CHAPTER 167: CHAPTER 167: THE NET TIGHTENS

The crowd in the night market had swallowed them whole. Neon reflected off puddles, the air thick with smoke from skewers sizzling on open grills, the smell of roasted squid and burning sugar clinging to their clothes. Lin pushed forward, Keller at his shoulder, Min-joon stumbling in their wake, and the scout still bound, dragged half against his will, half by his own defiant stride.

But beneath the noise of the city, Lin heard it—sirens in the distance, too faint for the crowd to notice but sharp enough to pierce his ears. A pattern. Not random. Moving closer.

"Shit," Keller muttered, tightening his grip on the pistol hidden under his jacket. "They’re triangulating. That tracker’s live."

Min-joon glanced between them, panic flashing in his wide eyes. "We... we can’t just keep running. They’ll box us in!"

Lin’s jaw clenched. He already knew. Running blindly would only feed Jin’s net. The longer they dragged the scout with them, the more dangerous this became—but abandoning him without answers gnawed at Lin’s instincts.

He cut sharply left, guiding them out of the crush of market stalls and into a narrower backstreet lined with faded awnings and crumbling brick walls. The shift in atmosphere was immediate. The chatter of the crowd fell away, replaced by the low hum of a city that never truly slept.

"Inside," Lin ordered, spotting the faint glow of a 24-hour bathhouse wedged between two shuttered storefronts. The place smelled of mildew and steam, its neon sign buzzing faintly with half the bulbs burnt out.

Keller shot him a hard look but didn’t argue. They ducked inside.

The air was hot and damp. Steam curled from half-drained tubs, condensation dripping down the tiled walls. It was empty except for a slouched attendant asleep in a chair near the front desk, headphones on, oblivious. Perfect.

They shoved the scout onto the slick tile floor of the locker area. He landed hard but lifted his head with a sneer, blood trickling from his split lip.

"You think this matters?" he rasped. "You think tearing it off will change anything?"

Lin crouched down, eyes sharp. "Where is it?"

The scout smirked wider, and Keller, already at breaking point, kicked him square in the ribs. The sound echoed off the walls. The man wheezed but laughed through it, his voice echoing strangely in the tiled chamber.

"It’s not on me," he taunted. "It’s in me."

Min-joon froze. "What... what do you mean in you?"

Keller grabbed the man by the collar, yanking him upright. "Don’t play games. Where’s the tracker?"

The scout only spat a fleck of blood onto Keller’s boot. "You’ll have to dig for it."

Lin’s gaze narrowed. He scanned the man, searching. There—just below the collarbone, barely visible under the grime and sweat, a small surgical scar. Fresh.

"Hold him," Lin said.

Keller shoved the scout flat against the tiles, pinning his arms. The man thrashed but couldn’t break free.

Min-joon’s face paled. "Lin... you’re not—"

But Lin was already moving. He grabbed a shard of broken porcelain from the floor—one of the cracked soap dishes—and without hesitation pressed it against the scar. The scout’s scream filled the bathhouse, bouncing off the walls like a siren of its own.

Min-joon recoiled, hand over his mouth. Keller didn’t flinch.

Lin cut fast, efficient, ignoring the spray of blood and the convulsions under his grip. Within seconds he pulled free a tiny black capsule, slick with blood.

The scout collapsed back, gasping raggedly. His laughter was broken, strained, but still present. "You think that saves you? He wanted you to find it. You’re dancing exactly where he wants."

Lin stared at the capsule in his palm, its faint red light blinking once, twice—then dying. His stomach turned.

Min-joon whispered, horrified, "He’s right, isn’t he? Jin wanted us to find it..."

Keller tossed the scout aside like garbage. "Enough riddles. We ditch him. Now."

But the scout, bleeding and grinning, croaked out his last weapon: "He’s not chasing you. He’s herding you."

The words hung in the steam, heavier than the stench of blood.

They dumped the capsule down a drain, Keller wiping his hands on his shirt. The scout was barely conscious, his breath rattling shallow and wet. For the first time, Lin considered whether killing him now would be a mercy—or a mistake.

Before he could decide, the sound came.

Engines. Dozens. The faint screech of tires outside, the synchronized slam of doors. A chorus of boots on asphalt.

Min-joon’s head snapped toward the exit, his face drained of all color. "No... no, no, no..."

Keller swore. "They’re already here."

Lin’s mind raced. He moved to the grimy window and peeled back the curtain just enough to see. His chest tightened.

The block was surrounded. Black sedans and unmarked vans lined both ends of the street, their headlights spilling across the cracked pavement. Figures moved with brutal efficiency—men in dark coats, radios crackling, forming a perimeter with military precision.

The scout had been right.

This wasn’t a chase. It was a cage.

"They never needed the tracker," Lin muttered. "They wanted us to find it, to feel safe. All the while, they were waiting."

Keller slammed his fist into a locker, the metal ringing like a gunshot. "So what? They let us walk right into the jaws? Goddamn it, Lin, this is what you call strategy?"

Lin didn’t respond. His mind was a razor, cutting through options that were vanishing by the second. The bathhouse had one exit to the street—suicide. The back led into an alley that was probably already blocked. The only chance was vertical.

"Rooftop," Lin said sharply. "We move now."

Min-joon’s knees nearly buckled. "How? We’re surrounded!"

"Better to fight climbing than die cornered," Lin snapped, already moving.

Keller growled but followed, dragging Min-joon up. They left the scout bleeding on the tiles, his laughter chasing them up the stairwell like a curse.

The rooftop door burst open to the night air. The city stretched in every direction, lights glittering across the Han River, a beauty at odds with the death tightening around them.

But the sound was there, waiting: boots, radios, rifles clicking into place. From the adjacent rooftops, shadows moved—Jin’s men, closing in like wolves.

Lin raised his pistol, eyes hard. "Stay close. We break west. Don’t stop."

Keller checked his clip, jaw set. "Let’s give them a fight they won’t forget."

Min-joon swallowed, trembling, but nodded.

The night held its breath. Then the first shot cracked, sparking against the rooftop concrete.

The net had closed.

And now, the hunt truly began.