The truck rolled into Seoul under the cover of night, its is tired engine rattling like a heartbeat against the in silence of the highway. From is the windshield, the city stretched out like a living organism—neon veins pulsing across glass towers, dark alleys like arteries carrying secrets. To Keller, it looked like a place too alive to hide in; to Lin, it looked like home and danger wrapped into one.

The moment in they passed the city limits, Lin's posture shifted. He had spent years memorizing Seoul's geography—the shortcuts, the blind spots, the old neighborhoods that surveillance forgot. But tonight the city didn't feel like the one he knew. It felt wired, tense, as if every blinking light was an eye watching for him.

Min-joon, gripping is the wheel, muttered, "Seoul never sleeps. And tonight… she's restless."

Lin's gaze stayed fixed on in the streets ahead. "Restless because Jin's people are already here."

Keller leaned forward from the back seat, his voice low. "So we're walking into a trap."

"No," Lin replied evenly. "We're already in one. The question is whether we can slip out before it snaps shut."

They exited onto side streets, weaving away from the main flow of traffic. Min-joon knew the patterns of patrol cars and corporate security convoys. He slowed the truck as they passed under a flickering neon sign advertising karaoke. On the corner, three young men smoked, their laughter echoing too loudly for this hour. Lin studied them as they rolled by. He didn't see thugs—just locals killing time. But he couldn't shake the sense that Jin's eyes were everywhere.

Keller noticed it too. "Feels like the city's breathing down our necks."

"It is," Lin said. "Which is why we go quiet. From now on, no loud moves, no unnecessary contact. We head to the safehouse first."

The safehouse was buried in Itaewon, tucked between a shuttered tailor's shop and a ramen stall that smelled of broth and garlic. The ramen stall drew customers even at midnight, which made it the perfect cover. Min-joon parked the truck three blocks away, and they walked the rest of the distance on foot.

As they slipped through the alley, Lin's instincts twitched. A silhouette moved at the edge of the streetlight, then disappeared. He froze, signaling for Keller and Min-joon to stop.

"You see it too?" Keller whispered.

Lin nodded once. "Tail."

But the figure didn't reappear. The alley hummed with a broken AC unit, dripping condensation down cracked walls. Lin forced himself to keep walking. Sometimes paranoia was the only shield he had.

When they reached the tailor's shop, Min-joon tapped a sequence of knocks on the rear door. After a pause, it opened. A wiry man with graying hair peered out. His eyes narrowed before softening with recognition.

"You're late," the man muttered.

"Traffic," Lin replied flatly.

The man ushered them inside. The interior smelled of mothballs and dust, the mannequins draped in half-finished suits like ghosts frozen mid-motion. He led them down a narrow stairwell to the basement, where a single bulb lit the room.

"This is your nest," the man said. "Not much, but no one asks questions here. Not unless they want their suits pressed."

Lin gave him a curt nod. "Good. That's exactly what we need."

For the first time since Busan, they could exhale. Keller sat heavily on an old crate, rubbing his temples. Min-joon paced. Lin stood near the bulb, staring at the faint map painted on the concrete wall—a relic from when this basement had served as a war shelter decades ago.

Min-joon broke the silence. "Jin won't take long to sniff this place out."

"I know," Lin said. "That's why we won't stay long. This isn't a safehouse. It's a pit stop."

Keller looked up. "Then where?"

Lin's jaw tightened. He thought of the blurry dockside photo, of Sang-ho's face. "We go where Jin doesn't expect us. We don't chase him on the streets. We cut into his foundations. His people are scared of one thing more than me."

Keller raised a brow. "And what's that?"

"The truth about how he built his empire. If we pull at the right thread, the whole thing unravels."

Elsewhere, across Seoul—

In a glass tower lit like a beacon, Jin stood at the window of his penthouse office. Below him, the city stretched endlessly. He held a phone loosely to his ear.

"They've surfaced," the voice on the other end reported. "Our men spotted movement in Itaewon. Lin's group."

Jin's lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Of course he would crawl into the heart of the city. That's where he thinks he belongs."

"Do we move in?"

"No." Jin turned from the window, his eyes sharp. "Not yet. Let them breathe. Rats are easier to kill when they think they're safe."

He ended the call and poured himself a glass of soju. The liquid caught the neon light, glowing faintly. He raised it as though in a toast. "Welcome back to Seoul, Lin. Let's see how long you survive in my city."

Back at the safehouse, Lin finally sat, the weight of the day pressing on him. Keller watched him carefully.

"You've got a plan forming," Keller said.

Lin didn't answer immediately. He thought of the dockside in Busan, of Sang-ho's betrayal, of the files Min-joon risked everything to protect. His entire life felt like threads tangled into one knot—and Jin's hand was on the other end, pulling tighter.

Finally, Lin said, "The city's a chessboard. Jin thinks he's the king. But kings fall hardest when the pawns turn on them."

Min-joon smirked faintly. "Then we better start flipping pawns."

Lin met his gaze, his eyes cold and steady. "We will. But first—we disappear again. Tonight, no one sleeps. We move before dawn."

The single bulb buzzed overhead, flickering. In that moment, the safehouse felt less like shelter and more like the eye of a storm.

And outside, Seoul waited—neon shadows hiding both refuge and ruin.