They didn't speak until the overpass was out of sight.
Wind faded. Traffic noise from the lower streets returned like the world pretending nothing had happened.
Azari finally exhaled. "He wasn't trying to kill you."
"I know," Jung Min said.
They cut through an alley where old posters peeled off brick like shedding skin. Jung Min checked reflections in windows as they passed. No tail. No echo of footsteps that weren't theirs.
Azari kept replaying it. "He read you."
"He read the version of me that used to exist."
She looked at him. "And now?"
"Now I'm harder to predict."
They crossed into a market street that had never fully recovered. Half the lights worked. Half the stalls were empty. People moved with the careful politeness of a city that still remembered the bells.
Azari slowed. "He said everyone else looks up."
Jung Min nodded. "Most people are still listening for something that isn't there."
"And he isn't."
"No."
They reached a shuttered storefront and paused in its shadow. Jung Min checked his sleeve where the bullet had kissed fabric. Clean line. Intentional.
"A measurement," Azari said.
"Yeah."
She studied him. "Is he going to come back?"
Jung Min thought about the way Han Dae-Rin lowered his gun. Not mercy. Curiosity.
"Yes," he said. "But not like before."
Azari frowned. "What does that mean?"
"He's not hunting me."
"Then what?"
"He's following the question."
They stood there a moment longer, letting the street noise settle into something ordinary.
Azari glanced up at the sky out of habit, then stopped herself and looked forward instead.
Jung Min noticed.
"Good," he said quietly.
She nodded. "I'm learning."
They stepped back into the flow of the city.
Somewhere behind them, on a broken stretch of highway, a man with a rifle was rethinking the shape of the world.
And somewhere beneath their feet, in a quiet room with a dark monitor, something patient continued practicing not being heard.