Chapter 24

The quiet hum of the ventilation system filled the dimly lit room, mingling with the faint scent of expensive whiskey and the lingering warmth of last night's exhaustion.

Hwang In-ho sat upright on the couch, his body stiff but his mind elsewhere. His gaze was drawn downward, to the woman draped across his lap, her slow and steady breathing being the only movement in the room. Rae-a's dark hair was a tangled mess against his legs, spilling across her face and the cushions. Her body was slack in sleep, her usual guarded tension nowhere to be found.

He exhaled quietly, fingers drifting toward her hair, smoothing it away from her face. His touch was slow, deliberate—an unconscious act of tenderness. He hadn't intended to stay here all night, but when she had finally fallen asleep, snoring lightly after her drunken confession, he hadn't been able to bring himself to move. She hadn't woken once through the night, lost in the depth of her drunken slumber, vulnerable in a way he had never seen before.

His fingers stilled.

She would never let herself be this unguarded if she were awake.

The thought lingered, an unsettling weight in his mind. He had seen her at her lowest, watched her bleed, watched her fight, watched her refuse to break even when everything was designed to target her. But here, like this… she was unarmored.

And it was dangerous. For the both of them.

What am I doing?

His jaw clenched as he gazed down at her, his hand still running absently through her hair, pulling slightly at the dark strands that spolled across his lap. Last night had been a lapse in judgment, an indulgence in something he knew he shouldn't allow himself. Rae-a was dangerous—not because she could physically hurt him, but because she threatened the path he had chosen. Made him think that he could have done something different.

I cannot sacrifice the Games for her.

It was the thought that steadied him, the cold logic that reminded him of what mattered. The Squid Games were not just a spectacle. Not just an obligation. It was leverage. Power. The only thing that gave him the control he needed to shape what came next.

And he needed that control.

Because without it, he would never be able to stop what was coming. 

Too much was at stake to falter now.

A bitter sense of finality settled in his chest. If Rae-a knew the truth, she would try to stop him. She would probably attack him. Hit him where it hurts. And perhaps she wouldn't be wrong. But he had already made his choice, and there was no turning back now.

Still, there was one thing he could do.

His gaze darkened with resolve. The plan had already taken root in his mind, the steps unfolding with strategic precision. He had no intention of wavering. He would see this through, no matter what.

But first, he had to leave without waking her.

His fingers brushed over her soft hair one last time—light, deliberate—before he shifted, preparing to leave.

Moving carefully, he slid one arm beneath her head, easing it off his lap. She barely stirred, her face twitching slightly before settling back into sleep. A quiet exhale left her lips, her body curling slightly into the cushions.

She didn't wake.

He lingered for half a second longer than necessary, his gaze tracing the features of her face, the way her breathing remained slow, deep—completely unaware of his departure.

Slowly, he rose, readjusting the blanket so it was draped across her, moving with the same precision he used in the games—calculated and soundless. His steps were silent, his movements controlled, slipping away like a ghost in the dim light. Rae-a remained unmoving, her body curled slightly against the cushions, still lost in the haze of alcohol.

His eyes lingered on her for a moment longer. She would wake up miserable—hungover and sluggish, cursing herself for the moment of weakness. He turned toward the table, grabbing a small bottle of painkillers from the cabinet and setting them down beside the glass of water already there. It was a simple action, but one he knew she would notice.

She always noticed.

Without a sound, he stepped toward the door, pressing the intercom. His voice was even, unreadable.

"Bring her breakfast," he ordered. "Something light. And make sure she gets it."

A quiet acknowledgment crackled through the speaker before he released the button. He cast one last look at Rae-a, sprawled across the couch, unaware of his departure, and his eyes softened.

Then, without hesitation, he stepped out, the door closing behind him with a soft click.

He had a plan to see through.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A dull, throbbing pain pulsed behind Rae-a's eyes as she drifted into consciousness, her body weighed down by exhaustion and the unmistakable aftermath of too much alcohol. Her head pounded in protest with each sluggish movement, her limbs aching as though she had been fighting something in her sleep. She forced her eyes open, blinking against the dim lighting that cast long, muted shadows across the room. Even in the subdued glow, her senses recoiled at the faint remnants of last night's indulgence—the dryness in her throat, the lingering dizziness curling at the edges of her awareness.

