The rain stopped. But the silence stayed.
Jung Min locked the door behind them, slid the bolt across with one hand while the other kept a grip on his revolver.
Azari hadn't moved. Still holding the relic. Still not realizing how much trouble she was dragging through his door.
"You hungry?" he asked.
She blinked. "What?"
"You've been running. You're soaked. You smell like blood and ash. So I'll ask again. You hungry?"
She opened her mouth to speak—then her stomach answered for her.
Jung Min said nothing. Just walked to the back, rummaged through a dusty cabinet, and came back with a dented can of tteokbokki and a burner stove.
He tossed it onto the counter and lit the flame.
The shop filled with the faint hiss of gas. The air thickened with something almost human. Almost warm.
Azari sat across from him, too tired to question it.
"You used to be someone important, didn't you?" she asked.
Jung Min stirred the pot without answering.
"I heard stories," she continued. "About a Saint who shot angels in the face. A guy who walked out of a burning chapel with twelve bodies behind him."
"That guy's dead," Jung Min said.
"No, he isn't," she replied quietly. "He's just hiding behind a pawn shop and pretending bullets don't pray anymore."
He looked at her.
Sharp kid.
He handed her the pot.
She ate in silence. Fast, but not greedy. No thank you. No pleasantries.
Just like him, back then.
The knock came right after she swallowed the last bite.
Three soft taps.
Polite.
Too polite.
Jung Min stood slowly.
Nobody knocks in this city. Not unless they want you to know it's personal.
He reached into a drawer and grabbed a second gun. Lighter. Chrome. A custom piece with ivory grip and a short prayer carved into the slide:
"Speak only in death."
He cocked it without breaking eye contact with the door.
"Go to the basement," he said to Azari.
"But—"
"Now."
She ran.
Another knock. This time, louder.
Then a voice, muffled by the door but calm as sin.
"Jung Min. I thought you stopped taking guests."
The voice was familiar. Too familiar.
Jung Min closed his eyes.
Kim Minjae. Of course.
Saint Executioner.
Obedient. Precise. No wasted words. No wasted shots.
Back then, he and Jung Min were equals.
Now? They were just two ghosts walking different directions.
"I don't want to kill you," Minjae said from outside. "But I will. You know that."
Jung Min's voice stayed low.
"You always wanted to. Now you just have permission."
He turned off the burner. Let silence take over.
No one walks away from the Order clean.
The doorknob began to turn.
And the whispering started again.
But this time, it wasn't the city.
It was the relic.
Even in the basement, it remembered war.
End of Chapter 3