The rain pelted the windshield in jagged streaks, the wipers struggling to keep pace. Lin's eyes flicked from the wet asphalt ahead to the green overhead sign one last time. Bypass. Coastal road.

He took the coastal road.

The wheel jerked under his hands as the truck swerved sharply right, tires screaming on the slick pavement. The momentum threw Keller sideways in the back, and Min-joon's shoulder slammed against the passenger door.

"You're insane," Min-joon snapped, clutching the dashboard.

"Bypass is crawling with them," Lin said, his voice a low growl. "At least here we choose the ground."

The road narrowed almost immediately, hemmed in by a steep rock face on the left and a drop to black waves on the right. The ocean below was only visible when lightning split the sky, white light briefly illuminating the rolling, angry water.

The SUV behind them roared after, headlights flaring now as if to blind them. The mist and rain turned each beam into a shimmering spear.

Keller twisted around, bracing his rifle against the seat. "If I take the shot, it'll be through the windshield. You better keep us steady."

"Do it," Lin said.

The rifle cracked in the confined space, the sound deafening. The first shot punched through the SUV's glass; the second made its front tire explode in a spray of rubber and steel. The vehicle skidded, fishtailing hard before slamming into the guardrail and scraping to a halt in a shower of sparks.

"First one down," Keller said, yanking the bolt back and reloading.

But Lin's relief was short-lived. As the road curved, another pair of headlights appeared ahead—coming straight toward them.

"Blockers," Lin muttered.

The oncoming SUV braked hard, angling across both lanes to cut them off. The driver's side door flung open, and two men stepped out, rifles already raised.

"Brace!" Lin shouted.

He dropped the gear and slammed the accelerator. The truck roared forward, engine straining. The blockers opened fire, bullets hammering the hood and shattering a corner of the windshield. Glass sprayed into Min-joon's lap, but Lin didn't slow.

At the last second, he swerved left, letting the truck's heavy bumper clip the SUV's nose. The impact spun the vehicle halfway around, opening just enough of a gap for Lin to force the truck through. Metal screamed against metal as they scraped past.

Keller swore. "That's gonna leave a mark."

"Better the truck than us," Lin said, his voice flat.

The road twisted upward now, winding into the cliffs. The higher they climbed, the heavier the mist became until the headlights only lit a few meters ahead.

Min-joon glanced at him. "Why this road, Lin? You're not telling me everything."

Lin didn't answer right away. His mind was already pulling up memories he'd rather leave buried—nights on this same stretch of road years ago, running contraband in smaller, faster cars. A hideout in a fishing village up the coast, the kind of place you only went if you were desperate or suicidal.

Finally, he said, "There's a place up ahead. Off the grid. We can hold out there long enough to figure our next move."

"And if they know about it?" Keller asked.

"They don't," Lin said. But in his gut, he wasn't sure.

For a few precious minutes, the road ahead was clear. The sound of the ocean faded beneath the hum of the truck's engine and the rhythmic slap of the wipers. Min-joon traced their route on the map, frowning.

"There's no connection back to the main roads from here except through Seongryu Tunnel. It's one-way traffic and easy to block."

"I know," Lin said. "Which means if they want to box us in, that's where they'll wait."

"So what's the plan?"

Lin's hands tightened on the wheel. "We don't go through the tunnel."

Keller leaned forward. "Then where?"

Lin's eyes flicked to the black void over the guardrail—the sea pounding against the rocks below. "There's another way. But it's not on your map."

The truck descended into a small fishing hamlet, the few houses dark and hunched against the weather. Nets lay piled in heaps along the shore, and the smell of brine and diesel hung in the air.

Lin turned down a dirt track at the far end of the village. The road narrowed again, the ground uneven and slick with mud. Keller cursed as the truck bounced over a deep rut.

"This doesn't look like a safehouse," Keller said.

"It's not," Lin said. "It's a launch point."

They pulled up beside a weather-beaten boathouse, its roof sagging under years of salt and wind. Lin killed the engine. The sudden quiet was almost jarring after the constant roar of the drive.

Min-joon climbed out first, scanning the mist-shrouded shoreline. "You're saying we ditch the truck?"

"We take a boat," Lin said, moving to the rear and untying the tarp. "There's an inlet here that leads north. If we hug the coast, we can land past the Seongryu checkpoint."

Keller joined him at the back, pulling the tarp aside to check the crates. "They're not exactly waterproof."

"They don't have to be," Lin said. "Just secure enough for the trip."

The plan might have worked—if the mist hadn't carried the faint, unmistakable sound of another engine.

Lin froze, listening. The growl came from the main road, moving slow. Headlights cut through the fog a moment later, sweeping across the village.

"They found us," Keller said, already lifting his rifle.

Lin's mind moved fast. "No shooting unless they're on top of us. Min-joon—get that boat ready."

Min-joon dashed into the boathouse, his footsteps echoing against the wooden planks. Lin and Keller crouched low behind the truck, watching as the SUV rolled into view at the far end of the dirt track.

The vehicle stopped. Two men stepped out, their silhouettes sharp against the glow of the headlights. One of them called out in Korean. Lin didn't catch every word, but the tone was clear—an order to surrender.

Keller glanced at him. "We're not surrendering, right?"

Lin's lips curved into the faintest shadow of a smile. "Not tonight."

The second man raised his weapon, and that was all the signal Lin needed.

The first shot came from Keller's rifle, the crack shattering the stillness. One of the men dropped instantly; the other ducked behind the SUV, returning fire. Bullets punched into the truck's side, the sound of tearing metal echoing through the mist.

Min-joon's voice called from the boathouse. "Boat's ready!"

Lin fired twice, forcing the gunman back into cover, then sprinted toward the boathouse. Keller followed, pausing only to grab one of the crates from the truck bed.

They shoved the cargo into the small fishing vessel, the wood creaking under the sudden weight. The engine sputtered, then roared to life as Min-joon pushed them away from the dock.

Gunfire rattled off the boathouse walls, but the mist swallowed them as the boat drifted into open water.

Lin gripped the side, watching the shoreline fade into a gray blur. The rain eased slightly, but the cold wind off the sea cut through his jacket.

Keller slumped onto a bench, breathing hard. "You know," he said, "I think I preferred the road."

Lin didn't answer. His eyes stayed fixed on the dark horizon ahead, where the inlet curved toward unknown ground. This road—water or not—was one he couldn't turn back from.