The safehouse door shuddered under the weight of distant engines. Searchlights swept across the cracked buildings outside, the beams cutting through fog and dust like blades. The sound of boots striking asphalt carried with mechanical rhythm—too many soldiers, too quickly coordinated.
Keller was the first to move. He slammed his pistol back into its holster and snapped at the others. "We're leaving. Now."
Lin didn't argue. The chains writhed at his shoulders as though they, too, were impatient. Min-joon scrambled to gather his pack, but his eyes kept flicking toward Hwan as though afraid the man would vanish—or transform—if left unwatched for too long.
Hwan pushed himself up from the floor, rubbing at the crimson welts around his throat. His voice rasped, but there was no mistaking the sly satisfaction in it. "The grate is three blocks south. Old drainage hub. The city doesn't even remember it exists."
