As the news spread like wildfire, Kang Chul-soo felt the tremors of its impact shaking the very foundation of his empire. For years, he had built an image of power, control, and invincibility, a presence so absolute that no one dared challenge it. But now, in the space of mere hours, that image had begun to fracture. He could feel it slipping through his fingers, unraveling thread by thread, the consequences rippling through his network like a slow, creeping poison.
Inside the dimly lit confines of his office, the air was thick with a suffocating tension, pressing down on everyone in the room. The low murmur of the television filled the silence, the screen flashing with footage of the raid—his men dragged away in handcuffs, crates of confiscated goods being hauled out in plain view, the media feasting on the spectacle of his empire's sudden vulnerability. He had spent years ensuring that his name was whispered in fear, that his operations remained untouchable. Yet now, the headlines told a different story. The world was beginning to see the cracks. And worse, so were his enemies.
A deep, seething rage coiled in his chest, and with a sudden, violent movement, his fists slammed onto the surface of his mahogany desk. The sharp crack of splintering wood echoed through the room, but no one flinched. His men stood motionless, their expressions carefully neutral, their bodies tense beneath his scrutiny. These were the enforcers who had stood by his side through war and bloodshed, men he had trusted with his life. And yet, even among them, trust was a fragile thing.
His breath was slow but heavy, the weight of his fury pressing against his ribs as he forced himself to think beyond the impulse to destroy. Anger alone wouldn't fix this. Calculated action would.
"This wasn't an accident," he muttered, his voice low, each word laced with venom. His sharp gaze flicked between the men standing before him, watching, waiting for the slightest hint of weakness.
The silence stretched. No one dared to speak.
Someone had betrayed him. Not just anyone—someone with access. Someone who knew their movements, their security, the shipment schedules. The raid had been too precise, too well-coordinated to be the work of chance. The authorities had known exactly where to strike, exploiting every weak point with ruthless efficiency. This had been planned, and whoever was behind it likely had everything to gain from his downfall.
The men before him shifted uncomfortably, casting wary glances at each other. They knew better than to speak unless spoken to. His paranoia was razor-sharp, slicing through any illusion of loyalty. Though, all of this was too perfect, too well-timed. The raid had unfolded with surgical precision, every weak point exposed, every vulnerability exploited. The media had latched onto it instantly, painting him not as the untouchable power he had spent years crafting, but as a man whose empire has faced the largest pitfall that it had ever had.
Chul-soo's teeth ground together, the tension in his jaw so tight it sent a dull ache through his skull. His mind raced, shifting through every possible suspect, every potential enemy that could have orchestrated this attack against him. He wasn't naïve—his power had never made him untouchable, only more of a target. Political figures had been waiting for an opportunity like this, their hands tied only by the bribes he had used to keep them in check. Rival syndicates had long salivated at the thought of carving up his empire, taking what was his the moment he showed weakness. Even within his own ranks, there were always men who dreamed of rising higher, of cutting out the king and taking the throne for themselves.
But none of them—none—had the level of access required to execute something of this scale. This wasn't just a well-timed move against him. It was a surgical strike, an operation so precise that whoever was behind it had known exactly where to cut to make him bleed the most.
And then, like a slow venom creeping into his bloodstream, a new suspicion took root. The timing.
His fingers drummed against the splintered wood of his desk as he replayed the last twenty-four hours, dissecting every detail, every word, every move.
Rae-a.
His gaze darkened.
He had backed her into a corner, dangled the lives of her so-called friends in front of her like bait. It had been a simple deal—return to him, prove her loyalty, and they would live. Refuse, and their blood would be on her hands, and then her own. He had expected resistance, defiance even. But in the end, she was not given time to make a choice.
Because before she could, the raid had happened.
It was too coincidental.
His nails dug into his palm. Had she played him? Had she somehow found a way to strike back, to cut at his empire from the shadows? At the masquerade ball, she had woven herself into the circles of the powerful, making connections, as he witnessed. Was that all a cover? Had she stolen information, memorized key movements, gathered whispers from men who had no idea that the Phantom was standing right beside them? Or was she merely a pawn, unknowingly used as a distraction while someone else pulled the strings?
His lips curled in disdain. He didn't believe in coincidences.
He couldn't afford to.
His patience snapped. With a sharp pivot, he turned on his heel, his coat flaring behind him like a phantom's shadow. His movements were quick, decisive. Every step echoed through the tense silence of the room, his presence a storm brewing just before the thunder struck. The men standing before him instinctively stiffened, their muscles coiled with unease. They knew this kind of quiet. It was the kind that came before blood was spilled.
His voice was ice when he spoke. "You." A pointed gesture. "And you." His sharp gaze barely flickered toward the two men as he singled them out. "With me. Now."
There was no need to explain, no need to justify. When Kang Chul-soo gave an order, it was obeyed without hesitation.
The two men immediately fell in step behind him, but for the others, there was no reprieve. As he strode toward the exit, he threw out one final command, his tone razor-sharp, slicing through the air like a blade.
"The rest of you—erase every trace of our involvement. I don't care how you do it. If anyone asks, those men were traitors. They went behind my back, running drug operations without my approval."
It was a lie. A carefully crafted, calculated lie.
The very operations he now condemned had been his own doing, a deliberate expansion of his empire. The men who had been arrested were not traitors—they were loyal soldiers who had simply been caught in the crossfire of his enemies. But none of that mattered now. Truth was irrelevant. Only perception mattered.
His men didn't question him. They knew the rules of this world. Loyalty was not built on morality; it was a currency. And betrayal—whether real or fabricated—was paid for in blood.
//
They exchanged a tense glance before falling into step behind him, their movements swift and precise, shadows trailing in his wake. The silence between them was thick with unspoken tension, an oppressive weight that settled into their bones as they moved through the estate.
Chul-soo's stride was brisk, his coat billowing slightly with every step, but his mind was moving far faster. A tangled web of suspicion unraveled in calculated threads, each possibility measured and weighed with ruthless precision. He had spent years curating his empire, molding every alliance, every enemy, every godforsaken piece of this world to his will.
And now, someone had dared to strike at him from within.
If it was Rae-a—if she had orchestrated this attack, had moved against him with such audacity—then she had done more than betray him. She had challenged him. Threatened him. And Kang Chul-soo did not tolerate threats.
The estate grounds were eerily quiet in the late hours of the night, the only sound the rhythmic, deliberate steps of the three men cutting through the hush like the prelude to a storm. Chul-soo's gaze was sharp as a blade, locked ahead as they neared the secluded building on the far end of the compound.
The holding quarters.
A place few ever saw—and even fewer walked out of.
His grip on control tightened. His men had orders. No one was to be executed yet. The captives—her friends—were leverage, pawns in a game where Rae-a was meant to play her part. He had granted her a choice, a chance to step back into the role she had abandoned. To return to him. To prove her loyalty.
But if this raid was her answer… if she had already made her decision—
Then she had forfeited the privilege of choice.
