The tunnels were quiet now, too quiet. Only the echo of dripping water and the ragged sound of their breathing filled the stale air. Lin pressed his back against the cold concrete, chest heaving, his hands still sticky with the metallic tang of blood. His ears rang from the gunfire that had thundered through the underground corridors minutes earlier, and yet in the stillness that followed, the silence was worse.

Keller stood a few paces away, scanning the darkness with the jittery precision of a man who knew danger rarely stayed buried. His pistol remained in his grip, finger resting near the trigger, unwilling to let the tension bleed out of his muscles.

Min-joon leaned against the wall, hunched and trembling. Sweat rolled down his temples despite the chill of the underground. His eyes wouldn't settle—they darted from shadow to shadow, pupils wide, as though he still saw the muzzle flashes from the ambush. He looked young in that moment, stripped of the bravado he'd worn since they'd met him.

Lin finally broke the silence. "We can't stay here. The longer we wait, the sooner Jin's people will regroup." His voice was steady, but inside, a coil of unease wound tighter with every second.

Keller's eyes flicked to him. "You think they'll try the tunnels again?"

Lin nodded once. "If I were them, I wouldn't let us crawl away. They'll flood every exit, choke us off. We move now or we die down here."

The words hung heavy in the cold air. Min-joon swallowed hard and pushed himself off the wall, his legs shaky but moving. He didn't say a word—his silence said enough.

They started walking, the faint beams of their flashlights cutting through the dark. The tunnels twisted endlessly, each intersection a guess, each turn a gamble. Lin moved first, his steps measured but quick. Keller followed, ever the shadow behind him, while Min-joon lagged, his shoulders stiff, the barrel of his gun dipping as fatigue set in.

At one junction, Lin paused, crouched, and pressed his hand against the damp ground. The faint tremor of distant movement reverberated through the concrete. Engines. Maybe trucks on the street above. Maybe something worse.

"Left," Lin whispered, pointing. "It'll take us closer to the northern access points."

Keller frowned. "And if Jin's already waiting there?"

Lin didn't answer right away. His silence stretched too long, and Keller's jaw tightened.

"You've been leading us through this maze like you know it by heart," Keller said, his voice low but edged with accusation. "What aren't you telling us, Lin?"

Min-joon lifted his head at that, his gaze flicking nervously between them.

Lin didn't look back. "I know enough. Enough to keep us alive."

"That's not an answer." Keller's boots scuffed against the concrete as he closed the distance. "You're holding something back. You've been holding something back since Busan. Since that dock photo."

Lin finally turned, his face caught half in the glow of his flashlight. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes—dark and unwavering—held Keller in place.

"If I told you everything now, Keller, it wouldn't keep you safer. It would only paint a bigger target on your back." His voice was steady, calm, but it carried the kind of finality that ended conversations.

Keller bristled, ready to argue, but the sudden echo of something metallic clattering in the distance froze them all. A pipe shifting? Or a boot on loose debris?

Lin raised his hand for silence. They waited, breaths shallow, but nothing came. The darkness mocked them with its stillness.

"Later," Lin said, turning back. "I'll tell you later. For now, we move."

Time stretched thin. The tunnels felt endless, a labyrinth swallowing them whole. Every step seemed to pull them deeper into the earth, though Lin knew they were slowly ascending. The incline grew steeper, the air a touch fresher, the faint hum of the city bleeding into the silence.

At one point, Min-joon stumbled, his flashlight beam jerking across the wall. He cursed under his breath and slammed his palm against the concrete. "I can't… I can't keep doing this." His voice cracked, raw with exhaustion and fear.

Lin crouched beside him, speaking softer than before. "You can. You have to. Every second you move, every breath you take, that's one more second Jin doesn't own you. Don't give him that."

Min-joon's jaw trembled, but he nodded, dragging himself back to his feet.

Keller watched the exchange, his expression unreadable. For the first time in hours, he didn't question Lin.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, a faint glow appeared ahead. Not the harsh white beam of a flashlight, not the orange flicker of a torch—this was diffuse, alive, pulsing. Neon.

The exit was close.

Lin quickened his pace, the fatigue in his limbs pushed aside by adrenaline. The tunnel narrowed, funnelling into a concrete staircase slick with condensation. The smell of oil and rainwater grew stronger.

They climbed, boots thudding softly, until a rusted steel door loomed ahead. Lin pressed his ear against it. On the other side: the low hum of traffic, the faint murmur of voices, the life of Seoul.

He looked back at the others. "Ready?"

Keller gave a short nod, his grip tightening on his pistol. Min-joon exhaled shakily but steadied himself.

Lin pushed the door. It groaned open reluctantly, spilling them into a back alley drenched in the glow of neon signs. The night air rushed over them—thick with exhaust, food smoke, and the electricity of a city that never slept.

Seoul stretched out above them, alive and oblivious, the narrow alley opening to streets crowded with late-night vendors, buzzing scooters, and drunk businessmen staggering out of bars. The contrast was jarring—the chaos of life moving on, unaware of the blood that still clung to their hands.

For a moment, Lin just stood there, staring up at the skyscrapers, the endless dance of light against the night sky. He hadn't seen the city from this side in weeks. It felt foreign, dangerous, but also alive.

"We're out," Keller muttered, almost in disbelief.

But Lin's instincts didn't ease. Freedom never came this easily.

They moved into the street, blending into the tide of strangers. Keller kept his shoulders squared, scanning every face. Min-joon tugged his hood low, trying to disappear.

It was Lin who noticed first—the man leaning against the lamppost at the mouth of the alley. Not drunk, not lost. Waiting. His hands were shoved casually into his coat pockets, his stance relaxed, but his eyes—dark and sharp—locked on Lin the second he emerged.

The crowd flowed around him like water around stone. He didn't move, didn't blink. He was there for them.

Keller noticed too, his jaw tightening. "We've got company."

The man finally pushed off the lamppost and took a slow step forward. His lips curved into the faintest smile.

"Lin," he said, his voice carrying easily above the noise of the street. "Jin sends his regards."

The words sliced through the neon-lit air like a blade.