Slowly, she pushed herself upright, her fingers instinctively clutching the thick blanket draped over her. The fabric was warm against her skin, comforting in a way she didn't want to acknowledge. She exhaled sharply, trying to shake the unease coiling in her chest.

Then, she noticed it.

The room was spotless.

The shattered remains of the chair she had broken, the spilled water that had flooded the bathroom floor, the lingering scent of alcohol—all of it had been erased. Every trace of last night's chaos had been methodically cleaned away, leaving behind a pristine, sterile space that felt as though none of it had ever happened. It was as if her drunken outburst had been nothing more than a passing storm, leaving no evidence of the destruction in its wake.

But she remembered.

And the memories came crashing down like a sudden downpour, cold and merciless.

She had let herself break.

Not just physically—breaking furniture, knocking over glasses, lashing out in futile frustration—but something far worse. She had shattered in a way she could not afford, crumbling beneath the weight of exhaustion and intoxication. She had reached for him, clinging to the very man she had spent every waking moment resenting. And in that moment of disarmed weakness, she had confessed the one thing she had sworn she would never acknowledge.

'I don't even know if I hate you.'

The words echoed in her mind like a damning verdict, each syllable laced with the weight of a mistake she could never take back. Heat flared in her chest, spreading rapidly up her neck and into her face—a mortifying, suffocating sensation of shame.

What the hell had she been thinking?

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to suppress the onslaught of emotion threatening to consume her. She could still feel the warmth of his presence, the steady, unwavering way he had held her when she had collapsed against him. He hadn't pushed her away. He hadn't mocked her vulnerability or twisted it into something cruel. He had simply carried her to bed, silent and composed, as if the confession didn't matter.

And perhaps to him, it truly hadn't.

But to her, it had meant everything.

Her fingers curled into the blanket, gripping it with white-knuckled intensity. This was dangerous. Whatever had happened last night—whatever strange, unspoken thing had passed between them—she could not allow it to happen again. She was not safe here. Not with him. Not with herself.

He made her question her own humanity.

She needed to leave.

The thought jolted her into motion. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, her bare feet pressing against the cool floor as she prepared to stand. But before she could rise, something caught her eye—a glint of silver against the dark wood.

She paused.

A single shard of glass lay near the edge of the bed, small and jagged, catching the faint light like a sliver of ice. It was a remnant of last night's destruction, an overlooked fragment left behind despite the meticulous efforts to erase all evidence of what had occurred.

Slowly, carefully, she reached for it.

Her fingers closed around the shard, the cold, unforgiving edge biting into her skin as she turned it over between her fingertips. It was sharp enough to cut, small enough to conceal, and in that moment, it became something more than just broken glass.

It became an opportunity.

Her grip tightened.

This was all she needed.

Rae-a's gaze drifted toward the massive desk stationed against the far wall, its polished surface bare except for a neatly stacked pile of documents and a single, uncapped pen. She had seen In-ho sit there countless times, his expression impassive as he sifted through papers, issuing quiet orders over the intercom. He was meticulous, controlled, every movement deliberate.

And she remembered the way he had shut the drawer the first night she was here.

Not just closed it. Locked it.

People only did that when they had something to hide.

A slow breath left her lips, and she moved silently across the room. Lowering herself onto her knees in front of the desk, she wrapped her fingers around the cool metal handle and gave it a careful tug. As expected, it didn't budge.

No matter.

Slipping the shard of glass from her sleeve, she angled it against the lock. The jagged edge was uneven, biting uncomfortably into her palm as she pressed it forward. Her fingers curled tighter, gripping it despite the sting as she twisted sharply.

Nothing.

Her jaw clenched.

She tried again, driving the shard deeper, the sharp edge slicing into the soft flesh of her hand. A fresh sting burned across her palm, but she ignored it, her focus narrowing. The tension in the lock held stubbornly, unmoving.

A sharp, splintering crack rang through the silence.

She stilled.

Pain throbbed through her fingers, warm and persistent, but she barely acknowledged it. Instead, she listened—heart hammering, breath shallow.