--
The vantage point they had chosen was perched on the edge of a steep incline, overlooking Kang Chul-soo's sprawling estate. From here, the compound unfolded beneath them in a labyrinth of towering walls, razor-wire fences, and security patrols moving with a precision that left no gaps for error. The darkness should have worked in their favor, but the floodlights stationed along the perimeter cut through the night like knives, their harsh white glow illuminating every inch of the reinforced barriers.
The entire place was a fortress—cold, calculated, and built for one purpose. To keep people out. Or to keep them in.
Rae-a crouched low beside Jun-ho, barely shifting her weight as she surveyed the terrain below. The faint whisper of wind rustled the leaves around them, but otherwise, the night remained deathly silent. It was the kind of silence that made her skin crawl, the kind that signaled something just beyond the edge of perception. A wrong move could send the entire operation spiraling into disaster.
She adjusted the earpiece linked to their secured frequency, her fingers steady despite the weight of what they were about to do. The pressure of the mission pressed against them like an unseen force, thickening the air, but neither spoke at first. They didn't need to. The understanding between them had been forged through too many close calls, too many moments where words had been a luxury they couldn't afford.
Still, it was Jun-ho who broke the silence, exhaling slow and controlled. "You sure about this?" His voice was level, but Rae-a caught the thread of unease beneath it. "Breaking into a place like this with just the two of us? We screw up, and we're dead before we hit the ground."
A smirk ghosted across her lips, but it lacked its usual bite. "You don't strike me as someone who backs down from a fight," she murmured, keeping her focus on the security rotations below. "Besides, we don't have time to wait for backup. They're running out of it."
The words hung between them, heavy with meaning. They. Jun-hee. Dae-ho. Hyun-ju. Gi-hun's family. Her friends, held somewhere behind those walls, counting on her to bring them back.
Jun-ho didn't argue, but she could feel his eyes on her, studying her in that way he always did—like he was peeling back layers, searching for the things she wasn't saying.
"You've been off since we left the safe house," he said finally, his voice quieter now. "Is it because of him?"
The words hit like the snap of a wire under too much tension.
Rae-a's shoulders went rigid, but she didn't look at him. The last person she wanted to talk to about this was his brother.
"Don't," she warned.
Jun-ho didn't back off. "You found out he was the Frontman, and still—"
"I said don't."
This time, the sharp edge in her voice cut clean through the night air. It wasn't a plea. It was a final warning. The kind that made it clear: push any further, and whatever trust they had would crack beyond repair.
Jun-ho exhaled, shaking his head. "Keep telling yourself that you can ignore the problem."
And maybe she would. Maybe she had to. Because the alternative, the idea that a part of her still cared, still felt something, despite everything she knew—despite everything he had done—was already complicated enough. Not now. Not when her friends' lives hung in the balance.
She turned back to the compound, inhaling slowly before speaking again, this time with an edge of finality. "We move now. No second-guessing, no hesitation." She adjusted the strap on her gear, rolling her shoulders in preparation. "If we wait any longer, we won't get another shot."
Jun-ho didn't say anything else. He didn't have to. The weight of unspoken things lingered between them, but for now, there was only the mission, only the moment before they disappeared into the dark, ghosts slipping toward the walls of the fortress that stood between them and survival.
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The night air was crisp, carrying the distant hum of cicadas beneath the ever-present static of tension. Rae-a moved first, her body shifting into motion like a shadow breaking away from the darkness itself. Every step was deliberate, her breath measured, her movements seamless as she approached the stone barrier that loomed before them. The security lights, though dim, cast angular shadows across the estate, creating sharp contrasts of light and darkness that pulsed in predictable intervals. They weren't just obstacles; they were opportunities—flaws in the otherwise impenetrable defenses that she had learned to navigate long ago.
Without breaking stride, she surged forward, her footfalls barely making a sound against the uneven terrain as she reached the base of the wall. In one fluid motion, she sprang upward, catching the edge of a nearby drainage pipe and using it to propel herself higher. Her fingers curled around the rough metal, her grip unyielding as she hoisted herself up with ease, the muscles in her arms and shoulders tightening in controlled effort. The cold bite of the stone met her fingertips as she scaled the wall, finding the narrowest crevices to leverage her weight. There was no hesitation, no misstep, just instinct honed by years of necessity.
Jun-ho followed close behind, his approach slightly less fluid, but still efficient. He lacked the precision of someone who had spent years slipping through places they were never meant to be, but he adapted quickly, mimicking her path with only a few moments of struggle. By the time he reached the top, Rae-a had already settled into a crouch, her balance steady despite the narrow ledge beneath her feet.
The estate stretched before them, a vast courtyard flanked by towering structures of stone and glass, their windows reflecting only slivers of moonlight. Below, guards moved in their designated patrols, their routes precise, their formations drilled into a routine that made them predictable. Rae-a's eyes flickered across the layout, scanning for the most efficient path before nodding toward a smaller building situated adjacent to the main estate. Its reinforced exterior and lack of visible windows suggested it was more than just storage.
"We split up," she murmured, her voice barely louder than a whisper yet carrying the weight of an unspoken warning. "I'll take the building on the southwest side. You get into position near the east wing. If things go south, we regroup at the vantage point. No delays."
Jun-ho hesitated for a fraction of a second, the kind of pause that came not from uncertainty in the mission, but in something deeper, something unspoken. His gaze lingered on her, studying her face in the dim light before he finally spoke. "And if you run into him?"
For a brief moment, she stilled. The cool night air felt sharper against her skin, the weight of his question pressing against something she refused to acknowledge. Her fingers, resting lightly on the stone ledge, tightened almost imperceptibly before she forced herself to release the tension.
"Then I handle it." The words left her with practiced ease, sharp and unwavering, even as something inside her coiled tight. "We have communication anyway."
There was nothing more to say. She didn't give him time to argue, didn't allow herself the space to dwell on the implication of his question. Instead, she exhaled slowly, steadying herself before slipping over the edge of the wall.
The drop was a long one, but she barely felt the impact as she landed in the shadows, her body absorbing the force with practiced control. The coolness of the earth beneath her palms grounded her, a stark contrast to the storm brewing within. There was no room for hesitation, no space for doubt. This was what she did, what she had always done.
And Rae-a had never been one to hesitate.
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Rae-a crouched low against the rooftop's edge, her sharp gaze locked onto the scene unfolding below. The estate was alive with movement—guards rushing to reposition, vehicles shifting, orders being barked through unseen radios—but her focus remained singular. She exhaled slowly, adjusting the weight of the sniper rifle in her hands, her fingers steady against the cold metal despite the adrenaline coursing through her veins. The familiar sensation of the rifle's stock pressed against her shoulder grounded her, allowing her to drown out the surrounding chaos as she peered through the scope, scanning for the one man who mattered most in this moment.
It didn't take long. Chul-soo was moving with purpose, cutting through the disarray with an almost eerie composure, his figure instantly recognizable even among the swarm of activity. He was flanked by his usual entourage—two bodyguards, dressed in their standard dark suits, their eyes sweeping the area with trained vigilance. They walked with a sense of urgency, their pace brisk, their movements sharp and deliberate, as if they had been given a direct order that demanded immediate action.
