The fishing boat scraped against stone as Lin eased the throttle down to a whisper. The engine sputtered, coughed, then died, leaving only the sound of waves lapping against the narrow dock. Mist clung to everything—rock, wood, skin. The world was still, muffled, as if holding its breath after the chaos they had just outrun.

Keller stretched his legs, joints popping. "Hell of a ride." His voice was quiet, but there was a rough edge to it, like he was testing whether the silence itself might bite back.

Min-joon stood, one hand braced against the crate, his other pressed to his side where a graze had darkened his shirt with blood. He waved Lin's look of concern away. "I'll live."

Lin tied the boat off with practiced ease, looping the rope around the cleat embedded in the slick stone. His eyes lifted to the path that wound up from the dock—a narrow stair cut into the cliff face, nearly invisible from the sea. The rocks were slick, coated with moss and the residue of salt. Above, the stairs disappeared into darkness, swallowed by mist.

"This way," Lin said.

Keller raised a brow. "And where exactly is 'this way'?"

Lin didn't answer. He simply lifted one end of the crate, gesturing for Min-joon to take the other. Keller muttered something under his breath and shouldered the second crate himself. The three men started the climb.

The stairs were old, worn by centuries of waves and storms. Lin's boots slipped more than once, but his grip was steady, his movements practiced. He had climbed these very steps years ago, though back then, his hands had been bloodied, and the man climbing beside him—Sang-ho—was alive.

The memory pressed against him like the mist, suffocating and cold. He forced it back. Not now.

The climb seemed endless. The crates grew heavier with each step, every muscle in Lin's arms burning. But finally, the stairs ended at a plateau carved into the cliffside. A small cluster of weather-beaten buildings stood there—wooden shacks and stone storage huts, abandoned long ago but still standing stubborn against the sea. Nets hung in tatters, and a single lamppost leaned crooked, its bulb long shattered.

Keller set his crate down with a grunt. "Charming."

"Abandoned fishing post," Min-joon said, scanning the area with a soldier's caution. "Looks like it hasn't been touched in years."

Lin remained silent, though he knew the truth. The place hadn't been abandoned at all—it had simply changed hands, passed from fishermen to smugglers, then to men like him. He had been here the night Sang-ho saved him from drowning, the night he realized loyalty was both a shield and a chain.

"Inside," Lin said, pointing toward the largest shack.

The interior smelled of salt and mildew. The floor creaked beneath their boots, and the single window was clouded with grime. But it was dry, and for now, it was safe.

They set the crates down. Keller immediately crouched, pulling a crowbar from his pack. "We've been dragging these things across half the peninsula. I'm seeing what's inside."

Lin didn't stop him. He wanted to see too.

The crowbar bit into the wood, nails squealing as Keller pried the lid free. Inside, layered in oilcloth, lay stacks of files, hard drives, and sealed envelopes marked with numbers. Not drugs. Not weapons. Information.

Keller whistled low. "Blackmail."

"Insurance," Lin corrected. His eyes moved over the files, his chest tightening. "Every bribe, every shipment, every official Jin has bought. Enough to burn his empire from the inside out."

Min-joon's breath caught. "This… this is why they sent half the coast after us."

Lin nodded. "And why they won't stop."

The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the drip of water through the roof. Min-joon sat heavily on a crate, his face pale beneath the blood loss. Keller leaned against the wall, eyes narrowed at Lin.

"You've been here before," Keller said. It wasn't a question.

Lin didn't answer at first. His fingers traced the edge of the opened crate, the rough wood biting into his skin. Finally, he said, "Years ago. This was one of Sang-ho's hideouts."

Min-joon's head snapped up. "Sang-ho? As in—"

"Yes." Lin cut him off sharply. He didn't want to say the name out loud, didn't want the ghosts to solidify any more than they already had. "He used this place when he needed to disappear. No one else knew it existed."

"Until now," Keller said.

Lin's gaze flicked to the window, to the mist beyond. "Until now."

The weight of the crates seemed to press heavier than before. Lin knew what they carried was more dangerous than any gun or blade. Information could topple empires—but it could also damn those who held it.

Min-joon broke the silence. "So what's the plan? We can't stay here. They'll track us sooner or later."

Lin nodded. "We move inland by night. Seoul by dawn. But first…" He turned to Keller. "We send a message."

Keller frowned. "To who?"

"To the people who think Jin can't be touched." Lin's voice was steady, cold. "We let them know that his secrets are no longer his."

The night deepened. They rotated watch shifts, one man always awake, the others catching uneasy rest. Outside, the sea roared against the cliffs, but beneath it, Lin thought he heard whispers—the voices of the past, Sang-ho's among them.

You chose this path, Lin. Don't flinch now.

When his turn on watch came, Lin stood at the window, the mist thick as smoke. His hand rested on the edge of the open crate, on the weight of Jin's empire in paper and steel. He knew what came next would draw every blade, every gun, every eye to him.

But there was no turning back.

By the time dawn bled gray across the horizon, Lin had already made his decision. The crates would go to Seoul. The files would be exposed. And Jin would know that the war was no longer fought in shadows but in the open.

Lin stepped outside into the salt wind, the sea stretching endless and black behind him. He felt the ghosts pressing close but didn't look back. The path was forward now—straight into fire.

And for the first time, Lin almost welcomed it.