The club's back entrance smelled of dampness and cold. The rain was still pouring, roaring in the drains, streaming down the walls in thin currents. The metal door slammed shut behind them, and the thunder of music instantly remained somewhere far away, muffled, as if in another world.
Seung-ho stepped out first, his gaze scanning the alley. Do-yun was about to follow when he caught movement in his peripheral vision.
At the opposite exit, a few meters away, a person appeared. A black silhouette, a wide coat collar, a low-drawn hood. He had clearly also exited the club—but not through the main entrance.
For a second, their eyes met. Do-yun's heart sank: that gaze was too familiar. The same sticky cold he had felt inside the hall.
The figure froze, as if assessing them. Then it abruptly moved away, toward a narrow lane.
— After him! — Seung-ho snapped, and they dashed off.
The alleys twisted and turned, smelling of dampness, gasoline, and garbage. Rain lashed their faces, slicked their coats, turning the chase into a struggle not only with the enemy but with the city itself.
The silhouette slipped away, as if knowing all the routes in advance. He plunged into archways, turned into narrow passages where there was barely enough room for two. Every time it seemed they had closed the distance, he vanished around a corner.
Do-yun ran, his breath ragged, his chest burning. His anger spurred him on: he wouldn't get away this time. But the city seemed to be playing against them.
Seung-ho kept pace, never falling behind. His movements were precise, measured, yet even he couldn't break this strange game.
After several blocks, they found themselves in a dead-end courtyard. The silhouette flickered by the wall—and disappeared.
Do-yun ran closer. Footprints on the wet asphalt led to the middle of the courtyard and ended abruptly. Water washed everything away, leaving only streaks of mud.
— Damn it, — he exhaled, clenching his fists.
Seung-ho looked around, raising his gaze to the apartment windows. — He led us in circles. A false route.
Do-yun hit the wall with his palm. — We almost had him! — Almost, — Seung-ho confirmed coldly. And there was no comfort in the word.
***
In the apartment, the silence was heavier than the sound of the rain outside. Discarded clothes lay on the chair, the air was heavy, damp.
Do-yun sat on the edge of the bed, his face buried in his hands. The silhouette still stood before his eyes—just a few steps away, yet he had escaped again.
— We were close, — he said flatly. — Too close to lose him again.
Seung-ho walked past, trailing a cold calm. He removed his holster, placed documents on the desk. His movements were composed, confident—and this only irritated Do-yun.
Do-yun looked up. — You knew he was leading us on? — I suspected, — Seung-ho admitted. Do-yun stood, moved closer. — And still went after him? — To be sure. — What if it had been an ambush? — anger cut through Do-yun's voice. Seung-ho met his gaze directly. — Then we would have handled it.
His certainty sounded like a verdict. Do-yun felt a surge of fury rising within him. Not at the enemy—at him. At this cold rigidity, behind which neither fear nor doubt was visible.
The night dragged on. The rain outside kept falling, drumming on the windowsill. Do-yun lay on his side but couldn't sleep. The silhouette in the alley, the sticky gaze—everything returned again and again.
Doubt gnawed at him. Should he trust Seung-ho? He was too confident. Too composed. Maybe he knew more than he was saying.
Anger at himself burned even hotter: why did he allow them to be led into a void again?