Rae-a's grip on the rifle tightened as she adjusted her aim, tracking Chul-soo's movements with unwavering precision. Every shift in his stance, every flick of his gaze, every purposeful step—she took it all in, breaking it down with the cold efficiency of a predator analyzing its prey. Her pulse remained steady, her breathing measured, but her mind had already leaped ahead, racing through every possible explanation for his sudden shift in direction.
Then, it happened.
The convoy didn't continue toward the central estate as she had expected, knowing it was the most fortified building. Instead, they veered sharply, cutting across the courtyard and making their way toward a different structure—a smaller, heavily secured building she had already marked as significant long before the mission began.
Her stomach twisted, a sickening realization clawing at her gut.
That building.
That's where they are.
She knew it before she even fully processed the thought. The heavy security, the reinforced exterior, the way the guards subtly reoriented themselves as Chul-soo approached—it all fell into place like a final puzzle piece clicking into position. And the best part? He had just confirmed it himself.
Her finger hovered just over the trigger, tension coiling through her muscles. This was exactly what In-ho had warned her about.
"When the media strikes, he won't hesitate. He'll suspect you, and the first thing he'll do is move against the people he thinks will lead him to you."
In-ho had seen this coming. He had anticipated it down to the smallest detail, the ruthless predictability of a man like Chul-soo—how he thrived on control, how he would use fear as a weapon the moment he felt his grip slipping. Chul-soo thought he was making a power move, flexing his influence by personally overseeing the state of his captives.
But in doing so, he had just exposed their position.
A bitter smirk ghosted across her lips, but it was fleeting. This wasn't just a careless mistake on Chul-soo's part—it was a dangerous moment for her friends. If he suspected they were valuable enough to use as leverage, then it meant he was even more of a threat.
And for the first time in a long while, something flickered in her chest. A sharp, intrusive spark of concern.
It felt foreign. Unwelcome.
Her mind recoiled against it even as it bloomed. Concern was a liability. It made people reckless. Sloppy. Weak. And weakness was something she couldn't afford—not here, not now. She needed to keep her cool.
She inhaled sharply, pressing the feeling down, forcing herself to regulate her breathing. Slow. Controlled. She had trained herself for this, conditioned her mind to compartmentalize. The weight of the sniper rifle in her hands anchored her back to the present, pulling her from the momentary lapse in discipline.
There was no time to feel.
Her friends were alive. That was the only fact that mattered. And she would make damn sure they stayed that way.
She allowed herself a fleeting moment of satisfaction, the ghost of a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips as she watched the carefully composed mask of Kang Chul-soo crack. Even from a distance, through the scope of her rifle, she could see the telltale signs of distress—the tightening of his jaw, the sharp flick of his gaze as he scanned his surroundings, the minute hesitation in his steps. Good. Let him feel it.
The moment the drug operation hit the media, it had shifted the balance of power. Chul-soo was no longer the untouchable force he had spent decades cultivating. He was exposed. A wounded predator, circled by others just as vicious, just as power-hungry. And Rae-a knew exactly what that meant.
A man like Chul-soo didn't survive on strength alone—he survived on perception. His entire reign was built on fear, on the illusion of absolute control. The moment that illusion shattered, the vultures would descend. His enemies, his allies, even those who once groveled at his feet—they would all turn on him. It was only a matter of time.
And she would be the one to light the fuse.
Her fingers curled around the trigger, steady despite the storm raging beneath her skin. She aligned her shot, the weight of the rifle pressing comfortingly against her shoulder. The bullets in the chamber were not just any rounds—each one bore the signature of rival syndicates, carefully selected for maximum impact. A calling card meant to sow doubt. To make Chul-soo question who had truly pulled the trigger.
This was no random hit. This was a statement.
Her pulse slowed, her breathing deep and even. She ignored the distant sound of traffic, the faint rustling of wind against the rooftop where she perched. In this moment, there was only her, the rifle, and her target.
Then—she fired.
The first bullet struck its mark, tearing through the skull of the nearest bodyguard with surgical precision. He crumpled instantly, his body hitting the pavement in a limp heap before anyone even registered the attack. The second shot followed so swiftly that it might as well have been an echo, piercing through the chest of the next guard. Blood sprayed against the pavement as he staggered, eyes wide in shock before his knees buckled.
A second.
That was all it took to eliminate them.
Panic rippled through the convoy. Shouts rang out. The other patrolling guards scrambled to locate the shooter, their guns drawn, eyes darting frantically in every direction. But Rae-a remained unseen, a ghost in the shadows, watching them unravel with cold detachment.
Then, she lined up the third shot.
The crosshairs hovered over Chul-soo's head. One squeeze of the trigger, and it would be over.
Her finger tensed—
And then she shifted, ever so slightly, adjusting her aim.
The bullet whizzed past his ear, so close that it carved a thin, searing line along his skin. Chul-soo flinched violently, jerking back as if the air itself had burned him. A hand shot up to the fresh wound, his fingers coming away slick with red. His face twisted, his expression shifting from shock to pure, unfiltered rage.
Rae-a's breath came harder now, faster, as she forced herself to still her shaking hands.
She should have taken the shot. Every fiber of her being screamed at her to end it—to end him.
But she couldn't.
Not yet.
In-ho had been clear.
"If you kill him now, they'll replace him before his body even turns cold. Someone just as dangerous. Just as ruthless. If you want to win, you can't just cut the head off the snake. You have to burn the whole nest."
Her jaw clenched as she willed her rage into submission. She wasn't here to act on emotion. Chul-soo had to go, yes—but his entire empire had to fall with him.
This wasn't about revenge. It wasn't about a single death.
This wasn't just an assassination.
This was a dismantling.
The sharp crack of gunfire tore through the night, a deafening shockwave that sent the estate into chaos. The carefully cultivated stillness of the grounds shattered in an instant as men scrambled for cover, their voices overlapping in a cacophony of panic and confusion. Some barked orders, others fumbled to draw their weapons, but none of them had time to properly react. The attack had come too fast, too precise. Too inevitable.
Jun-ho was already moving in the distance, a dark silhouette weaving through the fray, his gun methodically picking apart Chul-soo's forces from the other side. His shots were controlled, deliberate. Meant to wound, not kill. Every bullet found its mark, cutting down Chul-soo's men one by one, leaving them writhing on the ground, incapacitated but alive. It wasn't mercy that guided his hand—it was strategy. They weren't here to wipe out Chul-soo's entire force in one fell swoop. Not yet.
From her vantage point, Rae-a remained utterly still, her breathing slow and measured as she watched the inevitable unfold through the scope of her rifle. She had known exactly how this would play out, had predicted it down to the smallest detail, but seeing it happen in real time—watching the once-untouchable fortress of Chul-soo's estate crumble beneath the weight of carefully laid plans—was deeply satisfying.