No footsteps. No movement.

The room remained eerily still, save for the soft hum of the ventilation overhead.

She exhaled slowly.

One more time.

Ignoring the ache radiating up her wrist, she forced the shard back into the lock, twisting with more force than before. The cut in her palm deepened, the sting now hot and searing, but she refused to stop.

Then—

A snap.

The lock gave way.

Biting back a relieved breath, she yanked the drawer open.

Her hands ached as she rifled through the contents inside, the sting from the cut persistent as she brushed against stiff paper and cold metal edges. Files, thick envelopes, stacks of official-looking documents. But beneath them, something caught her eye.

A map.

Her eyes scanned it eagerly.

It wasn't just any map—it was a layout, precise and methodical, marked with pathways and access points. Exits were outlined in red ink, key routes sketched over in a practiced hand. She unfolded it further, her gaze locking onto one specific marking.

A door.

One leading straight from this room into the hallway beyond.

Her pulse quickened. This was proof. A way out, hidden in plain sight.

Then, something else caught her attention.

Tucked into the corner of the drawer, almost an afterthought, was a phone.

Her brows knitted together as she carefully picked it up. It was unremarkable—black, sleek, generic. But the fact that it had been locked away meant it was important.

And In-ho was never careless with important things.

She didn't hesitate.

Flipping it over, she pried the back casing open, her fingers slick with the faint warmth of her own blood as she dug out the tiny SIM card. She slid it into the inner seam of her sleeve, pressing the fabric against her wounded palm to keep it from slipping.

If she needed to call the police, she could.

They wouldn't recognize her—not unless she gave them a reason to.

A slow breath steadied her.

This wasn't much.

But it was enough.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Rae-a's mind worked methodically, analyzing every factor in play. The hallway beyond her door was patrolled, and attempting to slip out unnoticed was a risk she couldn't afford. If she stepped into that corridor now, she would be caught within moments. There was no way to avoid confrontation entirely, but she could control how it played out.

She needed the guard to come to her.

Her gaze flicked around the room, searching for something—anything—that could create enough noise to lure him in without immediately alerting others. Then, her eyes landed on the breakfast tray resting on the table. The metal lid covering the plate was heavy, weighted just enough to be useful. An idea formed quickly, and without hesitation, she reached for it.

In one fluid motion, she swept her arm across the table, sending the entire tray crashing to the floor. The sharp clatter of metal against tile, the shattering of ceramic plates, and the splash of liquid exploding across the ground created an unmistakable disturbance. The sound echoed through the space, loud enough that there was no chance it would be ignored.

Footsteps followed almost immediately—quick, purposeful strides pounding against the floor as the guard outside responded to the noise.

"The hell was that?"

His voice was sharp, edged with irritation, but his reaction was exactly what she had anticipated. The door handle rattled violently, and before he could fully step inside, Rae-a was already moving.

The moment the door swung open, she lunged.

She closed the distance between them in two swift steps, far too fast for him to react. As his focus remained on the scene of broken dishes and spilled food, she seized the opportunity. Her left hand shot out, gripping the front of his uniform, and with a sharp pull, she yanked him forward, into the room. At the same moment, she drove her knee into his gut, striking with precision.

A pained grunt escaped his lips as the impact forced the air from his lungs, his body instinctively doubling over in response. But Rae-a didn't give him a second to recover.

Pivoting behind him, she twisted his arm up at an unnatural angle, applying pressure to the joint in a way that sent pain radiating through his nerves. With calculated force, she slammed his head against the wall.

The impact was solid, the dull thud reverberating through the room, but the guard was well-trained—dazed, but still standing. His body tensed, his reflexes kicking in as he reached for his holster, fingers moving toward the grip of his gun.

He was fast.

She was faster.

Before his hand could close around the weapon, Rae-a delivered a sharp elbow to the side of his head, the blow jarring him off balance. Without hesitation, she hooked her foot behind his knee and forced him down, using his own weight against him. His body collapsed onto the floor with a heavy thud, but she knew better than to assume that was enough.

Before he could gather himself, she drove her elbow down in a precise, crushing strike.

