Kai was many things—arrogant, manipulative, infuriatingly smug—but careless was not one of them. He had staged every word, every gesture since Rin had been dragged into this nightmare. Leaving the doors and windows open wasn't negligence; it was intentional.
Rin's jaw tightened. "Bastard."
Still, he moved deeper into the house, suspicion sharpening his every step. He found himself standing before the fireplace. Its belly was nothing but ashes, a dead husk of flame. No warmth lingered, only a faint chalky smell of burnt wood.
That, too, spoke volumes.
Kai hadn't bothered to relight it. Which meant… he wouldn't be returning quickly. Perhaps not for hours. Perhaps days. Maybe the man was so confident Rin wouldn't escape that he hadn't even considered it necessary to keep the house warm. Or maybe this was part of the performance—make Rin believe the wolf had left the den, only for the jaws to snap shut the moment he strayed too far.
A grim smile crept onto Rin's lips. "No matter what your game is… this is my chance."
Escape mattered more than dignity, more than anger, more than the risk of what awaited if he failed again.
He turned toward the door, his muscles coiling to move, but froze mid-step. A sudden thought slammed into him—his clothing. Thin, worn, unfit for the world outside. Stepping into the snow like this was suicide.
"Damn it." He pivoted sharply and made for Kai's dressing room.
The door creaked open, revealing a long, narrow chamber lined with coats, furs, boots—hundreds of garments arranged with the precision of a man who owned everything he touched. Rin's eyes swept the rows in a blur. He didn't have the luxury of choice. He grabbed the first jacket that looked remotely practical and shoved his arms into it.
The sleeves hung past his fingertips. The hem nearly brushed his knees. It smelled faintly of musk and something sharp, chemical, distinctly Kai. Rin gritted his teeth, folding the sleeves back and cinching the belt tight around his waist until it fit well enough.
He caught sight of himself in the long mirror. A figure draped in another man's clothes, swallowed by them. For a moment, something twisted in his chest—disgust, defiance. He tore his gaze away and strode to the door.
The heavy door creaked, snow pressing against it from outside as though the world itself resisted his leaving. With effort, Rin shoved it open. A gust of icy air blasted into his lungs, sharp and biting. It constricted his throat, made his eyes water instantly.
He stepped out.
Cold.
The kind of cold that gnawed into bone, that carried no mercy. Each breath was like inhaling shards of glass, his chest tightening against the invisible knives of winter.
Before him stretched a world of white. Endless snowfields, horizon swallowed in a seamless sheet of frost. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the soft crunch of his boots sinking into the fresh powder.
A snowy mountain loomed far in the distance, like a painted backdrop, its ridges blurred in the glare. Was it real, or just the illusion of depth against the sky? He couldn't even tell. The snow reflected the sunlight with such ferocity that he had to squint, his eyes watering until tears froze at the corners.
It was overwhelming. The vastness. The emptiness. The way the landscape itself seemed hostile to human presence.
Is this what it feels like to fall into the desert? he wondered, though he knew deserts had heat and sand. This was the opposite—yet equally merciless. A world designed to erase men.
Rin stood there, his heart pounding with both dread and resolve. Every instinct screamed caution. Kai is never careless. He left the doors open for a reason. This cold isn't freedom—it's another prison.
But staying inside meant surrender.
His lips curled into a thin line. Even if this is his trap, I'll face it. Better to freeze clawing for freedom than rot behind those walls.
And with that thought, Rin pulled his collar higher against his throat and forced his body forward, into the endless snowfield that seemed to stretch into infinity.
Rin's lips were dry, cracked, the faint sting of salt clinging to them. That taste—sharp, briny—told him he was close to the sea. He forced his aching body forward, every step a battle against the biting wind, until the outline of a canoe appeared half-buried in the snowdrift near the shoreline.
Hope struck him like lightning. His pulse quickened. This is it. My chance.
But fate had its own cruelty. His foot slipped on a patch of ice camouflaged beneath the snow, his body lurching downward. He crashed hard, his skull colliding with a jagged stone.
The world went black.
When Rin opened his eyes again, the sun had shifted—high and merciless in the sky. Afternoon. Hours lost.
