The rain in the city didn’t care that Maya was only seven years old. It soaked through her oversized pink jacket, plastering her dark hair to her forehead as she wandered aimlessly down the neon-lit alleyways. Just three days ago, her world had ended in a screech of tires and shattering glass. Now, she was entirely alone, her small shoes squeaking against the wet pavement, her eyes wide with a mixture of grief and exhaustion. Distracted by the shivering in her own hands, Maya didn’t see the tall figure stepping out from the back door of a dimly lit club. Thump. She bumped straight into a chest that felt like solid stone. The impact knocked her backward, and she landed hard on the wet asphalt. "What the heck?" a sharp, youthful voice muttered. Maya looked up, trembling. The man she had bumped into was Jungkook. At twenty years old, he was the youngest member of the city’s most feared syndicate, carrying a cold, quiet aura that usually made grown men look at the floor. He wore a dark leather jacket, his eyes piercing as he looked down at the tiny intruder. Behind him, two other men stepped into the dim light of the alley. "Look what we have here," a smooth, cocky voice chuckled. That was Taehyung, 24, leaning against the brick wall with a smirk playing on his lips. He ran a hand through his hair, his eyes scanning Maya with mild amusement. "Did a little doll lose her way? If you were fifteen years older, sweetheart, I’d offer you my coat." "Shut the heck up, Taehyung," the third man snapped. Jimin, 25, stepped forward, his face twisted in immediate annoyance. He hated kids. To him, they were nothing but loud, sticky burdens that distracted from the job. "Great. A brat. Just what we need on a Tuesday. Hey, kid—scram. Go cry to your parents." At the word parents, Maya’s lower lip quivered. A massive, silent tear spilled over her cheek, mixing with the rain. "They're gone," she whispered, her voice cracking. "The car... they didn't wake up." The alley went dead silent. Jimin opened his mouth to deliver another harsh line, but the words caught in his throat. Taehyung’s smirk instantly vanished. Jungkook didn't move a muscle, but his cold gaze softened just a fraction. They knew that exact story. Years ago, the three of them had been left standing in the wreckage of their own lives, orphaned at a young age and forced to become monsters just to survive the streets. "Where's your family, kid?" Jungkook asked. His voice was still deep and gruff, but the cursing had stopped. "I don't have anybody," Maya sobbed, hugging her knees to her chest. Jimin rolled his eyes, groaning aggressively as he looked up at the sky. "Are you kidding me? No. Absolutely not. Don't look at her like that, Jungkook. We are not taking in a kid. We manage millions of dollars in illegal cargo, we don't do babysitting!" "Relax, Minnie," Taehyung murmured, though the usual flirtatious edge was completely gone from his tone. He looked at Maya's shivering frame, a rare flash of genuine empathy crossing his face. "She's freezing." Jungkook didn't say a word to his hyungs. Instead, the quiet, terrifying 20-year-old mafia enforcer slowly knelt down in the wet alley. He didn't care that his expensive trousers were getting ruined.