The tunnels pressed in around them like a living thing—walls sweating with condensation, air heavy with damp and rust. The single flashlight beam Keller carried cut a narrow path through the darkness, bouncing across fractured concrete and rusted steel. Every drip of water echoed, magnified, as though the labyrinth itself were taunting them.

Lin kept his pace steady, but his mind worked in a thousand directions. He could almost feel the weight of Seoul above his head—its neon lights, its sleeping citizens, the shifting games of Jin's syndicate—all piled on top of him, like the city itself was daring him to survive the underground.

Behind him, Keller muttered. "Feels like we're walking into the throat of something that's gonna swallow us whole."

"Stay sharp," Lin said, not turning. His voice was calm, but flat with warning. "These tunnels aren't just maintenance routes. They were used during the occupation, smuggling, black market runs… People carved whole networks down here to survive. Which means others still know how to move through them."

Min-joon gave a bitter laugh, though it sounded forced in the confined dark. "You mean Jin's men."

"Or worse," Lin replied.

They reached a fork—three tunnels yawning out like the roots of some buried tree. Lin stopped, lowering himself slightly to study the ground. The concrete was cracked, littered with fragments of glass and the thin track of something dragged. Faint scuff marks. Boots. Recent.

"They're ahead of us," Lin said.

Keller crouched beside him. "How recent?"

Lin touched the dust, rubbed it between his fingers. His gut tightened. "Hours. Maybe less. And they're not running. They know where they're going."

Silence hung between them. Only the distant hum of unseen pipes and the faint scurry of rats broke it.

"Which way, then?" Min-joon asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Lin studied the three passages. The left sloped downward, water pooling at its mouth. The right twisted sharply, disappearing behind a wall of jagged rebar. The center tunneled deeper, straight ahead, wide enough for two men to walk side by side.

"They'll expect us to go straight," Lin said finally. "It's the fastest. But that means an ambush."

Keller shifted uneasily, hand brushing his holster. "So you're saying left."

"Left," Lin agreed, though his tone carried no comfort.

They moved, feet splashing quietly through shallow water. The smell worsened—stagnant, metallic. Lin's flashlight beam caught faint graffiti on the walls: old slogans in Korean, faded red arrows, even a series of tally marks gouged deep into concrete. The place carried history like scars, every mark a reminder of the desperate people who had passed through.

Min-joon's voice came low, almost reluctant. "When I was a kid, my grandmother used to tell stories about these tunnels. About families hiding down here during the war, eating roots, rats, whatever they could find. Said some never came back up."

Keller groaned. "Great bedtime story."

"She said the tunnels remember," Min-joon added. His voice trembled just slightly. "That they keep the fear. That's why people still avoid them."

Lin didn't dismiss it. He knew cities carried ghosts—he'd seen too much of it in Busan, in Seoul, in every place he'd been forced to crawl through. Fear left imprints, and tonight, he felt them pressing against his skin.

A faint noise stopped them all.

Lin raised a hand. Stillness.

There—up ahead. The sound of stone scraping stone. A shifting. Then silence.

Lin lowered his voice. "We're not alone."

Keller flicked his flashlight upward. The beam caught movement—a brief glint of eyes reflecting back from a crumbling ledge high above the tunnel wall. Then they were gone.

"Shit," Keller hissed.

Lin pulled them into the shadows along the wall. His heartbeat steadied, controlled. Whoever it was, they weren't random stragglers. Eyes that steady, that unflinching—it was trained instinct. Jin's hunters had pushed into the tunnels ahead of them.

"Options?" Keller asked, breath tight.

"We move quiet," Lin said. "Let them think they've got the drop on us. When they strike, we turn it."

Min-joon swallowed hard. "And if there's more than two?"

"Then we don't stop moving," Lin replied.

They crept forward again, slower this time, the flashlight kept low, beam crawling over water and debris. The tunnel narrowed, forcing them to move single file. Lin led, Keller at the rear, Min-joon caught between like a trapped pawn.

The sound came again—a scrape, but this time closer. Then, suddenly, a pipe burst above them, spewing a spray of foul-smelling water. Keller jerked back instinctively, shielding his face. That was when the first shadow dropped.

A man in black landed between Lin and Min-joon, blade flashing. Lin's reflexes took over. He pivoted, grabbing the attacker's wrist and twisting sharply, forcing the knife wide. The struggle was fast, brutal. Lin slammed the man against the tunnel wall, the impact echoing like a drumbeat.

Another figure lunged from the side. Keller fired—one sharp crack that filled the tunnels like thunder. The second man crumpled into the water, the shot ricocheting off concrete.

"Too loud," Lin snapped, wrenching the blade free from the first man's grip. With a swift motion, he dropped him, the body sliding into the shadows.

Keller's jaw tightened. "They already knew we were here."

The tunnel trembled with the sound of approaching footsteps. More of them.

"Move!" Lin barked.

They ran. Water splashed under their boots, flashlight beam jerking wildly across stone and metal. The air thickened with the chase—shouts in Korean echoing from behind, the language of hunters closing in.

They reached another fork, but this time Lin didn't hesitate. He veered right, through the jagged corridor of rebar. Rust tore at his jacket as he pushed through, Keller and Min-joon following close. Behind them, footsteps thundered.

The tunnel beyond narrowed into a steep stairwell, descending deeper underground. Lin didn't slow. They crashed down the steps, breath ragged, until the air cooled further and the space widened into a forgotten chamber.

It was massive—an old reservoir, long drained, its walls streaked with moss. Moonlight filtered faintly through cracks in the ceiling, glimmering against the damp. The place felt ancient, a buried cathedral of concrete.

They collapsed into the shadows, catching their breath. For a moment, silence returned, broken only by the drip of water.

Keller leaned against the wall, sweat pouring down his face. "We can't keep this up. They're driving us deeper like rats."

Lin's eyes scanned the chamber, mind racing. "That's exactly what they want. But they made one mistake."

Min-joon's voice shook. "What mistake?"

"They think the tunnels belong to them," Lin said quietly, his gaze hard. "But I grew up in places like this. In Busan, in Daegu. I learned how to vanish underground before I learned how to fight."

He pushed away from the wall, eyes adjusting to the faint light. He could see another passage across the chamber, low and narrow. Perfect for an escape. But it would take precision. Timing. And above all, trust between the three of them.

Lin turned back, voice steady now. "We're not trapped down here. We're going to turn this against them. Make the tunnels ours."

The sound of footsteps began to echo again—closer, louder, filling the reservoir chamber with menace.

Lin raised the stolen blade, the steel catching the faint silver light. His voice dropped to a whisper meant only for his allies.

"Get ready. This is where we decide who owns the dark."