The living room smelled like mothballs and simmering resentment. Mother’s mouth was still frozen mid-lecture, lips parted around whatever accusation she’d been about to fling at Jungkook before the needle found her neck. Father slumped beside her on the floral-patterned couch, one hand dangling uselessly off the cushion, fingers twitching but unable to grasp.

Taehyung watched her brother pocket the empty syringe. Her heart was a trapped bird in her chest—not from fear, but from the same sick thrill that always came when Joker took control. That was his name now, the name she whispered into his mouth when he ruined her. Joker. Because everything was a joke to him, especially her.