The muzzle flash lit Lin's face for a split second before darkness swallowed him again. He shifted position, keeping low, feeling the rooftop's slick surface under his palms. The mercenaries below moved like wolves — disciplined, cautious, but relentless.

One of them knelt near a stack of shipping crates, radio pressed to his ear. Lin caught just enough of the voice over the static to hear:

"Target on the roof. Flank east side. Cut him off."

They were coming up after him.

Lin moved quickly, crawling to the far side of the roof and dropping down onto a fire escape. His boots hit the metal rungs with a dull clang, and he winced — noise was currency here, and he'd just paid too much.

Below, Keller's voice cut through the comm: "Two on your left, closing fast."

Lin swung over the railing, landing silently behind a storage container. The smell of saltwater mixed with the sharp tang of gunpowder. He drew in a slow breath and peeked around the corner.

Two silhouettes advanced in tight formation. One held a suppressed submachine gun, the other a short-barreled shotgun. Their helmets glinted faintly under the dock lights. These weren't gangland amateurs — they were trained, maybe ex-military, maybe worse.

Lin waited until the first passed the edge of the container, then lunged. His knife slipped between armor plates, angled upward. The man stiffened, gasped once, and went still. Lin pulled him down silently, letting the body rest in the shadow of the crates.

The second man spun, shotgun rising — but Lin was already on him, shoving the barrel up as it fired. The blast roared into the night, scattering gulls from the rafters above. Lin drove a knee into his ribs, then a hard elbow to the jaw. The man crumpled, helmet rolling away with a metallic clink.

"Noise is gonna bring the rest," Keller warned. His voice was tight — he was still in the thick of it.

Lin checked his watch. They had minutes before the convoy regrouped. The bait was holding, but if they didn't thin these numbers, Jin's hired guns would own the dock by midnight.

A burst of automatic fire stitched the air above Lin's head. He dropped flat, then crawled toward the north loading ramp. From here, he had a clear view of the lead SUV. Through the tinted glass, he caught the outline of a figure leaning forward, speaking urgently into a phone.

It wasn't Jin.

That made his gut tighten. Jin had sent a proxy — which meant he was somewhere else, possibly setting another play in motion.

Keller's voice cut in again. "East flank's hot. Four more inbound."

"I see them," Lin said, raising his rifle. He fired in short, controlled bursts, each shot echoing off the steel walls. One merc dropped instantly. Another stumbled, clutching his thigh, before Keller finished him with a clean headshot from ground level.

The remaining two dove for cover, returning fire. Bullets chewed into the dock, sending splinters of wood into the air.

Lin ducked back, heart pounding. His ears rang from the constant gunfire, his breath coming in quick bursts. The smell of cordite was thick enough to taste.

A sudden hiss in his earpiece: "You've got company, roofline west."

Lin spun in time to see a figure leap from one warehouse to another, landing in a crouch with a long-barreled pistol in hand. This one moved differently — smoother, quieter.

They didn't fire right away. They studied him for half a second, then advanced with deliberate steps.

Lin raised his rifle, but the figure shot first. The round smashed into the metal column beside his head, sparks flying.

He dove sideways, rolling behind a ventilation unit. The second shot punched through the thin metal, nicking his shoulder. Pain flared hot, but he gritted his teeth and stayed low.

This wasn't just another merc. This was someone sent specifically for him.

Keller must have seen it too. "That's your hitter. Take him down or we're done here."

Lin exhaled, counting the seconds. He waited for the shooter's shadow to shift against the glow of the dock lights — then popped up, firing twice. The first round grazed the figure's arm, the second hit the pistol, sending it clattering onto the roof.

The man — or woman, Lin couldn't tell under the black hood — didn't hesitate. They rushed him, tackling him into the ventilation unit. The impact rattled Lin's teeth.

They grappled, each trying to control the other's weapon hand. The rooftop was slick, their boots slipping on pooled rainwater. Lin managed to slam his opponent into the edge of the roof, knocking the wind out of them.

He followed with a brutal elbow to the temple. The hooded figure sagged but didn't go down. They shoved him hard, breaking free, and sprinted toward the fire escape.

Lin raised his rifle, but the figure dropped into the shadows below before he could fire.

Keller's voice came back, urgent. "Convoy's pulling out. Looks like they're cutting their losses."

Lin swore under his breath. The bait had worked, but the hitter had slipped away — and that meant Jin still had a card to play.

They regrouped at the north edge of the dock, where the smell of diesel hung heavy. Keller looked wired, adrenaline still in his eyes. "We hurt them tonight."

Lin nodded, but his mind was elsewhere. "Not enough. Jin didn't show. That means he's not just reacting — he's planning something bigger."

"Then we hit him first," Keller said.

Lin didn't answer. His gaze stayed fixed on the dark water, where the reflection of Seoul's skyline shimmered and broke with every ripple. In the distance, a ship's horn sounded — long, low, and ominous.

Hours later, back at the safehouse, Lin finally sat. His shoulder throbbed where the bullet had grazed him, but he ignored it. He was staring at a single image Keller had pulled from a dockside camera — the hooded figure, mid-stride, turning their head just enough for the light to catch the edge of their jaw.

Lin leaned forward. He knew that face.

And if he was right, this wasn't just about Jin anymore.

This was about someone he'd left behind in Busan years ago.