The alley pressed in on them like a vice. Neon signs buzzed overhead, their flickering reds and blues staining the rain-slick concrete. Trash bins lined the walls, their stench mingling with the oily drizzle that fell from the rooftops. And at the far end of the narrow lane, stepping out from the shadows as if the whole city bent to his timing, stood Jin.
Lin's eyes narrowed. For weeks, Jin had been a shadow, a rumor whispered through their enemies, a name spat by the dying. Now here he was, sharp suit unwrinkled, shoes polished to a mirror's gleam, standing in Seoul's filth like he owned it. His expression was calm, even amused, as though he had orchestrated this very moment.
"Lin," Jin said softly, his voice carrying over the hum of the neon. "I was beginning to think you'd keep running forever. But fate is merciful. It brings you to me."
