The rain continued. It seemed the city itself was trying to wash the dirt from its streets, but only made the asphalt slick, reflecting the neon lights. The smell of wet garbage from the alleyways mixed with gasoline and cigarette smoke trapped in the air.
Do-yun left the club through the back entrance. The heavy door slammed shut behind him in the wind, and he immediately stepped into another world—a reality where there was no music, no laughter, no fake client smiles. Here, he could only hear drops falling from rusty pipes and the noise of tires on a distant road.
He inhaled deeply. The rain muffled the smells, but a careful eye could always find what was hiding. Wet tracks on the concrete. Someone's footsteps. First even, then smeared—as if the person had lost their balance. He crouched down, running his fingers over the prints. The rain was washing them away, but the direction could still be discerned. Towards the neighboring alley. Jeong couldn't have left alone. He was being led.
He stood up and followed the tracks. His heart beat steadily, his breathing measured. All of this resembled the hunt he had been preparing for all his life.
The alley greeted him with the smell of decay and gasoline. Old garbage bins stood here, tilted, with rusted lids. Puddles reflected the dim light of the streetlamp. And—there. Signs of a struggle. Someone had clearly fallen—the dirt on the asphalt was smeared, as if a person had tried to get up. A plastic bottle cap lay to the side, clenched, like a tool. And nearby—a thin white fabric. A piece of a sleeve.
Do-yun picked it up. Recognized it immediately—the fabric of the uniform. Like Jeong's. He clenched the find in his fist. He was taken by force.
But what struck him most was something else. On the wall, just above eye level, was a handprint. Wet, distinct, as if someone had deliberately pressed their hand against the bricks and left. Too obvious. Too open.
Do-yun ran his fingers over the print. Water was running down, but the line of the fingers remained. This wasn't a mistake. It was a message.
He looked around. The alley was empty. Only the sound of the rain and the blinking sign of a diner across the street. But the feeling wouldn't leave him—he was being watched.
He returned to the tracks. Two different shoe sizes: one—light, almost dancing, the other—heavy, a wide sole. Jeong and the one leading him. They weren't hiding the direction. On the contrary—they were showing it. "Follow us."
Do-yun clenched his fists. Every cell in his body told him this was a trap. But he couldn't retreat either.
***
He walked further, deeper into the alley. The rain hammered on his shoulders, the cold chilling him to the bone. Puddles squelched underfoot. Every sound seemed too loud. A rustle—a rat. A clang—a bin lid. But somewhere between them, he heard footsteps. Too light, too quick to be random.
Do-yun stopped, pressed himself against the wall. His heart pounded in his temples. They are playing with me. They want me to go further. The business card found in Jeong's locker rustled in his coat pocket. White paper, gold letters. A symbol of the lure. Now he understood: it wasn't just "bait," it was an invitation. "Want to change your life—follow us."
***
The alley led to another street. The sound of cars was louder there, but still seemed distant. Do-yun noticed tracks again. This time—tire tracks. A car had been here recently, the wheels deeply indenting the water in the mud. And again—too obvious. Even the print of the tire brand was clear. Too clean to be accidental.
He looked up. Headlights flashed in the distance, then disappeared. Do-yun compressed his lips. They are showing that they are stronger. That they can take anyone—right from the club. And no one will notice.
***
He returned to the club the same way. The rain was washing everything away, but the feeling of being watched didn't leave. He felt that the steps behind him slowed down when he stopped, and accelerated when he walked faster. But when he turned around—no one.
He lingered at the service entrance. Took a deep breath. The smell of gasoline and wet fabric still hung in the air. And somewhere in that smell was another—foreign, heavy, sickly sweet. The scent of an Alpha. Too distinct to be accidental. They want me to smell it. To understand: the hunt has begun.
***
In the changing room, he looked at Jeong's belongings again. Phone, wallet, keys. Everything lay neatly, as if he had simply been "erased" from life. But now, in this emptiness, the echo of footsteps outside could be heard. Do-yun realized: the enemy isn't just taking people. He is leaving tracks. Signs. Marks, like a hunter showing that the next prey is... him. And if he doesn't solve this challenge—someone else will disappear.
***
He sat down on the bench, placing the business card and the piece of fabric next to him. White and dirty. A pure promise and a trace of struggle. This is an invitation. A challenge. And I accept it.
The changing room door creaked. Do-yun sharply raised his head. Seungho was standing in the doorway. His silhouette was tall, calm, but his eyes... they seemed to absorb all the darkness of this evening. He looked as if he already knew what had happened. — You're all wet, — he said quietly, walking inside. — And you still went to check.
Do-yun clenched the fabric in his fist. He didn't want to show how his fingers were trembling. — One of them is missing, — he exhaled. — Jeong. His things are here. And outside... tracks. A struggle. A car. It's all too obvious.
Seungho stepped closer, leaned in, his shadow falling on the bench and the discovered evidence. His gaze hardened. — So, the enemy is playing in the open. Do-yun met his eyes. — He's not just taking people. He's leaving me signs.
A heavy thread of silence hung between them. Seungho looked up at him, and for the first time, there was neither a smirk nor his usual predatory game in that look. Only a grim seriousness. He reached out, brushing a wet strand of hair from Do-yun's forehead. The touch was unexpectedly soft. — Then don't go alone, — he said softly.
Do-yun wanted to object. But the words caught. There was a strange feeling in his chest—a mix of relief and alarm. The air conditioner hummed in the corridor, the rain beat against the glass somewhere above. But here, in the changing room, the whole world narrowed to the two of them.