Chul-soo, after a moment of frozen disbelief, finally reacted. His instincts, the ones that had allowed him to build his empire and rule it with an iron grip, kicked in at last. In a frantic burst of movement, he lunged for the nearest pillar, diving behind the thick stone structure just as another shot rang out, striking mere inches from where he had stood. The scattered remains of his bodyguards littered the ground around him, their weapons still clutched uselessly in their lifeless hands, their expressions frozen in a mix of shock and pain.
But Rae-a wasn't looking at them. She wasn't even looking at Chul-soo's panicked movements as he pressed himself against the pillar, chest heaving. She was looking at his hands.
Through the crisp clarity of her scope, she caught the moment his fingers brushed against the ground, skimming across the blood-streaked pavement before curling around something small and metallic. Slowly, his trembling hands lifted the object into the dim light—a single, spent bullet casing.
She watched, utterly still, as his eyes flickered over its surface, his brow furrowing ever so slightly. Even from this distance, she could see the moment recognition struck. The realization.
Her smirk deepened, amusement curling at the edges of her lips as she watched the understanding dawn on him in real time.
He had taken the bait.
Rae-a had chosen her bullets carefully, ensuring each casing bore the distinct engravings of a rival syndicate—one of the many enemies Chul-soo had made over the years, one that had no love for him or his empire. The markings were unmistakable, a signature left behind for him to find, a calculated deception that played perfectly into his own paranoia.
And just as she had intended, he was jumping to all the wrong conclusions.
She could practically hear his thoughts, could see them racing behind his panicked eyes as he tried to piece together an explanation. He wasn't thinking about her. Not anymore. Any suspicions he had previously held about her involvement, about her being the phantom lurking in the shadows, had just been overridden by something much more immediate.
A rival syndicate.
The timing, the precision, the sheer boldness of the attack—it was too coordinated, too perfectly placed. And now, in the heat of the moment, with his estate under siege, he had no choice but to believe it.
Rae-a inhaled slowly through her nose, her fingers flexing against the cool metal of her rifle.
"That's right. Sweat a little, you bastard."
She had spent so many years watching Chul-soo hold absolute control over everything around him. He had always been untouchable, always three steps ahead, always the one pulling the strings while others danced for his amusement. But now, he was the one dancing. His empire was crumbling under his feet, and he didn't even know who was truly responsible.
For the first time, he was afraid.
The earpiece crackled to life suddenly, breaking through the static of gunfire and distant shouts.
"Move fast. We're in position."
Jun-ho's voice was steady despite the tension thrumming just beneath the surface. Rae-a listened carefully, her focus still locked onto Chul-soo as he remained crouched behind the pillar, his grip tightening around the bullet casing. In the background of the transmission, she could hear muffled gunfire, the sharp clatter of movement—Jun-ho was still working, still dismantling the perimeter as planned.
"Chul-soo's already scrambling. Full lockdown will be in place soon."
Rae-a exhaled slowly. Good.
Everything was falling into place exactly as she had intended, but there was no time to revel in it. She had other priorities. The prisoners.
Her friends.
The building where they were being held was still a distance away, and she needed to move now before the chaos settled and Chul-soo regained control. If he caught onto what was really happening, if he managed to reorganize his forces in time, he could lock that place down so tightly that getting in would be nearly impossible. She couldn't afford to let that happen.
Her fingers twitched slightly against the trigger before she finally, reluctantly, pulled back from her scope. She had to move—had to get out undetected, slip away before—
"Wait."
Jun-ho's voice, sharper this time.
Rae-a stilled.
A tense silence followed, broken only by the distant echoes of the ongoing firefight. Then—
"Chul-soo's pulling all his security toward himself. Full protection. No one's watching the prisoners."
Rae-a's breath caught in her throat, her grip tightening instinctively.
Of course.
Even now, even as his empire burned around him, his instincts remained the same. Self-preservation above all else.
His men, his estate, his resources—none of it mattered. The second his own life was in danger, he did exactly what she had always known he would do. He abandoned them all.
Her jaw clenched, a flash of disgust curling in her stomach as she imagined it—the way his soldiers, the ones who had bled for him, killed for him, would now be left to fend for themselves while he cowered behind layers of protection, barricading himself away from the consequences of his own greed.
But as much as it disgusted her, she couldn't ignore what it meant.
He had made a mistake.
By turning all of his defenses inward, by focusing entirely on shielding himself from the perceived attack, he had unwittingly given her the perfect opening.
The people he had taken—the ones she had come here for—were now completely vulnerable.
This was her chance.
Without wasting another second, Rae-a moved, her body slipping into motion as she dismantled her rifle with practiced ease, tucking the pieces securely into her gear. Her heartbeat remained steady, her mind razor-sharp as she pushed away everything else—the amusement, the disgust, the deep-rooted fury threatening to coil tighter around her chest.
None of that mattered now.
The only thing that mattered was getting to them.
And she would.
Rae-a pulled the sniper rifle into its case with practiced efficiency, every motion smooth and methodical. There was no time for hesitation, no room for error. She secured the latches with a sharp click before slinging the case over her back, already moving toward the edge of the rooftop. Her fingers wrapped around the sturdy rope she had anchored earlier, muscles tensing as she began her descent down the side of the building.
The wind howled against her, tearing through her hair and pressing against her body as she rappelled down with swift, controlled movements. Every step downward was precise, calculated—years of training ensuring that her weight never lingered too long in one place. The textured concrete beneath her gloved hands was cold and rough, biting into her fingertips as she maneuvered with effortless grace.
She kept her eyes on the estate below, scanning every shadow, every shifting silhouette that moved against the floodlights now flickering to life across the compound. The alarm system had fully activated, shrill and piercing, a desperate warning of the chaos unfolding within the walls. Her heartbeat remained steady despite the rising tension in the air.
Don't fuck this up, Rae-a.
As her boots touched solid ground, she immediately ducked behind a crate stacked near the base of the building. The moment her body melted into the darkness, she became one with the environment, blending seamlessly into the chaos she had created. Her breaths were slow and controlled, her ears tuned to every sound—the frantic shuffling of boots, the muffled curses of men who were scrambling to follow orders, the stuttering voices over the comms as panic tightened its grip around Chul-soo's forces.
A flicker of movement in the distance caught her eye, and she turned just in time to see Jun-ho dart across an adjacent rooftop. His figure was barely visible against the backdrop of night, his silhouette a mere shadow that disappeared behind the cover of a ventilation shaft. Rae-a tracked his movements for only a second—just enough to confirm that he was still in position. There was no need for verbal confirmation; they had long since learned to move in sync without the need for words. The next phase of their plan was clear.
But first—her friends.
Rae-a exhaled, forcing every ounce of rage and anticipation into the pit of her stomach where it burned like a slow, smoldering fire. Chul-soo would have his reckoning, but not yet. Not until she had made him suffer more than a mere night of fear.
The estate was now in full lockdown mode. The once-majestic complex, which had always exuded an air of untouchable power, had transformed into a fortress of desperation. Guards scrambled to their designated posts, their eyes wild with uncertainty as they struggled to maintain control over a situation that was slipping through their fingers.
