"Sure," Jin said.
He moved.
He crossed the office in a single step, so fast the papers on the desk lifted in the wind of it. The katana came up and around in one clean line, and the edge stopped a hair's width from the side of Han Yerin's throat. Close enough that a few strands of white hair drifted down and settled on the blade.
He held it there.
He'd expected something. A door opening in the floor beneath him. A wall swinging out behind his back. Someone stepping through from somewhere else with a knife. Every part of him was braced for it, his Battle Instinct straining, waiting for the trick.
Nothing came.
Yerin didn't move. She didn't flinch. She didn't so much as look at the blade. She just closed her eyes, slowly, and let out a long, quiet breath, the way someone breathes when they've finally been allowed to put down something heavy.
Her hands stayed empty at her sides.
