The encrypted email arrived at 3:17 AM.
Detective Kang's name flashed on Jae's screen, pulling him from a shallow sleep. He swiped open the message, his pulse kicking up as he read:
"Eun-ji's trail leads to Macau. Casino surveillance caught her at The Golden Phoenix—with a new identity and a VIP escort."
Attached was a grainy still from a security camera.
Eun-ji, dressed in an elegant black dress, her hair dyed auburn, laughing with a man in a tailored suit.
Jae's blood turned to ice.
"Kim Do-hyun."
Mira stirred beside him. "What is it?"
Jae turned the screen toward her. "She's not running anymore. She's making moves."
Kim Do-hyun—Macau's most notorious underground financier. A man with connections in every dark corner of Asia.
And now, he was protecting Eun-ji.
Mira's fingers tightened around the edge of the laptop. "If she's with him, she's not just hiding. She's planning something big."
Jae's jaw clenched. "We need to move. Now."
The next morning, Mira's phone buzzed with an unknown number.
A single text:
"You want the truth about your accident? Meet me. Alone. Largo do Senado, 9 PM."
Mira's fingers trembled.
It had to be a trap.
But what if it wasn't?
Jae snatched the phone from her hand, his face darkening as he read. "No. Absolutely not."
Mira met his gaze. "What if it's someone who can help us?"
"Or it's Eun-ji trying to finish what she started."
Silence stretched between them.
Then Mira said quietly, "We can't just wait for Interpol."
Jae exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "Fine. But we do this my way."
He pulled out a second phone—burner, untraceable—and dialed.
"Kang. We've got a lead. But we need backup."
A pause. Then Kang's voice, tense. "Don't do anything stupid."
Jae smirked. "When have I ever?"
...
....
...
Largo do Senado was alive with neon and noise—tourists weaving through the historic square, the scent of roasted chestnuts thick in the air.
Mira stood near the fountain, her heart hammering.
Jae was close—hidden in the crowd, his eyes locked on her.
A figure emerged from the shadows.
Not Eun-ji.
A woman—young, nervous, her gaze darting.
"Mira?" she whispered.
Mira's breath caught. "Who are you?"
"Lee Soo-jin. I worked for Kim Do-hyun. I—I know what Eun-ji's planning."
Before Mira could respond, a black SUV screeched to a halt nearby.
The woman's face paled. "They followed me—RUN!"
Gunfire erupted.
Screams tore through the crowd as people scattered.
Jae lunged for Mira, yanking her behind a stone pillar as bullets ricocheted off the pavement.
"We need to move. NOW."
Mira's pulse roared in her ears as Jae pulled her into a narrow alley.
Behind them, engines revved.
They were being hunted.
The alley twisted like a serpent, leading them deeper into Macau's underbelly.
Jae shoved Mira behind a dumpster just as headlights flooded the passage.
"Stay down," he hissed, pulling his gun.
Two men in black tactical gear stepped out of the SUV, rifles raised.
Jae fired—once, twice.
One man dropped. The other ducked behind the vehicle, shouting into a radio.
"More coming," Jae growled.
Mira's fingers dug into his arm. "We can't outrun them."
Jae's eyes flicked to a rusted fire escape above them. "We're not running. We're going up."
He boosted her onto a dumpster, then followed as she scrambled onto the ladder.
A bullet whizzed past, embedding itself in the metal.
Mira gasped but kept climbing.
The rooftop was a maze of vents and satellite dishes.
Jae grabbed her hand, pulling her toward the edge.
"We jump."
Mira's stomach lurched. "Are you insane?!"
"Trust me!"
They leapt—just as another gunman appeared on the roof behind them.
They landed hard on the adjacent building, rolling across gravel.
Jae was up first, dragging Mira to her feet.
"Keep moving!"
The next alley dead-ended.
Mira spun, panic clawing up her throat. "Jae—"
He gripped her shoulders, his voice fierce. "Listen to me. No matter what happens, you run. You don't look back."
"I'm not leaving you!"
Headlights flooded the alley.
Doors slammed.
Footsteps.
Then—
A familiar voice, dripping with venom.
"Did you really think you could chase me forever?"
Eun-ji stepped into the light, a gun in her hand.