The voice that cracked over the speakers was sharp with command but laced with unmistakable fear.
"Full lockdown. Get every available man on Chul-soo's protection."
The words echoed through the estate, heavy and absolute, carrying the weight of a desperate leader trying to keep his crumbling empire from falling apart.
"The prisoners are to be left alone for now. Nothing matters more than protecting the boss. Evacuate Chul-soo now."
Rae-a nearly laughed.
Chul-soo had always ruled through fear—through absolute dominance and the ruthless elimination of threats. But the moment he became the hunted, all of that confidence, all of that calculated cruelty, meant nothing. He was running, just like they all did in the end.
His men were scrambling to reinforce his security, drawing every available soldier away from the prisoners, away from the crucial elements that once made his empire so impenetrable. And in doing so, he had handed her exactly what she needed.
She inhaled deeply, steadying her pulse. Time to move.
Keeping low, Rae-a darted through the shadows, her every step careful yet swift, ensuring she remained unseen as she maneuvered through the outer edges of the estate. The scent of gunpowder lingered in the air, mixing with the sharp metallic tang of blood that had already been spilled in the earlier skirmish. Bodies littered the courtyard, some still groaning in pain, others unmoving, caught in the crossfire of their leader's desperation.
She pressed herself against the cold stone wall of a storage unit, waiting for a pair of guards to rush past. Their breaths were ragged, their grips tight around their weapons as they hurried toward the main estate. They didn't even glance in her direction—too focused on the orders they had just been given.
She smirked.
Chul-soo had just lost his bargaining chip.
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Rae-a allowed herself a moment to savor that victory, even as the adrenaline surged again. They were already moving out. Jun-ho was close behind her. She could hear him breathing steadily through their earpieces.
"Get out of the firing line," Jun-ho's voice came, calm despite the chaos. "We've got this covered." The second part of his statement wasn't meant for her. Rae-a recognized the slight shift in his tone—he was speaking to the others, the ones waiting back at the safe house. The people she had reluctantly begun to call her own.
With the first step onto the ground, Rae-a disappeared into the shadows, the darkness swallowing her as she moved swiftly and silently toward the vantage point she and Jun-ho had discussed earlier. They had one more move to make, but for now, they had to wait for Chul-soo to leave.
Her earpiece crackled to life again, this time with a voice far too composed for the situation at hand. "Status?" In-ho's voice was sharp, edged with something akin to concern.
Rae-a barely registered the response. Her mind was already calculating her next move as her boots hit solid ground. The moment she landed, she slipped into the darkness, letting it swallow her whole. Her body moved on instinct, pressing against the cold stone wall as she made her way toward the vantage point she and Jun-ho had mapped out earlier.
"Chul-soo's pulling out. Security's spreading thin. We're in position."
There was a pause before In-ho spoke again, his voice carrying that familiar, calculating edge. "Once he's gone, the only ones left in that building will be his lackeys. He focused on keeping his best fighters near him. His two underdogs are still out at their respective meetings."
Rae-a's lips curled slightly, though there was no humor in it. She shouldn't have been surprised. In-ho had been keeping track of Chul-soo's inner circle for weeks, even before he met them, using the information he had gathered at the party to anticipate their every move. It was a game of patience and precision, and now, all of it was coming to a head.
"Understood," she muttered, adjusting her grip on the rifle strapped to her back. Rae-a moved swiftly through the shadows, her breath steady despite the adrenaline coursing through her veins. Jun-ho was a mere step behind, his movements almost as fluid as hers. The night was still, the estate eerily quiet except for the distant hum of alarms and the sound of rushing feet as low-level guards scrambled to find the supposed rival intruders.
Chul-soo had now been escorted out, his most trusted men forming a protective wall around him. He was running, not fighting. Rae-a had seen it countless times before—men like him never stood their ground when their power was threatened. They cowered, scurried to safety, convinced they could rebuild as long as they survived.
But tonight, there would be no rebuilding.
Her fingers brushed against the holster at her side as she crouched low behind a stack of crates, watching as Chul-soo's convoy disappeared beyond the gates. A sense of finality settled over her. He was out of the picture—for now.
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They'd completed their initial mission—creating the distraction, sending Chul-soo into a frenzy. Now, it was time to ensure they had an edge over his forces, to make sure nothing went wrong as they moved forward. And for that, they needed access to the facility's security systems.
"Stay close," Rae-a whispered, her voice barely audible. She checked her earpiece, signaling Jun-ho to take point. His eyes locked with hers for a moment, understanding everything without a word being spoken. He'd already identified a weak entry point, one that was far less monitored than the main gates or security checkpoints. A small, almost forgotten side entrance where access was limited, but still just enough to get them inside without raising alarms.
They approached the door, Jun-ho moving with his usual precision. He'd scouted the area beforehand, identifying every potential entry and exit. He bent down, quickly picking the lock with ease, his hands steady as Rae-a kept an eye on their surroundings. The faintest click of the lock opening sounded like a gunshot in the silence of the night.
With the door cracked open, Rae-a gestured for Jun-ho to enter first. He slipped through quietly, and she followed right after, closing the door behind them with the same level of stealth. They were in. Now, they had to move fast.The air inside the facility was cold, sterile, carrying the faint scent of metal and dust. The dim glow of emergency lighting cast long, distorted shadows along the walls, creating an eerie sense of movement. Rae-a's pulse remained steady, but the tension in her muscles spoke of the high stakes. They had crossed the threshold, unseen and unheard, but the real challenge was just beginning.
Jun-ho's hand barely brushed the doorframe as he pressed himself against the wall, his breathing measured, his body coiled and ready to strike. Rae-a mirrored his stance, every sense heightened, listening for the telltale signs of approaching footsteps. A distant voice echoed from the hallway, the gruff murmur of a guard speaking into his radio, followed by the faint static of a response. They were still unaware of the infiltration, but the guards were alert. That meant no second chances.
Jun-ho glanced at Rae-a and nodded, signaling that he was ready. She returned the gesture and pressed forward, moving with the grace of a phantom, each step perfectly placed to avoid the faintest creak in the flooring. The hallway stretched ahead, lined with thick concrete walls that muffled sound but also made every noise within the corridor all the more pronounced.
A single guard stood stationed at the next intersection, his rifle slung loosely over his shoulder, his stance relaxed but his eyes sharp. He hadn't seen them yet. Rae-a remained still, waiting for Jun-ho to move. He was better at this part—silent takedowns, rendering targets unconscious without drawing unwanted attention.
Jun-ho moved like a shadow, swift and deliberate. He closed the distance between them in an instant, his hand clamping over the guard's mouth as his arm snapped tight around the man's neck. There was a brief struggle—nothing more than a faint shuffle of boots on concrete—before the guard's body went limp. Jun-ho eased him to the ground soundlessly, ensuring not a single sound betrayed them.
Rae-a exhaled slowly and stepped over the unconscious body, continuing down the hall. The security room was close now. The door stood just ahead, unmarked but unmistakable—the reinforced steel, the multiple security panels, and the hum of active surveillance systems on the other side made its purpose clear.
