Evening settled over the city like a second skin.
The streets were busy in the way they always were—cars passing, shop lights flickering on, voices blending into familiar noise. Normal. Too normal.
Junseo walked a step ahead of me, hands in his pockets, shoulders tight.
"So," he said without looking back, "if we've decided to meet them… how exactly are we supposed to find them?"
"We don't," I replied.
He slowed slightly, glancing at me from the corner of his eye. "Then what? We just wander around until fate does us a favor?"
"We still have time," I said. "If they want the meeting, they'll come to us."
Junseo clicked his tongue, unconvinced, but he didn't argue.
The alley narrowed as we turned off the main road. The noise of the city dulled, replaced by the distant hum of traffic and the echo of our footsteps.
Tap. Tap.
Too clear.
I felt it again—that familiar pressure at the back of my neck.
The feeling of being watched.
Nothing was out of place. No footsteps behind us. No shadows moving where they shouldn't. Everything looked the way it always did.
And that was the problem.
Junseo noticed my silence. "You feel it too, don't you?"
"Yes."
He exhaled slowly. "Great. I was hoping it was just my imagination."
We kept walking.
Lights flickered overhead. A cat darted across the alley, disappearing between trash bins. Somewhere far away, someone laughed.
Life went on.
Yet every step felt measured. Observed.
"They're already here," Junseo muttered.
I didn't deny it.
"They never left," I said.
The air felt heavier as we moved forward, like the city itself was holding its breath.
Whatever this deal was—
We were already standing inside its shadow.
Night swallowed the city whole.
Streetlights flickered on one by one, casting long shadows that stretched and twisted along the pavement. The town was still alive—bars buzzing, traffic moving—but the farther we walked, the thinner the crowd became.
And then they stopped pretending.
A man leaned against a lamppost as we passed. Another stepped away from a storefront window. A car that had been parked too long finally started its engine and rolled forward—slowly.
Time is ticking.
The message was clear.
Junseo noticed first. "Hyung," he muttered, teeth clenched, "they're not even hiding it now."
"No," I said quietly. "They don't need to."
We turned a corner.
Someone fell into step beside us.
Not threatening. Not hurried.
Casual.
"You walk like men with nowhere to run," the stranger said, voice low.
Junseo stopped dead. "Who the hell—"
I caught his wrist.
The man smiled faintly and spoke again—this time in Russian.
Something sharp. Mocking.
Junseo stared at him. "What did he just say?"
I didn't answer immediately.
The man repeated it, slower, enjoying himself.
I exhaled through my nose.
"He said," I replied evenly, "that you look loud for someone who wouldn't survive five minutes alone."
Junseo's face darkened. "That bastard—"
"Not worth it," I said, firm.
The man's smile widened. "Good discipline," he said in accented Korean. "Follow."
Junseo leaned closer to me. "Hyung, say the word."
"Not here," I murmured.
We followed.
They didn't rush us. Didn't touch us. Just guided—through streets that grew quieter, darker, until the last of the city noise faded behind us.
An old service entrance. Rust on the doors. A keypad worn smooth by use.
Underground.
The air changed as soon as we descended—cooler, heavier, unfamiliar. No windows. No signals. No locals.
This wasn't a place people wandered into by accident.
We were led down a narrow corridor and through a steel door that closed with a final, echoing thud.
The room was wide. Clean. Too controlled.
Borislav sat at the center table, hands folded, posture relaxed.
Waiting.
He looked up as we entered, amber eyes bright under the low light.
"Welcome," he said smoothly. "I was beginning to wonder if you would test my patience."
Junseo scoffed. "You call this an invitation?"
Borislav smiled, unbothered.
"I call it," he replied, standing slowly, "efficiency."
His gaze settled on me.
"Kim Seolwol," he continued, voice calm and certain, "thank you for coming."
I met his eyes.
"So," I said quietly, "what's the deal? You don't gather half the city just to say hello."
Borislav's lips curved slightly.
He rose from the sofa, movements unhurried, as if time bent around him. He walked to the side of the room, fingers brushing the edge of the table, gaze never leaving me.
"As I told you before," he said, "there is something everybody wants."
He stopped near the wall.
"Governments," he continued calmly. "Corporations. Men who believe money makes them untouchable."
Junseo crossed his arms. "Let me guess. You want us to steal it."
Borislav glanced at him. Brief. Assessing.
"Yes."
The word landed heavy.
"There are many thieves in this world," Borislav said, turning back to me. "Many skilled. Many greedy."
He paused.
"Many like me."
The room felt smaller.
"But," he added, voice lowering, "not like you."
I felt Junseo tense beside me.
Borislav took a step closer.
"This job," he said, "is not about speed. Not about strength. Not even about intelligence alone."
His eyes sharpened.
"It requires restraint. Patience. The ability to walk away when every instinct tells you to take more."
I didn't speak.
"We have been observing you," he continued, almost casually. "Your methods. Your silence. The way you choose escape over victory."
Junseo snapped, "You've been stalking us?"
Borislav smiled faintly. "We prefer the term… studying."
His gaze never left mine.
"You do not enjoy violence," he said. "Yet you are capable of it. You trust old tools over modern ones. You protect what matters—even when it costs you."
My jaw tightened.
"This work," Borislav said softly, "cannot be done by anyone else."
He stopped in front of me.
"I am not offering you riches," he added. "I am offering you relevance."
Junseo let out a sharp laugh. "That's supposed to sound tempting?"
Borislav turned to him slowly.
"No," he said. "It is supposed to sound honest."
Silence pressed down on us.
"You will take this deal," Borislav said at last. Not a threat. Not a command.
A conclusion.
"Because whether you accept it or not," he added, eyes flicking briefly to the ceiling, "others are already moving."
I felt it then.
Not fear.
Weight.
The kind that settles into your bones before a storm.
"And if we refuse?" I asked.
Borislav smiled—this time without warmth.
"Then," he replied calmly, "someone far less polite will come knocking."
He stepped back, folding his hands behind his back.
"So," he said, voice smooth again, "shall we talk details… or would you like more time to pretend you still have a choice?"