Jae shoved Mira behind him.
"This ends here," he growled.
Eun-ji smiled. "Oh, it will."
The gun rose.
A shot rang out—
But it wasn't from Eun-ji's weapon.
Police sirens wailed as Interpol agents swarmed the alley.
Eun-ji screamed in fury, turning to fire at them—
BANG.
She dropped.
Detective Kang stood at the alley's entrance, smoke curling from his pistol.
"Eun-ji Han," he called, "you're under arrest."
---
Handcuffed, bleeding, Eun-ji spat at Mira's feet as agents dragged her away.
"This isn't over."
Mira stared her down. "Yes. It is."
Jae pulled her close, his body shaking against hers.
It was done.
But at what cost?
---
Back at the safe house, Mira slumped onto the couch, exhaustion weighing her down.
Jae handed her a glass of water, his knuckles bruised.
"We did it," she whispered.
But Jae's eyes were dark. "Did we?"
He pulled out a folded note from his pocket—left on the windshield of their getaway car.
"You think you've won?"
Mira's blood ran cold.
"Kim Do-hyun," Jae muttered. "He's still out there."
And now, he had a score to settle.
---
The scent of fresh paint lingered in the air as Mira stood frozen in the doorway of their new apartment. Sunlight streamed through sheer curtains, illuminating dust motes that swirled like tiny ghosts. Jae's hand settled at the small of her back. "Breathe," he murmured against her temple. She hadn't realized she'd been holding her breath.
Mira's fingers traced the edge of the kitchen counter as she moved through the unfamiliar space. Ten years ago, she'd been curled at the base of a playground slide, knees pulled tight to her chest while other children's laughter echoed around her. The taunt - Stutterbird - had clung to her ribs like a bruise. Then a boy had appeared, his dark hair falling into his eyes as he silently set a carton of strawberry milk between them before walking away. She never saw his face clearly, but she remembered his shoes - black, with a scuff on the left toe.
Rain pattered against the windows as Mira sorted through a box of childhood photos. A faded school portrait slipped free - eight-year-old Jae glaring at the camera, his left eye already swelling from the fight he'd picked with her bullies. She could still hear her own hiccuping voice - "St-stupid... Y-you didn't h-have to—" - and his firm interruption: "Yeah, I did." Not impatient. Just certain. Like it was simple. Like she was worth it.
Now, Jae's shadow fell across the photo. "You kept that?" His voice was rough with something Mira couldn't name. She tilted her head back to meet his gaze, the years between then and now collapsing in an instant. "You kept me," she said simply. His laugh was rough, but his hands were gentle as they lifted her from the floor.
Their wedding day arrived with unexpected rain, the downpour drowning out the officiant's words. Mira gripped Jae's hands, her fingers trembling - not from fear, but from the overwhelming weight of standing before the boy who had once been her silent protector. "When we were kids," she began, her voice steady in a way that would have shocked her younger self, "I thought you were just a shadow between me and the world." Jae's jaw clenched, his eyes dark with emotion. "But you were never just that. You were the one who waited... even when I didn't know what I was trying to say."
A tear slipped down Jae's cheek as he brought their joined hands to his lips. "And you," he rasped, "were the only one who ever made silence feel like a gift." The rain outside seemed to hush as they leaned forward, foreheads touching, the past and present folding together like well-worn pages of the same story.
Some nights, Mira would wake to find Jae already sitting up, his profile silhouetted against the window. "Can't sleep?" she'd murmur, and he'd turn to her with an expression she'd learned to read years ago - that particular tension in his jaw that meant he was remembering. "I keep thinking about the playground," he admitted one such night. Mira reached for him, her fingers brushing the scar on his knuckles - the one from the first fight he'd ever picked for her. "Me too," she whispered. And for the first time in years, the memory didn't hurt.
The letter arrived on a Tuesday. Plain envelope. No return address. Mira's breath caught as she unfolded the single sheet of paper inside. Strawberry milk still your favorite? Beneath the words, a small, smudged doodle of a bird in flight. Jae's hands shook as he took the note from her. "How...?" But Mira was already smiling. Because some things, it seemed, were never truly lost - just waiting to be found again, like a carton of strawberry milk left in the rain.