The fog was thicker by the time Hwan reached the Old Pier Inn. It rolled over the wooden path like slow smoke, swallowing the sound of his footsteps. The lantern outside gave off a weak orange glow that barely reached the door. The place looked smaller than he remembered, roof sagging, sign hanging by one chain. Somewhere far out, a gull cried once, then silence. Only the quiet sound of the sea breathing below.
He stopped at the door and listened. The cleaver felt heavy in his hand, but it gave him a strange kind of comfort. Like holding an answer that didn't need words.
On his palm, the ink from that message had almost faded, but he still saw it clearly: Room B. No name. No warning. Just that.
Inside, the inn was quiet. The air smelled like ale and old wood. The single lamp by the counter made the place look emptier than it was. The stairs went up behind the desk, and a narrow hall stretched to the back where the rooms were.
Hwan moved carefully, his boots making almost no sound. He'd learned to walk like that years ago.
Each step made his heart beat faster. He could almost see Raiden behind one of those doors, careless, maybe half asleep, maybe drunk like always. The memory burned: Raiden's laugh, the blast that wiped the whole training facility, the blood that followed.
Hwan swallowed hard. His throat ached.
At the end of the hall, he saw it, a brass plate with a single letter: B.
No number. Just that.
He stood there, fog pressing against the windows, the silence pressing against him. His grip tightened on the cleaver until his hand went pale. This was it. All the nights, all the waiting, everything came down to this door.
He knocked once. No answer.
At the time time, Raiden's eyes opened.
He moved quietly, reaching for the knife on the table beside him. He didn't rush, every motion was calm, practiced, too calm for someone who wasn't used to danger. His reflection flashed in the metal frame of the door: tired eyes, wet hair, a face that looked older than it should. He opened the door without a sound.
A woman stood there, the receptionist. Towels in her arms. She froze when she saw the knife.
"Sir, I" she stammered.
Raiden slowly lowered the blade. He realized how he looked: half dressed, tense, eyes sharp like he expected an attack.
"You're...early," he said awkwardly.
The woman gave a shaky smile. "Room service," she whispered, trying to sound calm. Her hand trembled as she handed him the towels.
Raiden nodded and took them, saying nothing. As she walked away, she lifted a hand to her earpiece and spoke softly, "Raiden's still in his room."
Downstairs, Hwan leaned against the door marked B. He knocked again.
No answer.
His fingers went to the handle. It turned easily.
The room smelled like metal and salt. The lamp was dying, its light flickering across the floor. There was a chair, an unmade bed, and a man sitting near the wall, still, watching.
"Raiden" Hwan said quietly.
The man didn't move.
Hwan took one step forward. The floor creaked under him, too loud. Something silver flickered near the man's hand. Then the light shifted, and Hwan saw, it wasn't Raiden at all.
The man lifted his head. His eyes were pale, cold. A scar ran down one side of his face. He didn't speak, just stared like someone who'd been expecting him all along.
"I," Hwan started, but the man moved faster than he could think.
Steel flashed.
Hwan stumbled back, cleaver raised, heart pounding. The man's sword stopped just short of his throat, not shaking, not uncertain.
For a long second, they just stared at each other.
Then the man spoke, voice calm and almost polite.
"You're in the wrong room."
Hwan blinked. The words hit harder than the blade could have. He'd been so sure. So certain.
His arm fell to his side.
"I thought"
"I know who you thought" the man said quietly. "He's upstairs. Second floor."
The name didn't need to be said. Raiden.
Hwan's breath hitched. He looked toward the door. The man was already turning away, putting the sword back in its sheath with a clean motion.
"Who are you?" Hwan asked.
The man didn't turn. "No one you were supposed to meet."
Hwan stepped back into the hall. The fog slipped in through the cracks, curling around his boots. His heart was still racing, his hand still shaking.
Then he heard something above him, a faint creak on the floorboards.
He looked up.
Raiden.
For a moment, Hwan stood between the two floors, the mistake behind him, the real target above. The air felt heavy, like even the walls were waiting. Then he tightened his grip on the cleaver and started climbing the stairs, slow and quiet.
Behind him, the door to Room B clicked shut.
A thin line of light slipped out from under it, steady and unblinking, like an eye that never closed.