His body went limp beneath her.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was her own controlled breathing, measured but quickened from the exertion. Without wasting time, she crouched beside the unconscious guard, her hands moving efficiently as she reached for his radio, unclipping it from his vest. If his team attempted to contact him, she needed to be aware of it—needed to know what they knew before they even had a chance to suspect anything was wrong.

Her fingers brushed against the cool metal of his keycard, and she swiftly slipped it free, tucking it securely into the waistband of her pants.

This wasn't the first time she had taken down an opponent, and it wouldn't be the last. There was no hesitation in her actions, no second-guessing, only the unyielding precision of someone who had spent years adapting to survive.

Straightening, Rae-a exhaled slowly, pushing aside any lingering adrenaline.

Then, without looking back, she turned and moved.

Rae-a moved swiftly, her breaths controlled despite the tension coiling in her muscles. She knew she had little time—every second wasted was another chance for discovery. The map had led her to a section of the floor near the farthest corner of the room, where the outline of a hidden trapdoor had been meticulously drawn. Kneeling, she ran her fingers over the seam, feeling for any leverage. The edges were barely perceptible, but the faintest of grooves confirmed its presence.

She retrieved the shard of glass she had kept from earlier, gripping it tightly despite the sting it sent through her fingers. Pressing the jagged edge into the narrow crack, she twisted, forcing it deeper, using it as a makeshift lever. The resistance was immediate. The door had not been used in some time, and the weight of it, combined with its age, made the task even more difficult. She gritted her teeth, adjusting her grip as the pressure pushed the edge of the glass against her palm, a sharp bite reminding her that she couldn't afford to lose control now.

With a final, forceful twist, the trapdoor gave, shifting with a low groan of protest. She froze, her body going rigid as she listened for any signs of movement outside. Nothing. No footsteps. No voices. Only the distant hum of ventilation. Exhaling slowly, she pried the door open just enough to slip through, lowering herself into the darkness below. She braced herself as she let go, dropping into the unknown.

The impact sent a shockwave through her legs, and she barely managed to absorb the force by rolling onto her side. She hit the rough ground with a quiet grunt, biting back the sting in her shoulder as she came to a stop. The air was immediately different down here—thick with dampness, carrying the faint, earthy scent of stone and moisture. Pushing herself upright, she blinked, allowing her eyes to adjust to the dim glow emanating from distant emergency lights lining a narrow tunnel ahead.

A cave.

The walls were rough, jagged rock formations jutting out at odd angles, glistening faintly under the sparse lighting. The path ahead was uneven, the ground uneven beneath her boots. A forgotten passage, hidden beneath the fortress she had been held in. The realization sent a surge of determination through her. This was her chance.

Wiping the sweat from her brow, she ignored the ache in her limbs and forced herself forward. The moment she took the first step, her heartbeat pounded in sync with her footfalls, a steady rhythm of urgency. Each movement was deliberate, calculated—her entire existence now condensed into one simple objective.

Run.

She didn't look back. She didn't hesitate. The walls of her cage were behind her, and she would not let them close around her again.

Rae-a's feet pounded against the uneven earth, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts. The oppressive darkness of the underground caves lingered in her mind, but she was finally free—barefoot, her soles scraping against the coarse forest floor. Every step sent jolts of pain up her legs as jagged rocks and roots beneath her demanded more than she could give. The cold air bit at her skin, a stark contrast to the musty, stale air of her prison, but she didn't care. The only thing that mattered was getting away. 

Soon the cave was behind her. The trees blurred around her, their trunks like ghostly sentinels, their gnarled branches reaching out to claw at her arms, leaving trails of bleeding marks across her skin. The ground was thick with undergrowth, but she didn't slow—not for the thorns that tore at her, not for the rocks that dug into her feet. She was beyond pain now; all that mattered was the pounding of her heart, the rhythm of her desperate escape.

She had no idea how far she'd run or how much time had passed, but her legs screamed, her breath ragged and shallow. The world spun around her—greens and browns colliding in a kaleidoscope of disorienting color. The trees seemed endless, the landscape unfamiliar.

Then, through the oppressive silence, a crackle split the air, sharp and sudden, like a thunderclap breaking the stillness of a storm.

The radio on her hip flared to life, the static hissing like a snake ready to strike.