"Ugh… damn it," he groaned, every sound a jagged edge scraping his throat. He tried crawling up the shallow pit he had fallen into, but his arms quivered, body sliding back uselessly. His breaths came ragged and shallow, steaming in the frigid air.
For a moment he lay still, forcing his lungs to slow, his heart to steady. Then, with grit alone, he dug his raw palms into the icy earth and tried again. Skin tore against sharp stones, blood warming his hands before the cold bit it numb, but this time he dragged himself up. Limping, staggering, but upright.
Nothing else mattered. He had to keep moving.
His eyes locked on the canoe. That fragile thing—wooden, weathered, but intact—looked like salvation. Rin half-stumbled, half-ran toward it, snow crunching beneath his boots.
He stopped just short of the hull, chest heaving.
I don't even know where I'm going.
The thought pulsed bitterly in his head. But almost immediately, he pushed it away, jaw clenching. I don't care. Anywhere but here. Wherever the wind takes me.
With raw determination, Rin shoved the canoe toward the water. His muscles screamed. The scrape of the hull against ice and stone was deafening, but at last, the boat slid forward, kissing the waves.
As he heaved the canoe into the current, memory struck him like a cruel voice echoing in the back of his mind: Kai's words, spoken with that infuriating, smug tone.
"The Barents Sea, north of Russia… stretching into the Arctic waters.''
Rin's grip tightened on the oars, knuckles white. Sixty kilometers… and three times that to reach the mainland. No map. No compass. No provisions. Just me against the Arctic.
His chest swelled with defiance. So be it. This is no longer training. This is combat. Desperation turns weakness into strength. And I refuse to die here—on his leash.
He rowed hard, muscles straining, oars slicing into the iron-gray water. At first, the canoe surged forward, cutting through the waves with surprising speed. The salt air stung his nostrils, freezing spray slapped his face, but Rin's strokes were steady, relentless.
For a brief moment, he allowed himself to believe he could make it.
But the Barents Sea had teeth.
The calm veneer near the coast shattered. The waters shifted beneath him, dark swells rising as though the ocean itself had awoken to swallow him whole. The canoe jerked violently, spinning off course. The oars fought against his grip, every stroke suddenly useless against the surge.
No. No, hold steady.
He forced the oars down, body shaking, his arms screaming with the strain. But the waves came harder, higher. The canoe spun again, the bow lifted, then slammed down.
The wind howled across the water, a sound like claws raking against the air. Spray lashed against him, icy needles piercing skin. The canoe wobbled, a fragile shell against the massive force of the sea.
Another wave rose before him, towering like a wall. His breath caught.
If this capsizes… I'm done.
The first wave struck hard, nearly flipping the boat, water pouring in over the sides. Rin's entire body was drenched, soaked through to his bones. The icy water stole his breath, skin burning as though ice shards were crawling over every nerve. He clenched his jaw, adjusted the oar, and somehow—barely—kept the canoe upright.
Then came the second wave. Larger. Hungrier.
The sea, neither blue nor black, only a shifting void of gray, opened its mouth as if to devour him whole. The water roared, swallowing sky and horizon alike.
"Ah—!" Rin gasped as the wave crashed down. The boat shuddered, teetering on the brink of collapse. His arms ached as he fought to right it, his palms raw, blood mixing with salt.
Rin shouted in shock. As if realizing his efforts, the bow of the boat was moving forward little by little.
But unfortunately, that hopeful situation did not last long.
The ocean gave no mercy.
A sound like thunder rolled across the horizon—so loud it made Rin's bones ache. He looked ahead in shock, and for a moment his mind went blank. A dark blue wall was rising from the distance, swallowing the sky.
No… not a wall. A wave.
It loomed taller than a house, its crest curling with white foam like the teeth of some monstrous beast. The air itself seemed to vibrate with its power, every instinct in Rin's body screaming one word: death.
If he faced it head-on, he wouldn't survive. He didn't need logic to tell him that—his body already knew. His muscles reacted before his brain could form commands. His arms and legs strained violently, rowing, thrashing, anything to steer him away.
But the sea was crueler than panic. Smaller waves, vicious ripples, lashed against him, tangling his strokes. Water wrapped around his ankles like chains, pulling him back with every kick.
And then—
The giant wave broke.
