a brother would know."
Y/N's stomach dropped.
Y/N: "You think it's one of us?"
Yoongi didn't blink.
Yoongi: "I think someone's protecting the Seos from the inside."
The next morning, the penthouse felt too quiet.
Hoseok had left early — no one knew where.
Jimin was unreachable.
Jungkook was training with the guards.
Namjoon hadn't slept.
Y/N sat at the breakfast table with a new letter in front of her. No envelope. Just one line, typed:
"Your next song decides who dies next."
No signature. Just a barcode printed at the bottom.
She scanned it with her phone.
It loaded a video.
CCTV footage.
A familiar alleyway.
Her music teacher — Mr. Han — being dragged into a van.
She stood so fast her chair fell over.
Yoongi (behind her): "What is it?"
She showed him.
His eyes went cold.
Yoongi: "They're sending a message."
Y/N (voice shaking): "They want me to write again. As a weapon. As a trigger."
He looked at her — truly looked.
Yoongi: "Then let's write a song that turns their silence into a scream."
That night, in the old studio, Y/N composed in fury.
Each chord was sharpened like a blade. Every rest, a trap. Every shift in tempo was a countdown. She titled it:
"Nocturne for the Damned."
She uploaded it anonymously to the same forum — the same one that Inho had once used.
This time, though, it wasn't just music.
It contained an embedded sequence — a sonic code that would activate a tracking signal when opened through a specific audio plugin.
It was bait.
The next day, Yoongi kicked down the door of an abandoned music conservatory on the city's edge.
Inside: blood. Chains. And a camera pointed at a stool.
But no Mr. Han.
Only one word painted on the wall in piano black:
"Brother."
Yoongi's eyes darkened.
Yoongi (whisper): "They're not coming for you, Y/N. They're trying to use you... to make me bleed."
And just like that, the game changed.
It wasn't about power anymore.
It was about guilt.
History.
Family.
And someone was about to break the second silence.