"She's out. Lock down the perimeter. Find her now."

Rae-a's blood ran cold. Panic crawled up her spine, her breath hitching. They knew. They all knew. Her only hope of escaping this nightmare slipped away with every step. But she couldn't afford to think about that now.

She kept running.

And then, just as the heavy silence swallowed her, another voice cut through—a voice that froze the very marrow in her bones.

"You're good, Rae-a. But you won't get far."

Her heart stuttered in her chest. That voice. The calm, measured tone. Inho.

She stumbled for a moment, her feet faltering beneath her, the air suddenly thick and suffocating around her. He didn't need to raise his voice, didn't need to shout. His calm, cold words were enough to pierce her, to make the blood in her veins run sluggish. Her chest tightened, her muscles screamed in protest, but she forced herself to keep moving. She couldn't stop—not now.

Still, the words clung to her like a second skin, a haunting reminder that this was no longer just a chase—it was a game, one that he was always in control of.

"Inho," she muttered under her breath, the words bitter on her tongue.

But despite herself, despite everything she should feel, a shiver ran down her spine. He'd always been able to see through her, to know her weaknesses before she even realized them. And in that moment, she knew, he knew—he was watching her. Waiting for her to falter.

His voice returned, low, deliberate, like a predator savoring its prey.

"If you're smart, you'll stop running."

The words hung in the air, taunting her, mocking her. His calmness, the way he spoke like this was just another game to him, made her blood boil. Her fingers clenched at her sides, nails biting into her palms until the sting pulled her back from the edge of hesitation.

She was smart. Smarter than him. Smarter than the part of her that needed him, the part that made her question everything. Running from him was the only smart choice left. She was running from the only thing that made her doubt her own judgment.

She didn't stop.

Instead, she pushed harder, faster, her body straining as if she could outrun the voice, outrun him. His words followed her like a shadow, like a distant echo in the woods, but she wasn't listening anymore. Her mind was consumed with one thought: escape.

She ran.

The forest closed in around her, thick and suffocating, but Rae-a didn't falter. Not this time.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Rae-a shook off the anxiety, forcing herself to breathe, forcing her mind back to focus. Focus. She could outrun him—she always could outrun anyone. But running blindly? That was how people got caught. She needed to think, to calculate, to be smarter than this.

She listened. Every snap of a twig, the faint rustling of the leaves, the subtle shift in the wind. She felt the forest around her, each detail feeding her senses, sharpening her awareness. The sounds of her own breath receded as she honed in on the forest's pulse. I can't just run. I have to disappear.

Then, like a shadow moving against the rhythm of the woods, she heard it—footsteps, heavy and deliberate. Someone's close.

Her heart stuttered in her chest. Too close.

Her fingers brushed over the rough bark of a tree nearby. Without hesitation, she darted toward it, scaled it in one fluid motion, and pressed herself flat against its trunk. Her breathing slowed as she stilled her body, hiding herself in the tree's thick branches. Her fingers dug into the bark, but she barely noticed the sting. Everything around her was a blur, and all that mattered now was keeping perfectly still.

The footsteps grew louder, their presence pressing down on her like an invisible weight. They were calculating. They was patient. She was no longer just running from them—she was now hiding from them.

She could hear the person now, every shift of their movements, as if they were savoring the hunt. His calm, deliberate voice broke the silence, sending a chill down her spine.

"You can't hide forever."

Rae-a's breath hitched, realising it was Inho's voice, but she forced it to even out. Typical. It was if he always knew where she would run. She clenched her jaw, her muscles taut as a bowstring, trying to will herself to become as much a part of the tree as the bark itself. His voice was calm, but it cut through her like a blade.

Not yet, she thought. She couldn't afford to move.

Seconds passed like hours. She stayed perfectly still, her chest barely rising with each shallow breath. The tension was unbearable, her mind swirling with the sickening knowledge that at any moment, he could find her. But still, she waited. She listened. She didn't dare even blink.

The seconds stretched on. One minute. Two.

Then... nothing.

No footsteps. No voice.

She held her breath. The silence was thick, oppressive. Slowly, she exhaled, her body trembling with the release of the tension. She'd done it. He was gone. He had moved on.