She raised a hand, signaling Jun-ho to stop. She pressed her ear against the door, listening intently. There it was—the faint, rhythmic tapping of fingers on a keyboard, the occasional shuffling of feet. At least two people inside. They had to be quick.
With a swift glance at Jun-ho, she reached into her belt and pulled out a compact, silenced pistol. Not for killing, but for efficiency. If things went wrong, she wanted an option that wouldn't immediately alert the entire compound.
Jun-ho reached for the door handle, testing it lightly. Locked. No surprise. He crouched down, retrieving a small toolset from his pocket, and got to work. The seconds stretched, each one thick with anticipation. A faint click, then another. Rae-a held her breath, counting the time between the muffled conversations inside. They couldn't afford a single misstep now.
Another click. The lock gave way.
Jun-ho looked up, and Rae-a nodded once.
The door opened just enough for her to slip inside, her gun raised, body low. Jun-ho followed immediately after. The two guards barely had time to register their presence before Jun-ho moved. One fell instantly to a precise strike to the throat, his airway cut off before he could make a sound. The second turned, his hand moving toward his radio, but Rae-a was faster. She pressed the muzzle of her gun against his temple, her voice low and lethal.
"Don't."
The man froze, his breathing shallow. Rae-a's gaze didn't waver. She could see the fear in his eyes, the slight shift of his fingers as if contemplating a desperate move. She didn't give him the chance. Her finger squeezed the trigger, and a muffled shot echoed through the room. The guard crumpled instantly, his body hitting the floor with a dull thud. Jun-ho didn't flinch, only stepping forward to check the body before swiftly moving to secure the unconscious guard. There was no hesitation, no wasted motion. It was necessary.
With the room secured, Rae-a holstered her weapon and moved toward the main console. Screens flickered in front of her, displaying every corner of the facility, every guard's patrol route, every locked door that stood between them and their objective.
She allowed herself a small, satisfied smirk. They had what they needed. Now, it was time to move forward.
Jun-ho moved beside her, his voice a quiet murmur. "We're in. Let's make this count."
Rae-a's fingers danced over the keyboard, already working to override the system. Every second mattered. Chul-soo had no idea how close his empire was to falling apart.
And she was going to make damn sure he felt every second of it.
The room was dimly lit by the glow of multiple monitors, the only sources of illumination casting long shadows against the walls. Rae-a's fingers moved swiftly over the keyboard, inputting a series of codes Myung-gi had sent them earlier. The security system's interface blinked to life, presenting a labyrinth of encrypted files and surveillance feeds. Jun-ho stood beside her, eyes scanning the screens, while the faint hum of the facility's ventilation filled the silence.
A soft crackle in their earpieces broke the quiet. "I'm in," Myung-gi's voice announced, smooth and confident. "Camera feeds are looping. Alarms are disabled. You have a window, but don't take it for granted."
Rae-a exhaled slightly, tension easing just enough to acknowledge their progress. "Good work. Anything else we should know?"
There was a brief pause, then Myung-gi's voice returned, tinged with that familiar mischief. "Well, for starters, your entrance could have been smoother. I had to override a proximity alert when you came through the side corridor. You're lucky I was fast, or you'd have had company by now."
Rae-a exchanged a glance with Jun-ho. So much for seamless infiltration.
"Noted," she said dryly. "Any other surprises waiting for us?"
"Just the usual," Myung-gi replied. "Guards patrolling in predictable patterns, security protocols that are almost laughably outdated… and me, making sure you don't get yourselves killed."
Rae-a smirked. "You act like you're doing all the work."
"I'm doing the most important work," he countered. "Trust me, you don't want to be in there without me keeping the system under control."
Despite the situation, Rae-a allowed herself a quiet chuckle. Myung-gi had always been like this—flippant under pressure, acting as though hacking into high-security networks was just another casual endeavor. And in a way, for him, it was.
She turned her attention back to the screens. The looping feed showed nothing out of the ordinary—empty hallways, static guards unaware that their footage was being altered in real-time. They had the upper hand for now. But time was slipping, and they still had work to do.
Jun-ho's voice cut through her thoughts. "Let's move."
Rae-a gave one last glance at the monitors before nodding. "Myung-gi, keep us updated on any changes. We're heading to the next checkpoint."
"Roger that," he said. "Try not to trip any more alarms, yeah?"
Rae-a rolled her eyes and disconnected the channel. They had what they needed. Now, it was time to push forward.
Jun-ho gave her a curt nod, and together, they slipped back into the hallway, moving with the same precision as before. Every step was measured, every corner checked. They had the advantage now, but they couldn't get complacent. The last thing they needed was for Chul-soo's men to regain their bearings.
The corridor stretched ahead, dimly lit by emergency lighting. The air was thick with the sterile scent of metal and dust, a reminder of the cold, calculated nature of the facility. Rae-a's breathing remained steady, her mind sharp, calculating every possible outcome of the next few minutes.
Through their earpieces, a voice crackled to life. In-ho's voice, calm and calculated. "There are two guards heading your way. Be ready."
Rae-a's grip tightened on her weapon. She turned to Jun-ho, and he gave a brief nod, already positioning himself against the wall. The sound of approaching footsteps echoed faintly, growing louder by the second. They had moments to decide their next move.
Rae-a's gaze darted to a supply closet just a few steps ahead. A quick glance at Jun-ho was all it took—he understood. Moving in sync, they pressed against the doorframe, waiting for the right moment.
The guards walked past, their conversation low but filled with tension. "Boss wants everything locked down. He thinks someone has slipped in, it is likely they are still here," one muttered.
"No kidding? We should double back and check the east hall again," the other replied.
The moment they turned their backs, Rae-a struck. Her movements were swift, precise—a knife to the first guard's throat, silencing him before he could react. Jun-ho handled the second with equal efficiency, his grip vice-like as he dragged him into the shadows, rendering him unconscious within seconds.
A quick scan confirmed no further threats for now. Rae-a exhaled slowly, stepping over the bodies. "We keep moving. No time to waste."
They pressed on, weaving through the corridors like phantoms. Every second counted. They had to reach their friends before Chul-soo realized what was happening. With one last exchanged glance, they pushed forward, their mission far from over.
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The air was suffocating, thick with the weight of anticipation and unspoken fears. Every step Rae-a took felt heavier than the last, the hushed sound of her boots against the cold floor an eerie reminder that time was slipping away. Her pulse pounded in her ears, but she forced herself to focus, to drown out the gnawing dread clawing at the back of her mind. This was it. This was the moment they had been fighting for.
Jun-ho was a steady presence at her side, his movements just as sharp, just as precise. Neither of them spoke as they pressed forward, slipping through the dimly lit corridor like shadows, hearts hammering in unison. They had come too far, risked too much. There was no room for failure.
Rae-a's fingers instinctively tightened around her weapon. They had to move fast. Any delay could mean the difference between life and death.
Finally, they reached the door.
The moment Rae-a pushed it open, her breath hitched violently in her throat.
