The cold of the office was immediately felt as soon as Seung-ho entered. The glass walls, the strict lines of the furniture, the gleam of metal—everything seemed designed to drain warmth. Even the light from the lamps here was harsh, exposing every detail.
The directors were already seated at the long, oval table. Each was in a perfectly ironed suit, with polished, mask-like expressions on their faces. Seung-ho sat closer to the middle so he could see everyone.
The conversation revolved around financial flows, around "new directions," but something was hiding behind the dry numbers. Seung-ho was used to listening not only to the words but also to the silence between them.
— Our partners are awaiting confirmation, — said Director Park, adjusting his tie. — But I think the delivery will proceed without delays.
The word "delivery" sounded overly significant. Seung-ho looked up. No one specified what delivery they were talking about.
Director Lee sat opposite, silent. But his fingers nervously tapped the table; his gaze darted between Park and his papers. Usually, Lee participated in discussions actively, but today he seemed afraid to say anything extra.
— And a staffing issue, — Park continued. — I would suggest temporary contracts. They allow for… flexibility.
"Flexibility"—a word that made something clench inside Seung-ho. He remembered the former waiter's words: temporary staff appeared in the club before the disappearances.
— Temporary contracts create unnecessary risks, — Seung-ho remarked calmly, looking directly at Park. — If a person is random, they are harder to control.
— But sometimes the random ones turn out to be the most convenient, — Park countered with a slight smile, too smug to be purely businesslike.
A faint shadow crossed Director Lee's face. He again said nothing, just looked away and hurriedly turned a page in his folder, as if hiding his eyes.
Seung-ho felt a cold suspicion mounting beneath his skin. Here, at this table, sat people who could command entire destinies—and one of them was doing so literally, selling lives.
But there was no proof. Only words, only pauses, only glances.
Yet, inside, Seung-ho knew clearly: the chain extended from here.
He slowly closed his notebook, hiding his analysis. A neutral mask remained on his face. But the decision was already burning within him: after the meeting, he would not go home right away. He needed to check the warehouse one more time.
***
The rain struck suddenly, as if the heavens themselves wanted to wash all the filth from the city streets. Drops drummed on the asphalt, on car roofs, on rusty pipes, streaming down in muddy rivulets. The air smelled of wet concrete and smoke from unsmoked cigarettes.
Do-yun walked beside Seung-ho, huddled in his hood, but the cold still pierced him to the bone. His heart was beating too fast, and with every step, the feeling grew: someone was following them.
— You're tense, — Seung-ho noticed. His voice, low and confident, was almost lost in the noise of the rain. — You are too, — Do-yun exhaled.
Seung-ho glanced sideways. Indeed, his shoulders were too tight, his breathing steady but heavy. They both felt the same thing: the danger wasn't around the corner—it was already close.
Footsteps. Barely distinguishable under the sound of the water, but too distinct to mistake for an echo.
They stopped simultaneously. In the narrow alley, where the yellow streetlight blurred in the puddles, stood a figure. A black cap was pulled low; a mask covered the face.
Seung-ho instinctively stepped forward, shielding Do-yun. His pheromones slipped into the air—viscous, dominant, warning.
— Who are you? — he asked, his voice vibrating with a muffled threat.
There was no answer. The stranger took a step closer. Then another.
The attack was sudden. A strike—sharp, precise, calculated. Seung-ho met it with his torso; the sound was dull, harsh, like a whip against metal. Do-yun recoiled against the wall, but couldn't just watch and rushed toward them when the knife blade flashed.
All three of them slipped on the wet asphalt. Do-yun struck the attacker's wrist; the knife clattered into a puddle. Water splashed everywhere; drops hit his face, mixing with the streams of rain.
The attacker grabbed his collar, violently slamming him against the wall. The air was knocked out of his lungs, and for a moment, everything swam. But Seung-ho was instantly there: a strong blow, a dull groan, and the grip loosened.
In that short, heavy clinch, Seung-ho saw a detail. A chain flashed on the wrist beneath the wet fabric. The metal gleamed in the light of the streetlamp, and the Alpha's heart clenched: he recognized it. The same chain worn by Director Lee's assistant. A recognizable link, as if deliberately standing out from the rest.
Seung-ho's eyes narrowed. A cold and precise rage rose in his chest.
— Damn it, — he exhaled through clenched teeth and threw the stranger away from Do-yun, covering him with his body.
The attacker snarled and lunged again, but with desperation now, not calculation. The blows became more chaotic. Seung-ho met them with his chest, shoulder, elbow—every movement was measured, confident.
Do-yun was pressed against the wall, his breathing ragged. He saw the raindrops on Seung-ho's face mixing with sweat, saw how his eyes flashed—not just from the strain, but from the realization he'd had.
The figure staggered back, spat blood through the mask, and froze for a second. The gaze was heavy, cold, promising a return. Then a dash to the side, and the silhouette dissolved into the downpour, leaving behind only the sound of rapid footsteps.
Seung-ho stood for another moment, listening to the night. His breathing was heavy, his shoulders squared, his pheromones spread in a thick cloud that Do-yun couldn't take his eyes off.
— Did you recognize him? — he breathed out, barely finding his voice.
Seung-ho slowly turned around. There was no doubt on his face. — I recognized the chain. The one Lee's assistant wears.
Do-yun felt everything inside him turn cold. Rain ran down his cheeks, but the tremor wasn't from the cold. Now there was no doubt: the betrayal was born right within the company walls.