Stigma Love's Algorithm [ A BTS x Reader Poly ]

Chapter 128: A Glass House

Si Woo offers a weary nod. "Noona."

"Hey, Woo. Please tell me you made Yoongi blink at least once in the last four hours."

"He blinked at the anomaly logs. That's something."

"What's happening now?" I murmur, voice low, trying to catch up.

Si Woo glances at me through the screen.

"Second cluster just popped. Timestamped to the second-a week after the first."

Yoongi speaks without breaking his gaze from the data stream.

"Two trails. Same fingerprint. This wasn't a mistake. It's... adaptive. Evolving. They're studying us."

My stomach turns. "How?"

Yoongi zooms in.

"We're not just watching the breach. It's watching us. Every countermeasure we've taken-they're mapping it. They're learning."

Si Woo exhales sharply.

"And worse? I found shadow traces in the authorization log. Not an outside break-in."

"What does that mean?" I ask, heart rate spiking.

Yoongi looks at me, eyes dark and flat.

"It means someone let them in."

Namjoon's POV

I stand at the top of the stairs, frozen. I hadn't meant to eavesdrop.

But I hear the words echo from Yoongi hying's home office.

"Someone let them in"

I grip the banister harder than necessary, grounding myself.

The quiet of the house feels wrong this morning. Too quiet.

The kind that comes before thunder. processing.

The worst part isn't the breach.
It's what it means.

A mole. An inside collaborator.

Somewhere in our network-maybe even inside LoveMap.

Not brute force. Not external hacking.
Permissioned entry.

This isn't just a tech problem anymore.
This is a trust problem.

_____________________________

Y/N's POV

By the time everyone stumbles into the kitchen-hair rumpled, pajamas mismatched, eyes barely open-the air's already buzzing.

Not groggy. Not playful.
Something's shifted.

Jin oppa is still tying his apron, halfway through chopping apples into increasingly aggressive halves.

Tae walks in yawning with Tannie curled in his hoodie like a disapproving fashion statement.

Hobi is curled at the corner of the bench, humming something soft and tuneless while peeling a mandarin.

Kookie walks in holding Bam's leash, shirtless, hoodie open, a suspicious glint in his eye like he knows something's wrong.

Jimin appears five minutes later with a bag of croissants under his chin and eight iced coffees from the bakery down the block.

He doesn't even greet us.

"Something's up," he says, handing me an iced coffee and pastry. "What is it?"

I sit up, brushing crumbs from my lip.