But the relief was fleeting.

Just as Rae-a's feet hit the ground, a strong hand gripped her wrist.

She didn't even think. She twisted immediately, her free hand moving to claw at his hold, her body already preparing for a fight. No, not now—

But before she could make any real progress, another arm wrapped tightly around her waist, pulling her back against his chest. The air rushed out of her lungs at the sudden closeness, his presence overwhelming and suffocating, leaving her fighting not just against him but against the overwhelming panic in her chest.

Her pulse roared in her ears, but the worst of it wasn't the struggle—it was the recognition of the voice that came next, so close to her ear it made her stomach churn.

"I knew you'd come down eventually."

The words weren't angry, weren't cruel. No, they were just... certain. So goddamn certain. Like a truth she couldn't deny. He hadn't raised his voice, hadn't even rushed. His calmness, the ease with which he'd trapped her, made the entire situation that much more maddening. He hadn't even had to try.

Rae-a's entire body stiffened in his hold. The sharp pain of humiliation was the first thing that hit her. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think beyond the weight of his arms around her, holding her like she was nothing more than an inconvenience to him. But she hated it. She hated this.

She twisted again, but his grip didn't budge. His arms locked around her, holding her still like a captive. Her breath came in sharp, shallow gasps as she fought the panic that clawed its way up her throat. She could feel him, his chest pressed against her back, his breath against her skin, but she couldn't bring herself to even struggle properly. His presence was too much, too consuming.

"Let go," she spat, her voice rough, but she couldn't stop the way it wavered. Damn it, Rae-a—you know you are more capable than this.

He didn't respond right away. She could feel his sigh, deep and heavy, his frustration so clear it made her stomach churn. But there was no anger, no bitterness. It was just... resignation. Disappointment. Like she had failed him somehow, and he was done playing the game.

"I told you, you wouldn't get far."

Her teeth ground together, her jaw clenched so tight it hurt. Humiliation washed over her in a sickening tide. No, no—this wasn't supposed to happen. She wasn't supposed to let him catch her.

But the truth was undeniable. He was always one step ahead of her.

The tension between them remained thick, though it had shifted subtly, something almost imperceptible in the air as they moved through the hallways. Rae-a could feel the weight of it, the silence settling between them like an ominous presence. Inho walked beside her, his steps calm, measured. She had never felt more aware of every breath she took, the weight of the cuffs on her wrists, that he had placed her earlier, reminded her of the uncertainty ahead. She swallowed hard, unsure of what to expect next, but then, his voice broke the silence.

"I'm letting you go," he said, his tone low, calm, but laced with an unmistakable finality.

Rae-a froze for a fraction of a second, the words sinking into her chest with the weight of an unexpected revelation. She felt a shudder ripple through her, her pulse racing, her mind spinning as everything she'd come to understand about her captivity—about the games—crashed against the sudden truth.

The games were over. It wasn't a victory, nor was it a defeat—it was just... finished. And yet, Rae-a couldn't shake the feeling that something far worse loomed on the horizon.

Even if she was free here, she had another problem out there. But at least that problem did not cause her unnecessary conflicting emotions.

The realization hit her like a blow to the stomach. It was finished. The uncertainty that had plagued her for what felt like an eternity was suddenly replaced by a cold, heavy truth she wasn't ready for. The game, the chase, the constant fight for survival—it was over. And now, she was left to face the aftermath.

She swallowed hard, the motion painful as it passed through her dry throat. The questions were clawing their way to the surface, but only one escaped her lips. "Who won?"

She didn't know what answer she was expecting—perhaps nothing, perhaps everything—but the silence that followed felt like an abyss opening beneath her feet.

The question lingered in the air, unanswered. Inho didn't say a word. The silence was deafening, and for a moment, Rae-a wasn't sure if he even heard her. Her heart thudded in her chest, a steady rhythm that seemed to mock the stillness around her. Inho didn't respond. His face remained unreadable, impassive. She turned her gaze toward him, hoping for some kind of acknowledgment, but he gave her nothing. His eyes were ahead, focused on the path before them. There was something about the way he held himself, the lack of emotion, that made the silence between them feel heavier than it ever had been before. Rae-a clenched her jaw, forcing herself to push back against the sting of rage that threatened to rise.

