The chamber breathed with silence at first. Then came the hunters' footsteps—boots hammering concrete, shadows moving along the fractured ledges. Their voices echoed in harsh Korean, clipped orders bouncing off the walls, reverberating until it sounded like the chamber itself spoke in Jin's tongue.

Lin crouched low, one palm pressed against the damp floor, feeling the vibrations of their advance. Each step told him the hunters' number, their rhythm, their confidence. He counted at least six, maybe more. The tunnels had funneled them into this hollow space, and now they thought the trap was closing.

They were wrong.

Keller knelt beside him, pistol drawn, whisper sharp. "Six of them, maybe more. We can't shoot our way out."

"No," Lin agreed softly. "But we don't need to."

Min-joon pressed against the wall, face pale in the faint light leaking through cracks above. "Then what do we do?"

Lin's eyes flicked across the chamber. Rusted pipes jutted from the walls, relics of a time when this place had carried water for the city above. Pools of stagnant liquid glistened at the edges, collecting in shallow depressions. The architecture itself was jagged, layered, offering shadows deep enough to vanish into.

"We make the dark ours," Lin said.

The hunters spilled in—first two through the stairwell, rifles raised, beams of mounted flashlights cutting sharp lines into the gloom. Behind them came more, their weapons steady, movements precise. These weren't thugs. They were trained, the kind of men Jin would send for jobs he wanted finished without question.

Lin moved like liquid, slipping from his crouch into the deeper shadows along the wall. He motioned sharply with two fingers. Keller understood instantly, pulling Min-joon low and into cover. The boy trembled, but Keller's grip steadied him.

The first hunter swept his flashlight across the chamber. "Clear this level," he barked in Korean. "Check every corner."

The beam passed inches above Lin's head as he flattened against cold stone. His breath slowed. His heartbeat matched the dripping of water. He waited, blade steady in his hand.

The man moved closer. One step. Two. His light arced away for the briefest moment. That was enough.

Lin struck.

He slid from the dark, one arm locking around the hunter's throat, blade slashing across the exposed gap under the man's ear. The body buckled soundlessly. Lin dragged him back into shadow before his partner turned.

The second hunter frowned. "Sang-ho?" His light jerked in the opposite direction, scanning the far side.

Lin was already behind him. The blade punctured clean between ribs, twisted, withdrawn before the man could shout. He fell into the pool with a splash that echoed like a gunshot.

Shouts erupted. The chamber came alive with chaos.

"Over there!" one barked, rifles snapping toward the sound. Flashlights cut across the water, beams tangling like frantic snakes.

Keller used the distraction, firing two controlled shots from cover. One hunter dropped, his weapon clattering against stone. Another scrambled for cover behind a cracked pillar.

Lin darted low, every step deliberate. He wasn't faster than bullets—he never fooled himself with that lie—but he was quieter than fear, sharper than hesitation. And in the tunnels, hesitation killed faster than any blade.

He reached the edge of the chamber's central pit, slipping beneath a rusted pipe. Another hunter advanced, rifle raised, light slicing across the walls. Lin timed it, waiting for the beam to shift, then grabbed a loose chunk of stone and hurled it across the chamber. It clattered violently.

The hunter pivoted instantly, gun barking in rapid fire. Bullets sparked against concrete. In that split second of misdirection, Lin rose from the shadows and cut him down, the knife sinking deep before he could realign his aim.

The firefight grew frantic. Keller's voice carried through the chaos. "Lin! They're circling left!"

Lin didn't respond. His silence was answer enough. He had already slipped into position, moving toward the flank.

Min-joon clutched Keller's arm, panic in his eyes. "We can't hold them!"

Keller gritted his teeth. "You trust him or not?"

Min-joon swallowed, nodded once, though fear still choked him.

The chamber thundered with gunfire. Ricochets sparked, concrete dust filling the air like smoke. Hunters shouted orders, their discipline holding even as bodies fell. But Lin could hear it in their voices—the strain, the edge of unease.

He wanted them afraid.

He circled behind, climbing the jagged remains of an old support column. From above, he could see the field: Keller trading shots with two gunmen pinned near the stairwell, Min-joon trembling beside him; another three sweeping cautiously across the chamber floor, their lights jittering as though they already sensed ghosts around them.

Lin dropped down silently behind the rearmost one, blade flashing. Another gone. He yanked the man's rifle free before it hit the ground, suppressor still attached. Perfect.

The weapon was in his hands now, cool and balanced. Lin exhaled once, steady. Then he fired.

Three short bursts. Three hunters crumpled before they could register where the shots had come from.

Silence.

Only two remained now—their beams whipping desperately, guns raised at every flicker of movement. One shouted, voice cracking. "He's everywhere!"

"No," Lin murmured from the shadows, "I'm just where you're not."

He fired again. Another fell.

The last hunter froze, his rifle shaking. Sweat glistened under the pale moonlight leaking through the cracks above. He spun in a full circle, panic rising in his throat.

Lin stepped into the faint glow, calm, blade still dripping. His stolen rifle hung loose at his side.

"Go back to Jin," Lin said in Korean, voice low but carrying. "Tell him the tunnels are mine now."

The hunter hesitated—then bolted for the stairwell. His footsteps rang like a retreating drum.

Keller exhaled, lowering his pistol. "Damn, Lin… You turned this whole place into your hunting ground."

Min-joon stared wide-eyed at the bodies scattered across the chamber, at the man who had moved like a phantom through their ranks. Fear and awe mixed in his gaze. "You're not just fighting him, are you? You're becoming what Jin fears."

Lin wiped the blade clean on a fallen man's jacket, his face unreadable. "No. I'm reminding him what he forgot."

Keller frowned. "Which is?"

"That shadows don't belong to him. Not here. Not anywhere."

The chamber grew still again, heavy with the smell of blood and damp concrete. Above them, the faint sound of city life leaked through—the muffled roar of distant traffic, the thrum of neon Seoul. A world apart, yet only meters above their heads.

Lin glanced at the narrow passage across the reservoir. Their next path.

"We move," he said simply.

And without waiting for answer, he vanished once more into the dark.