The sky bled at dawn.
Not the poetic kind of bleeding—the kind where colors melt and birds sing and lovers wake slowly.
No.
This was smoke in the clouds.
Ash in the wind.
Sirens echoing off buildings that used to be safe.
It was war.
Unspoken, but undeniable.
A warehouse on the outskirts of Chiang Mai had burned overnight; there was nothing elegant about it. No explosives. No theatrics. Just fire. Fire that didn't stop. Fire that consumed until even the steel frames buckled in defeat.
It had been one of Vavaporn's storage sites.
Unmarked, discreet.
Used only for the clean shipments, the ones meant for diplomatic bribes and neutral trades. The kind of place no one was supposed to know about.
Now it was cinders.
And inside?
There were two bodies.
One of them was young. New recruit. Still green.
The other…
The other was a trusted handler.
Both had been tied to chairs.
Both had their mouths sewn shut with wire.
Jay arrived before the smoke cleared.
He didn't speak when he saw the remains.
Didn't flinch at the smell.
He just stared.
Jeff was already there, face hard, jaw locked, eyes darker than usual.
"This wasn't just arson," Jeff said. "It was planned, deliberate, and sent as a warning, they were not going to stop anytime soon."
Jay crouched near the ashes. A melted piece of metal poked through the rubble—part of a nameplate from a crate that used to hold military-grade communications gear.
Gone.
He reached forward, sifted through what remained, and found it.
Another coin.
Korean. Identical to the last.
Jay's throat tightened, he couldn't breath.
"They're leaving breadcrumbs," Jeff muttered.
Jay stood. "No. They're leaving warnings."
Jeff looked at him. "So what now?"
Jay didn't answer.
But the look in his eyes was ice.
"Now we become wolves."
Elsewhere, Charlie had already started making calls.
Not to allies.
To informants.
The old man didn't trust his own lieutenants anymore. Not after seeing that photo of Jack pulled from a corpse's mouth. Not after realizing that someone had been close enough to Jack to take that kind of picture, close enough to laugh with him, to see him as human.
That meant betrayal.
That meant someone inside was leaking information.
Charlie sat alone in his office, the curtains drawn, the door locked.
On his desk lay an old revolver.
On the floor beside him, half a dozen classified files, now torn open. Blood on the corner of one. Not his.
He didn't sleep. Didn't eat. Just worked. Planned. Counted bullets.
Because war was one thing.
But someone targeting his son?
That was personal.
Jack stood in front of a mirror, shirtless, the first rays of morning slipping through the blinds. His chest still bore the scar from three years ago, when someone tried to knife him outside a club in Seoul. He'd survived. Barely. Rin had been the one to stitch him up that night, cursing under his breath the whole time.
Jack traced the scar with a fingertip, then looked down at his phone.
A message from Rin:
"Two confirmed dead. One missing. Charlie wants you in lockdown."
He didn't reply.
Instead, he turned the phone off and looked out the window.
Across the city, something moved.
He didn't know what.
But he felt it.
The shift.
The tightening.
Like the air had changed texture.
Like the rules were different now.
He pulled on a shirt. Then a gun.
Then his father's crest ring.
Let them come.
That night, Jay returned to the safehouse.
He looked like a ghost.
Eyes sunken. Shoulders tense. Blood on his sleeves, not his though.
Jack was already there, sitting on the edge of the bed, going through a file.
He looked up. "I heard about the warehouse."
Jay nodded, silent.
"Any survivors?"
Jay shook his head. "No one survived; one of my men is missing."
Jack stood and crossed to him.
"You look like hell," he said.
Jay gave a dry smile. "That's generous."
He sat down, heavy, exhausted in a way he didn't know how to fix.
Jack watched him for a minute.
"Talk to me."
Jay stared at the floor. "They're picking us off. One by one. They're not aiming for the heads—they're carving the roots. If we don't act soon—"
"Then act," Jack said.
Jay looked at him. "I can't move without bringing hell down on these people."
Jack stepped forward. "Then bring it."
Jay blinked.
Jack's voice dropped. "I'm already in this. So is Rin. So is Jeff. There's no going back. If they want to bleed us out, they're going to learn that we bleed fire."
Jay stood. The air between them was heavy again. Tense.
But this time, united.
"They've crossed the line," Jay said. "We answer tomorrow."
Jack nodded. "Together."
Jay touched his shoulder, firm. "Don't leave your room tonight. If they're watching, they won't risk daylight, but they will try to finish what they started."
Jack gave a tight smile. "You think I'm scared?"
"No," Jay whispered. "I think I am."
Across the city, Juhu leaned against the railing of a rooftop hotel suite, glass in hand.
Behind him, three more photos were being pinned to the wall. All grainy. All taken up close.
Jay, Jeff, and Rin.
Each marked with a red X.
Except one.
Jack Charlie, no one knew why he didn't mark Jack's picture… but it's probably because of the death threat sent along with his picture
His photo remained untouched.
Framed. Not scratched. Not folded.
Juhu turned and raised his glass to it.
"Let's see who breaks first."