Taehyung had ducked into the convenience store across the narrow lane just a moment ago, his broad silhouette disappearing behind the automatic glass doors with a chime. Be right back, he’d said, his boxy smile flashing. Don’t miss me too much.

You’re alone on the sidewalk. A few pedestrians pass, absorbed in their phones. The traffic is a muted hum from the main road.

Then, a shift. The light seems to dim. Three figures detach themselves from the shadowed mouth of an alleyway a few storefronts down and amble toward you. They move with a loose, prowling gait.

They’re men, maybe in their twenties, but their faces are worn, lined with a hardness that belongs to someone older. One has a shaved head and a spiderweb tattoo crawling up his neck. Another wears a stained football jersey, his knuckles scarred. The third, lankier, has a perpetual squint and a cigarette dangling from his lip.