It crashed down with the sound of a mountain shattering. Rin had no time to think, no chance to breathe. He saw only darkness, the maw of the ocean opening wide, and then—impact.
The canoe exploded beneath him, splinters and spray flung into the void. Rin's body was seized, yanked downward so hard it felt like his bones might snap. His lungs convulsed—choking, burning—as icy saltwater forced its way down his throat. His arms flailed but found nothing. The world was gone. No sky, no horizon. Only water. Only cold.
The current pulled him deeper. His chest was crushed by the pressure, ears ringing with the silence of the abyss.
But then—just as suddenly—the wave spat him out. A violent burst of white foam hurled him upward, his body breaking the surface for a fleeting instant. He gasped, coughing, dragging in half a lungful of precious air—before the next wave slammed into him and dragged him under again.
Above the surface, the ocean was war. Below, it was a tomb.
No. Not yet.
Rin forced his arms to move, every muscle seizing in protest. His legs kicked wildly, scraping at the water, trying to push him upward. His chest convulsed, lungs screaming for oxygen, saltwater rushing in every time his lips parted. The taste of iron—blood—mixed with brine.
Still, he clawed upward. Again and again.
"I… will never… give up!"
The words tore out of him in a hoarse, broken scream, half-swallowed by the sea. Not a declaration for anyone else—there was no one to hear. It was for himself, the only anchor he had left.
He stretched his cramped arms wide, fighting to cut through the liquid weight crushing him. He spread his legs and kicked, desperate, frantic. Every breath was a gamble—sometimes he broke the surface, dragging in sharp air, sometimes he inhaled only salt, choking harder.
His lungs were tightening, on the verge of collapse. His arms felt like lead, sinking no matter how much he ordered them to move.
So this is it?
The thought slithered in, cold and merciless. He imagined his body tossed endlessly among these waves, dragged into the Arctic depths, bones dissolving in salt. No grave, no witness. Only silence.
Will I die like this?
His vision blurred, darkness creeping into the edges of his sight. His body wanted to surrender, to relax, to let the sea decide his end.
Then—
Something floated across his fading vision. A shape, bobbing violently among the waves. For a heartbeat he thought it was debris, meaningless flotsam. But as the foam cleared, his eyes sharpened, and his breath caught.
The canoe .
Or rather, what remained of it. Shattered planks, broken ribs, but still—floating. Still there.
That single glimpse ignited something in him. His survival instinct, smothered by exhaustion, flared back to life like a fire refusing to die.
"No…" he rasped, barely audible against the storm. "Not yet…"
He forced his arms to move. Every stroke was agony, his shoulders tearing, palms shredded, but he pressed forward. Inch by inch, the wreckage came closer. His vision tunneled, black closing in at the edges, but he reached.
Just a little more.
His fingers brushed splintered wood. It slipped away with the current. He roared—a raw, guttural sound—and pushed again, stretching every last muscle. This time his hand locked around it, digging into the jagged edge, blood dripping into the sea.
"Got you…" he whispered, voice breaking.
The wreckage lifted and fell with the waves, but it was buoyant. It was survival. Rin clung to it with every ounce of strength left, refusing to let go. His chest heaved violently as he dragged himself halfway onto the broken canoe .
The storm still raged. The waves still attacked. But now he had something—something to keep him afloat.
He spat saltwater, coughed blood, and pressed his forehead against the splintered wood. His eyes burned, but the fire in them hadn't gone out.
I'm still here. You won't take me, not yet.
Rin tried to lift his drooping eyelids. Heavy. Every blink felt like dragging iron gates over sand.
Blackness. Pitch black.
He couldn't tell if his eyes were really open, or if he was still suffocating underwater, hallucinating some void where light couldn't reach. His body was pressed against rough ground—sand clinging to his skin, salt burning in every open cut. For a moment he didn't dare move. His instincts, sharp even when weak, told him movement could mean death.
The waves still rolled in, crashing against his legs, soaking him further, mocking him. His body trembled violently, not from fear but from the savage cold burrowing into marrow. He tried to push himself up, but his arms refused, frozen and limp. His chest lifted shallowly, each breath rattling in his throat like broken glass.
Is this survival?