The room was small, dimly illuminated by a single, flickering lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. The air was stale, thick with the stench of blood, sweat, and despair. Against the far wall, slumped and unmoving, was Hyun-ju.
A sharp, ice-cold wave of horror crashed over Rae-a.
Hyun-ju looked barely conscious, her head tilted at an unnatural angle, her face pale and smeared with blood. Ugly cuts marred her skin, deep bruises blooming along her arms and collarbone. And then Rae-a's gaze dropped lower—to her leg. The sight of it twisted Rae-a's stomach into knots. It was bent in a way that it shouldn't be, the limb unnaturally twisted, swollen, and discolored.
For a split second, the world tilted.
Rae-a had seen injuries like this before. She had inflicted injuries like this before. And she knew what they meant. Hyun-ju was in agony. Maybe too much to even register what was happening. And worst of all—Rae-a hadn't been here to stop it.
A sickening guilt slammed into her chest, making it hard to breathe. She had fought tooth and nail to find her, had clung to the fragile hope that Hyun-ju was still out there, still alive, waiting for her. But seeing her like this—so broken, so close to the edge—Rae-a wondered if she had already lost her anyway.
Her fingers twitched at her side, nails digging into her palm as she forced herself to move.
"Hyun-ju," she rasped, her voice cracking. But there was no response. Only the faintest rise and fall of her chest.
Rae-a swallowed hard, pushing past the paralyzing weight of her emotions. She tore her gaze away, scanning the rest of the room.
Jun-hee. Dae-ho. Both bound, one looking like they had been dragged through hell and the other significantly less so. Jun-hee's face was slightly bruised, blood crusting at the corner of her mouth. Dae-ho's left eye was nearly swollen shut, a gash across his temple still bleeding sluggishly. But they were alive. And when their eyes met hers, confusion flickered first, then something else—something like hope, fragile and uncertain, like they couldn't believe she was standing there in front of them.
A part of her shattered at the sight.
For them to look at her as if she was their salvation felt like a cruel joke. She wasn't a hero—she was the reason they were here, the reason they had suffered. Their hope was misplaced, and the weight of that realization pressed down on her like an iron vice.
She clenched her teeth, her grip tightening around her gun as she forced the storm inside her to quiet. She knew they had questions.
"I'll explain later," she said, her voice sharper than she intended. There was no time to process, no time for anything except getting them out. "For now, we need to move."
Jun-ho was already working on their restraints, his movements swift and efficient. Rae-a turned toward the last two figures in the room.
Gi-hun's wife and daughter.
The little girl was no older than six, her tiny frame curled into her mother's side, eyes wide and brimming with fear. The moment Rae-a's gaze met hers, she flinched, instinctively clutching at her mother's torn sleeve, burying her face into the fabric.
Rae-a's breath caught. She knew that look. She had worn that look as a child.
Distrust. Terror. A desperate attempt to shrink into nothingness, to disappear entirely in the hopes that the world wouldn't hurt her anymore.
Something sharp and ugly twisted inside her chest.
This little girl had lived through nightmares Rae-a could only imagine. Had been trapped here, surrounded by monsters, watching as her family suffered. And now she was staring at Rae-a like she was just another one of them. Just another ghost in the dark, another shadow that could bring more pain.
Rae-a hated that look more than anything, feeling a sense of familiarity with the child.
Rae-a moved cautiously, each step deliberate, her breath measured despite the storm raging inside her. The room was heavy with the lingering scent of fear, and the mother's grip on her child tightened instinctively as Rae-a approached. Gi-hun's wife pressed her daughter close, her body tensed like a cornered animal, her gaze darting between Rae-a and the door, weighing their options. Fight or run.
Rae-a stopped just short of them, lowering herself to one knee so she was level with the girl. Even in the dim light, she could see the child's small frame trembling against her mother. Rae-a softened her expression, forcing her own unease deep down where it wouldn't show. Her voice, when she spoke, was steady—gentle, even.
"I'm sorry," she murmured, her dark eyes locking onto the little girl's wide, fearful ones. "I know you're scared, but I swear to you—I'm going to get you out of here. No one is going to hurt you anymore."
The girl shrank further into her mother's embrace, her tiny fingers digging into the fabric of her torn sleeve. The woman said nothing, but something in her expression wavered. A flicker of something Rae-a recognized—hesitation, a desperate hope that warred against years of learned distrust.
A sharp crackle buzzed in Rae-a's earpiece, and then In-ho's voice, low and urgent. "You have five minutes. The next shift swap starts soon. If they find the bodies in the hallway, you're going to get caught."
Five minutes.
Five minutes to get them all out, or they'd be trapped in here with no way out but through a war zone.
Rae-a exhaled slowly, her mind racing.
She reached into her pocket, moving with calculated precision, and pulled out a small knife. The blade glinted under the weak, flickering light—a thing of sharp edges and purpose. The girl stiffened, her breath hitching audibly, and her mother's grip on her shoulders tightened.
Rae-a immediately adjusted her stance, angling the knife downward in a non-threatening manner, her grip loose, unassuming. She turned the handle slightly, letting the girl see it properly—not a weapon now, but a tool, a means to an end.
"Can you put your hand out for me?" Rae-a asked, her voice quieter now, threaded with something rare and fragile.
The girl hesitated, her small fingers twitching as she stared at the blade. For a moment, Rae-a thought she wouldn't move at all—that she'd recoil further, bury her face against her mother, refuse to let her near. But then, after what felt like an eternity, the child slowly extended her bound wrists.
Rae-a didn't waste a second. The rope was tight, cruelly knotted, biting into soft skin. She worked fast, slicing through the fibers with precision, making sure not to nick the girl's fragile wrists. The tension in the cord snapped, and the girl flinched, gasping as she instinctively rubbed at the red, raw skin left behind.
Then she looked up, her expression shifting, something unfamiliar dawning in her young eyes.
"You have kind eyes," the girl whispered, as if surprised by the words even as she said them.
Rae-a froze. Something in her chest clenched, twisted.
She swallowed hard, forcing down the tightness in her throat, and gave the girl a small, fleeting smile. "Just like your father's," she said softly, her voice almost breaking.
Recognition sparked in the child's eyes, and in the next instant, she turned and threw herself into her mother's arms. The woman caught her, arms wrapping around her daughter protectively, but this time, there was no fear—only a flicker of something else.
Something like trust.
A sharp beep in her earpiece jolted Rae-a back to reality. In-ho's voice came again, clipped and worried for hers and Jun-ho's safety. "Four minutes, Rae-a. Get out of there."
Rae-a pushed herself to her feet, her grip tightening on her weapon as she turned back toward the others.
It was time to move.
Rae-a stepped back, giving them space. The room still thrummed with unease, the air thick with fear and exhaustion. Her gaze flickered toward the others—Jun-ho had already freed Jun-hee and Dae-ho, who were leaning on each other for support, their bodies battered but still strong. Yet, despite the chaos around her, Rae-a's focus kept drifting back to Hyun-ju.
She was still on the floor, barely moving.
