The heavy door closed with a sigh of old wood.
Inside, the mansion felt frozen in time chandeliers yellowed by smoke, velvet curtains heavy with dust, mirrors that didn't reflect what they should.
Yuna or Deniz, as this house knew her stepped through without hesitation. The woman at the door followed, her shawl dragging softly across the floor.
"Still prefer silence over greetings, I see," the woman murmured. "Cold as ever."
Yuna didn't reply. She slipped off her shoes neatly, stepping across marble tile like a dancer retracing a routine.
"He gave you the money?" the woman asked.
"I left it in the drawer."
"Both envelopes?"
Yuna nodded.
"One from the buyer, for returning the 'stolen' painting. One from Chairman Jang, for exposing the 'theft' he didn't commit."
The woman chuckled, low and fond.
"You solve the scam… and you are the scam. Clever girl."
"Deniz exposes the crime. Yuna collects the sympathy."
"And both make money." She tsked approvingly. "I taught you well."
They passed the hallway with the crooked family portrait. The woman paused beside it, brushing her fingers along the dust.
"Do you ever regret it?" she asked quietly. "Stealing from both sides?"
Yuna looked back at her, blank.
"They're all liars. I just tell a better story."
They reached the mirrored hallway. A single touch activated the scanner. The glass shimmered not a reflection, but a door.
Yuna descended first, her steps quiet. Below, the air changed colder now, smelling of turpentine, aged ink, and secrets.
The archive was waiting.
Folders stacked like bricks. Redacted files. Auction reports. Confidential footage. Everything here was shadow work. Nothing legal. Nothing kind.
She didn't go to the desk.
Instead, she walked to a side wall lined with locked drawers and opened the one third from the bottom. Inside were her own reports.
Old aliases. Completed missions. Half-burned passports. Scribbled notes. A photograph of a boy with a scar over his lip labeled only: "Missing. 2012."
She took a thin black notebook from the back and flipped it open.
Inside were questions none answered.
Why does hyeon Enterprises appear in every forged piece since 2018?
What happened in Chicago in 2010?
Her pen tapped on the final question:
what was happened 13 years ago in baiheng
A voice pulled her from the page.
"You've been restless," the woman said from behind.
"I'm looking for something."
"Still dreaming about Chicago?"
Yuna didn't answer.
"The red train. The man on the platform. The thunder. It's always the same."
"I never told you about the thunder."
The woman smiled. It was almost sad.
"That's because I dreamed it too."
Yuna's throat dried.
"Impossible."
"Chicago leaves stains," she said. "Even in your sleep."
Yuna closed the book slowly.
"Whatever they buried there... I think it's starting to surface."
The woman walked over, her eyes shadowed but knowing. She held out a single file one she'd been hiding.
"Not a job. A warning."
Yuna opened it.
It wasn't a painting. It wasn't a client.
It was a place.
Coordinates.A coded building plan.Surveillance screenshots.
And in one blurry image her own face, caught in reflection through glass.
Yuna looked up.
"They're watching me."
"No," the woman said softly. "They're reminding us we're not the hunters anymore. We're the message."
Yuna stared down at the file.
For the first time in years… she didn't feel in control.