He didn't feel alive. He felt… stalled. Delayed in death's grip, not released from it.
But the sand beneath him proved he was no longer at sea. He'd made landfall. Somehow. His stomach heaved, heavy with swallowed seawater, his vision swam in sickness. Still—he was on ground. That fact alone grounded him.
Rin braced his palms, forced his upper body to rise. Water streamed from his hair, dripping down his jaw, soaking the ground beneath. His lungs ached, finally expanding again after being compressed under the weight of the ocean. He coughed, each spasm carving knives into his ribs.
The night was so dense he could see nothing. Not a single centimeter ahead. Yet—
He froze.
Footsteps. Slow. Deliberate. Crunching over wet sand.
A human presence.
Rin tried to call out, but his throat betrayed him. No voice came. The salt and strain had torn at his vocal cords until they rasped like rusted hinges. He squeezed his neck, forcing sound to rise, clawing at the pain.
A hoarse scream ripped out—broken, jagged.
And a voice answered.
"Have you lost your fucking mind, Rin Takahashi-Kwon?"
His heart stopped.
That voice. He'd know it anywhere. Calm, sharp, cutting straight through the storm.
Kai.
Impossible. Had he returned from the island already? Or was this a nightmare? Rin's eyes darted wildly in the dark, but the terrain was swallowed whole by shadow. All he could see was the faint outline of a tall figure, heavy fur catching what little light there was.
"Get up," Kai's voice snapped, sharp and impatient. "If you don't want to freeze to death, then stand the hell up."
The words stung because they were true. His teeth rattled so violently they clicked like knives against each other. His muscles seized from cold. Hypothermia was already eating him alive. If he stayed on the sand, he wouldn't last an hour.
He tried. God, he tried. Rin planted his palms, staggered to his knees. The ground tilted, his vision spun, and he fell hard again. His cheek struck the sand. He grit his teeth, forced himself up a second time—but this time his arms betrayed him too, slipping, dropping him back into the wet earth like a discarded doll.
A shadow fell over him. Kai.
The man stood there, arms crossed, face unreadable in the dark but tone sharp enough to slice through bone. He clicked his tongue—once, loud, dismissive.
"Tch."
Then silence.
Then—a sigh. Long, frustrated. Not out of sympathy, but out of sheer irritation.
And before Rin could comprehend it, his elbow was seized. Kai's grip was iron, yanking him up by one arm. His body dangled, heavy, useless, soaked in seawater like weighted cotton. His legs dragged limply.
Kai shook his head, a flash of teeth in the dark as if biting down on anger. Then he bent, so sudden Rin's survival-trained body twitched, reflexively trying to shove him away—instinct screaming not to let Kai this close. But his frozen limbs had no power. Kai easily caught his wrist mid-motion, pressing it down with ruthless efficiency.
Then—he lifted him.
Carried him.
Bridal style.
The sudden warmth of Kai's fur coat enveloped him, rich with his scent—salt, musk, tobacco, and expensive cologne, distorted by the sea breeze. Rin's body betrayed him again, pressing instinctively closer, chasing heat like an animal, even though his mind screamed to resist.
Kai noticed. He always noticed.
"Pathetic," Kai muttered low, almost in his ear. "You'd rather die in the ocean than stay where I put you. Do you have a death wish, or are you just this stupid?"
Rin clenched his jaw, but no words came. His voice was broken, his body limp, but his eyes—his eyes were hard. Serious, cutting even now.
Kai caught that glare. And it made him smirk, though his smirk was venomous.
"Still glaring at me like that? huh. Even drowning couldn't wash that stubbornness out of you." His voice sharpened, dropping colder. "But remember this, Rin—" Kai's arms adjusted him with infuriating ease, tightening his hold as if to remind him of his helplessness. "Every time you try to run from me, the sea, the land, the fucking world itself will hand you back to me. Because you're mine. And you're too weak to change that."
The words burrowed into Rin's skull as his consciousness flickered again, not from sleep but from sheer exhaustion. He couldn't fight. Not here. Not now. All he could do was absorb the sting of Kai's voice, the warmth of his coat, and the bitter truth of his failure.
Yet even in this state, Rin's mind clung to one thought
Not forever. Not like this. I'll break his hold. One way or another.