Without hesitation, Rae-a moved toward her, kneeling beside her friend. Hyun-ju's face was pale, sweat beading at her forehead, her breathing shallow but steady. She had lost weight since the last time Rae-a had seen her, and the bruises lining her arms and neck told a silent story of what she had endured.
"Hyun-ju," Rae-a whispered, her voice gentler than she intended. "We're getting out of here. I need you to hold on just a little longer, okay?"
Hyun-ju's eyes fluttered open, hazy with pain, but a flicker of something familiar shone through—the quiet resilience that had always been there. A small, breathless smile tugged at her lips.
"I'm ready," she rasped, her voice barely above a whisper.
Rae-a swallowed, the tight knot in her chest pulling painfully. She brushed Hyun-ju's sweat-matted hair away from her face. "I know you are. We've got you."
Before she could say more, In-ho's voice crackled through her earpiece, his tone even and controlled, but there was an underlying urgency beneath it.
"There's a car waiting outside the estate," he said. "It'll take you to the safe house. But you need to move now."
Rae-a's jaw tightened. She knew what that meant—time was slipping through their fingers like sand.
"Got it," she replied, already rising to her feet. She motioned for the others to move, quickly scanning the dimly lit hallway. The guards at the far end were distracted for now, but that wouldn't last. They had minutes at best.
She turned back to the group, her voice hushed but firm. "We're taking the underground system. Myung-gi's already hacked the doors—we just have to move fast."
Jun-ho gave a sharp nod and moved to support Hyun-ju, draping one of her arms over his shoulder. Jun-hee and Dae-ho followed, their footsteps uneven but determined. Gi-hun's wife held onto her daughter tightly, her free hand gripping Rae-a's sleeve for the briefest of moments. It wasn't a plea, nor a thank you—it was something in between. Rae-a gave her a small nod before focusing forward.
They slipped into the hidden passage through a narrow metal door embedded in the wall. The underground tunnel was damp and cold, the scent of metal and stagnant air filling their lungs. It had been designed for emergencies, an escape route built for situations just like this. The walls pulsed with the distant hum of electricity, the fluorescent lights flickering above them, casting eerie shadows that stretched and warped with every step they took.
"Myung-gi, how much further?" Rae-a whispered into the earpiece, her voice barely above a breath.
The reply came almost instantly, his voice tense but steady. "Two more doors, then a straight shot to the exit. But you need to hurry. The shift change is happening now."
Rae-a clenched her teeth. They were cutting it close—too close.
A sudden noise behind them made her snap her head back. Footsteps. Distant but closing in fast.
"They're onto us," Jun-ho muttered, his grip tightening on Hyun-ju.
Rae-a didn't hesitate. She reached for her gun, the cold metal reassuring in her palm as she waited at the back of their line. "Move," she ordered. "Now."
They pushed forward, faster now, their breathing harsh in the confined space. The second door came into view, its heavy steel frame standing between them and freedom.
"Myung-gi!" Rae-a hissed.
"I'm on it—almost there."
A shiver of dread slithered down her spine. The footsteps behind them were growing louder. Closer. The guards had realized something was wrong. They had minutes—seconds, maybe.
Then, with a sharp beep, the door clicked open.
"Go!" Myung-gi's voice urged through the earpiece.
Jun-ho was the first through, pulling Hyun-ju along with him. Gi-hun's wife and her daughter followed close behind, Dae-ho and Jun-hee right on their heels. Rae-a was the last to move, pausing just long enough to glance back at the shadows chasing them.
Then she slipped through, pulling the door shut behind her.
The final stretch was a narrow corridor leading to an old maintenance hatch. The air felt colder here, fresher—the promise of open space just ahead.
"We're almost there," Rae-a breathed.
Jun-ho pushed open the hatch, revealing the night beyond—a moonlit clearing, and just beyond it, a black SUV with tinted windows, engine idling. Their way out.
The car was waiting just where In-ho said it would be—tucked beneath the overhanging shadow of a massive, gnarled tree, its black frame blending into the night.
Rae-a turned back to the others. "Go. Get in."
No one needed to be told twice. They moved as fast as their bodies allowed, stumbling toward the vehicle. The driver—a man Rae-a didn't recognize but trusted enough to know In-ho had sent him—threw open the doors, ushering them inside. Jun-hee practically collapsed into the seat, her breath coming in ragged gasps, while Dae-ho pulled Hyun-ju in beside him, careful but hurried. Jun-ho took the passenger seat, eyes flickering between the rearview mirror and the road ahead as though he expected something—or someone—to come barreling after them at any moment.
Rae-a threw one last glance over her shoulder at the estate and just as Rae-a turned to follow, a voice rang through her earpiece, low and sharp.
"Rae-a."
In-ho.
She paused, heart pounding.
"You did well," he murmured. "Now get in the damn car now."
Rae-a exhaled sharply, allowing herself a single second of relief, her heart beating profusely for more than one reason. Then she climbed in, slamming the door shut behind her. The moment the locks clicked, the engine roared to life, and they sped off into the night.
The first few minutes were nothing but the sound of their heavy breathing and the tires cutting through the silence of the desolate road. Rae-a forced herself to breathe deeply, to feel the rush of cool night air against her skin, to remind herself that they were finally away from that place.
Safe, for now.
In-ho's voice crackled through her earpiece. "The safe house is prepped. You're going there now."
Rae-a stiffened, gripping the edge of her seat. "No. We need to—" She stopped herself mid-protest, the realization hitting her like a punch to the gut. Her house. Her safe haven. It was exposed. Kang Chul-soo knew where she had been staying.
In-ho had already accounted for that.
She closed her eyes briefly, willing down the sharp twist of frustration in her gut. "You knew I wouldn't be able to go back."
"I grabbed what was important," he said, his voice steady, unreadable through the crackling static. "I'll see you shortly, sweetheart."
Rae-a swallowed hard, her fingers tightening into fists against her lap. He had thought ahead—again. And whether it was because he didn't trust her judgment or because he genuinely wanted to help, she didn't have the energy to argue. Not now. If anything, she was grateful.
A shaky exhale left her lips. "Fine."
The car sped through the empty streets, swallowed by the endless night. The neon lights of the city in the distance flickered like distant ghosts, but they might as well have been a world away.
Rae-a leaned back against the seat, exhaustion crashing into her all at once. The adrenaline that had carried her through the escape, through the underground tunnels Myung-gi had hacked them through, was finally ebbing. Her body ached, her mind still raced, but underneath it all, a strange and foreign relief curled in her chest.
Her friends were here. Alive. They were safe.
Jun-hee shifted beside her, pressing a trembling hand to her forehead. Dae-ho was murmuring something to Hyun-ju, his voice quiet but steady. Jun-ho's eyes flicked to the rearview mirror every few seconds, the habit of a man who had seen too much to ever stop looking over his shoulder.
Rae-a inhaled deeply, then let it out slowly.
But she knew better than to believe this was the end.
No one was safe yet. Not until every last one of them was gone. Kang Chul-soo. His men. The people who had made them suffer, who had torn apart lives as if they were nothing but pieces on a board.