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Chapter 3 - The Woman in the Shadows

Episode 3: The Woman in the Shadows

The rain started as a whisper — cold threads weaving through Seoul's waking streets. Inside CHIPER's headquarters, monitors glowed blue, lines of code scrolling faster than the hour.

Alex wiped tired eyes, voice tight over the comms. "Tracked the sedan's plate. Fake, obviously, but the traffic cams caught something else."

Kevin and Guen leaned in, breath misting over hot coffee. Minjae lounged in his chair, spinning a silver pen between fingers; Miran stood a little apart, notebook clutched to her chest, hair half hiding her worried eyes.

> "Show us," Kevin ordered.

Alex tapped a key. Footage flickered up: the sedan stopping outside an old riverside hotel. The woman climbed out first, glancing back, eyes red-rimmed even through grainy pixels.

> "She checked in under the name Song Yuri," Alex explained. "Room 805. But she left before dawn — and never returned."

Dohee frowned. "Then she's running. Or being moved."

> "Either way," Kevin said, "we find her. Guen, with me."

---

The rain followed them into the street, slicking asphalt into mirror-dark glass. Kevin drove fast but clean, jaw set. Guen clutched her tablet, scrolling hotel guest lists.

> "Think she left willingly?" she asked.

> "No," Kevin said flatly. "Eyes like that don't belong to someone who wants to run."

She fell silent, but the question hung between them.

---

At the hotel, stale cigarette smoke lingered in cracked marble halls. Guen flashed her medical ID — truth stretched into lie — and Kevin slipped the clerk a folded note too thick to be refused.

Room 805 smelled of cheap air freshener and wet fabric. Curtains half drawn; rumpled sheets; a single cup on the table, rim stained with lipstick.

Guen moved first, careful as breath. She opened the bin — scraps of paper, a half-burned photo corner, barely enough to guess.

> "Anything?" Kevin asked.

> "Half a phone number," she said. "Korean prefix."

> "Miran might be able to reconstruct it chemically."

Kevin's gaze dropped to the cup, the faint print left on porcelain. His voice lowered. "She drank alone. Didn't sleep."

> "She was terrified," Guen whispered.

Their eyes met. For a heartbeat, the room felt too close: his rain-damp hair, her breath quickening. Then she looked away, pulse hammering in her throat.

---

Meanwhile, back at CHIPER HQ:

Miran spread the paper scraps under bright light, latex gloves shaking a little. Minjae stood too close behind, perfume and cologne mixing into something sharp.

> "Don't breathe on it," she mumbled.

> "Don't break it, Princess," Minjae teased, voice soft but biting.

> "I'm not a princess," she snapped, surprising even herself.

> "Oh?" He leaned closer, grin twisting. "Then why do you cry so easily?"

Miran's face went hot. "I don't—"

> "Sure," Minjae drawled. "Keep telling yourself."

His grin faded when she lifted her chin, eyes wet but unbroken. Their stare tangled: mocking warmth meeting stubborn defiance.

> "Just work," Miran whispered, voice trembling.

> "Fine," Minjae muttered, jaw tight. But when her glove slipped, his hand shot out, steadying the fragile scrap before it fluttered off the desk.

> "Careful," he rasped, voice unexpectedly low. "Don't ruin it now."

---

At the same moment, Alex's fingers flew over his keyboard. Code bloomed, lines of data falling into place. Dohee leaned over, ponytail brushing his arm.

> "Found something," Alex said, breath quickening. "That fixer guy — Park Jinwoo. His financial records show large anonymous payments, traced back to a shell company."

> "And guess where it's registered?" Dohee said grimly. "Han River Holdings."

Alex cursed under breath. "Kevin's family company? No… it's a name match only. The real ownership links to Han Seung Group."

> "So the container, the fixer, and the crying woman all point back to Han Seung," Dohee concluded.

> "And someone's paying to keep it buried," Alex added.

---

Kevin and Guen returned as dawn burned pale against rain-wet windows. Guen placed the bin contents on the table, fingers brushing Miran's.

> "Get anything?" Kevin asked.

Miran nodded, swallowing. "Part of a phone number. Last four digits: 8752. Ink was fresh, she wrote it yesterday."

> "We cross it with known numbers linked to the fixer," Kevin ordered.

Guen stood, rubbing tired eyes. "We also found this." She handed over the lipstick-stained cup. "Maybe DNA?"

> "I'll run it," Miran whispered.

Kevin watched her go, then turned to Guen. "You look like death."

> "You look worse," she shot back.

A breath of laughter, sharper than it should have been. Then Kevin's voice dropped, rough at the edges. "You did well."

Guen's heart stumbled. "Don't start being nice now, Beast. You'll ruin your brand."

> "Shut up," he muttered, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

---

Later that day, Alex's voice cut through the room:

> "Got a match. That number is registered to a temporary phone — used once, to call the fixer. Then shut down."

> "Where was it last active?" Kevin demanded.

> "Gangseo District," Alex said. "Near an old textile factory."

Kevin's eyes narrowed. "Then that's where we go."

---

Night cloaked them again. The factory loomed, brick walls cracked by years, windows blind with dust. Guen's breath steamed in the cold; Kevin's gloved hand pushed open the side door.

Inside: the smell of mold and rust. Footsteps echoed on concrete.

They found her on the second floor: the woman from the dock, slumped against the wall, eyes wide with terror.

> "Wait," Guen whispered. "She's alive."

But before they could step closer, a door slammed below — heavy boots pounded stairs.

> "Move!" Kevin barked.

He pulled Guen behind a pillar, bodies pressed close. Her breath caught — his hand braced near her face, heart hammering so hard she felt it through his jacket.

---

Two men burst in, flashlights cutting the dark. Kevin slipped out, silent as shadow, and in one clean move, slammed the first man into the wall.

The second swung a baton — Guen ducked, twisting, and kicked his knee out. Pain cracked the air; he fell with a curse.

> "Still got it," Kevin rasped.

> "Don't sound surprised," Guen shot back, chest heaving.

They turned back to the woman — but she was gone. A side door banged open, footsteps fading fast.

> "She ran," Guen whispered, panic rising.

Kevin's jaw tightened. "No — she was taken. Someone else is here."

In the distance, a black van door slammed. Tires screeched, rubber burning into cold night.

---

They ran to the window, breathing ragged. The van disappeared beyond cracked asphalt and broken fence.

> "We lost her," Guen gasped.

> "Not yet," Kevin said, voice raw. "We have her scent, and we have each other."

Their eyes locked, rain sliding cold across glass. Between them: an unspoken vow. Between them and the truth: darkness thick as blood.

---

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