The mist still clung to the cliffs when Lin tightened the straps on his pack and gave the order to move. The crates, broken down into smaller containers and disguised beneath fishing nets, were divided between the three of them. Each step inland meant carrying not just weight but risk — every file, every drive inside those containers painted a target on their backs.

Keller adjusted his pack with a grunt. "You realize once we're off this rock, we're basically walking into the lion's den?"

Lin gave a short nod. "That's exactly what we're doing."

Min-joon, pale but steady despite the wound in his side, let out a strained laugh. "I'd say more like Jin's den. And lions at least play with their food."

No one answered. The air was too thick for humor.

The trail cut through tangled pine woods that smelled of sap and salt. The ground was uneven, muddy from night rain, and each step was careful, deliberate. Birds startled from the branches above them, scattering with a rush of wings. For hours, they climbed in silence, the only sound their breath and the steady scrape of boots on stone.

By midday, the mist thinned, and the forest gave way to farmland. Green fields stretched under a pale sky, dotted with scarecrows and the occasional thatched farmhouse. A tractor rattled in the distance, its engine a reminder that life outside the underworld still existed.

Lin raised his hood and pulled his mask higher. Blending in here meant looking ordinary, invisible. Keller did the same, though his broad frame and foreign face made him stand out no matter what. Min-joon muttered something under his breath in Korean about the obviousness of it, but Keller pretended not to hear.

"Keep your heads down," Lin said. "Eyes forward. Don't stop unless I say."

They walked the dirt road in single file, just three men among many travelers. Old women balanced baskets of greens, children ran barefoot with kites, and a bus rumbled by, coughing smoke. To the world around them, Lin hoped they looked like nothing.

But he knew better. Jin's eyes were everywhere.

By late afternoon, they reached the bus station at the edge of a market town. The station was little more than a cracked lot with faded shelters and a dozen buses lined in crooked rows. Men smoked, women haggled over tickets, and a loudspeaker droned incomprehensible announcements.

Keller muttered, "You sure this is smart? Buses mean crowds, crowds mean eyes."

"Crowds also mean cover," Lin said. He scanned the lot, sharp eyes noting every uniform, every face that lingered too long. "In a car, we stand out. On foot, we're too slow. Here, we disappear."

Min-joon winced as he adjusted the strap of his pack. "Until someone tips them off."

Lin's jaw tightened. "That's why we don't give them the chance."

They boarded the bus bound for Seoul as the sun dipped low, painting the horizon in bruised shades of orange and violet. The vehicle smelled of diesel, sweat, and old fabric. Lin took a seat near the rear, Keller across the aisle, Min-joon by the window.

The ride began with a shudder, the bus rattling down the cracked road, fields fading into hills, hills into highways. Neon bled into the night as the kilometers closed between them and the capital.

Lin kept his head lowered, his hand resting near the concealed pistol in his jacket. Every stop, every passenger climbing aboard, he watched with a predator's patience. Old men with newspapers, students with headphones, a young mother rocking a sleeping child. Ordinary.

But ordinary was always the best disguise.

Two hours into the ride, Keller leaned across the aisle, his voice low. "Back three rows. Guy with the black cap. He's watching us."

Lin didn't look right away. He waited, counting the seconds, then shifted as though stretching, letting his eyes flick casually over his shoulder.

Black cap. Dark jacket. His posture too stiff, his gaze lingering one second too long.

Not a commuter.

Lin's hand brushed Min-joon's arm lightly — the signal to be ready. Then he met Keller's eyes and gave the faintest nod.

Trouble.

The bus pulled into a rest stop, its brakes hissing. Passengers stirred, some stretching, some stepping off to buy drinks or smoke. Lin stood slowly, motioning for Keller and Min-joon to follow. They filed out into the fluorescent wash of the station, a low building with vending machines and convenience stalls.

Black Cap followed.

Lin led them around the side of the building, into the shadowed lot where trucks idled. The air was thick with the smell of fried food and gasoline. He stopped near a vending machine, pretending to study the options. Keller lit a cigarette. Min-joon leaned against the wall, one hand on his pack.

The man in the cap approached, too casual, too deliberate.

Lin spoke first, his voice calm but carrying steel. "You've been watching us since the market town. Why?"

The man froze. For a heartbeat, his mask slipped — the stiffness in his shoulders, the flash of something sharp in his eyes. Then he smiled thinly.

"Old habits," he said in accented Korean. "I watch people. Comes with the job."

Keller exhaled smoke. "And what job is that?"

The man's smile widened, but it didn't touch his eyes. "Making sure certain… shipments don't go missing."

Min-joon's fingers tightened around his pack strap. "He's one of Jin's."

The man's hand dipped into his jacket.

Lin moved first. His grip snapped onto the man's wrist, twisting hard, the gun half-drawn before it clattered to the ground. Keller's fist followed, slamming into the man's gut, folding him. Min-joon kicked the gun across the pavement into the shadows.

The struggle was quick, quiet, over before anyone at the station noticed. Lin pressed the man against the wall, his forearm pinning him by the throat.

"How many?" Lin demanded.

The man gasped, lips curled in defiance. "Enough."

Lin's eyes hardened. "Where?"

The man only laughed, blood flecking his teeth. "Everywhere."

Keller shifted, ready to finish it, but Lin held up a hand. Killing him here would only raise alarms too soon. Instead, he slammed the man's head against the wall just hard enough to drop him unconscious. The body slumped into the shadows.

"We board," Lin said flatly. "Now."

Back on the bus, the ride resumed. But the silence between them was sharper, heavier. If one of Jin's men had tracked them already, there would be more.

Seoul was no longer just a destination. It was a trap waiting to be sprung.

Min-joon whispered, almost to himself, "Everywhere…"

Lin's eyes stayed fixed on the dark road ahead, neon beginning to glow brighter in the distance. Seoul's towers rose like jagged teeth against the night sky, hungry, waiting.

"We knew this wouldn't be clean," Lin said at last. His voice was low, steady, the voice of someone who had already accepted the blood price to come. "But it doesn't matter how many of them there are."

Keller's jaw clenched. "And why's that?"

Lin finally looked at him, eyes cold and unyielding.

"Because once we get these files where they need to go, Jin's empire starts burning. And nothing—no lion's den, no hunters, no army—will stop it."

The bus roared onward into the heart of Seoul.

And so did the war.