Her mind raced, trying to piece together the fragments of information she had. Who won? Did any of my friends survive? Would Inho even tell me? Nothing added up. His silence was a wall, and she had no way to break through.

They continued in silence, passing through the hallways of the building, the air around them thick with the remnants of tension that had plagued every moment of this twisted game. Rae-a's heart pounded in her chest, but she kept her mouth shut, not daring to push him for answers. Every fiber of her being told her that now was not the time to question him, not with everything hanging in the balance.

When they reached the door to Inho's room, his voice broke the stillness, low and measured, his words falling like a heavy weight between them.

"Stay out of sight," he said, his tone devoid of warmth. "If you want to survive, you disappear."

His words hung in the air, the meaning behind them clear. Rae-a could feel the implications like a bitter taste on her tongue. Disappear. It wasn't a suggestion; it was a warning. Her instincts screamed at her to bolt, to run far away and leave him behind. But there was something in his gaze—something that stopped her from moving. She stared at him, the flood of thoughts running through her mind threatening to overtake her composure. She was caught between the urge to escape and the undeniable truth that, somehow, she was still tethered to him.

He should not care what happens to me.

The uncertainty gnawed at her insides, but she kept her face impassive, unwilling to let him see the crack in her armor. Instead, she turned her gaze downward, her body taut with the strain of keeping herself under control.

Before she could process the whirlwind of thoughts swirling through her mind, Inho spoke again, his tone low, but with a new edge that set her on edge.

"I have to tie you up."

The words hit Rae-a like a physical blow, her stomach lurching in an instant. The very thought of being restrained—bound—sent a rush of panic to her chest. The last time she'd been in restraints, the memories were painful, suffocating. The fear of helplessness, the vulnerability—she couldn't let that happen again.

"No," she said, her voice firm but shaken, her body going rigid with the refusal before she could even fully process her reaction.

Inho's gaze met hers, calm and unwavering, as though her resistance meant nothing. "It's necessary, Rae-a."

The certainty in his words made her stomach churn. He wasn't asking, wasn't offering any explanation. It was a cold, calculated decision. Rae-a's fists clenched at her sides, her mind swirling with ways to fight, to resist. But she knew better than to push him too far. I can't fight him—the thought repeated in her mind like a mantra as he stepped closer.

But she was already too far in, and she knew it. As he moved closer, his hands reaching for her wrists, her body trembled with the realization that there was no escaping this. At least she would be free.

His hands were efficient, practiced, as they bound her wrists and ankles with expert precision. She could barely focus on anything except the harsh sensation of the restraints digging into her skin. Her breath hitched as the blindfold slid over her eyes, plunging her into darkness. She could feel the loss of control, the suffocating sensation creeping in as her world spun into blackness. The tension in her body, the way her pulse throbbed against her neck—it was all too much.

A second later, she felt herself lifted off the ground, and the world around her tilted sharply as she gasped, not expecting it. His arms wrapped around her with ease, strong and unyielding, carrying her with an effortless grace that made her heart beat even faster. She was trapped, unable to fight against him, and as he moved, her world remained locked in darkness, her senses heightened with every subtle shift of his body. His body was solid against hers, his presence all-encompassing, as he carried her through the darkness.

The car ride was another blur of disorientation. The rumble of the engine beneath them felt distant, almost like a low hum that resonated in the space between them. Rae-a sat in silence, her thoughts spiraling out of control. She couldn't focus, couldn't make sense of anything anymore. The reality of what had just happened—the fact that he was letting her go—was still too unreal to process. But something in her gut told her that this wasn't over, that the end of the game was merely the beginning of something much different, something she couldn't yet understand.

What now? 

Her mind spun with the questions she had no answers to. Was he really letting her go? Was this truly the end? She wanted to ask, wanted to scream the questions into the silence that enveloped them, but something held her back. The grip of uncertainty tightened around her, and the words lodged in her throat, refusing to leave her mouth.

Beside her, Inho was silent, his expression unreadable as he gripped the wheel, his thoughts clearly miles away. Rae-a could feel the weight of his presence next to her, but it only added to the suffocating atmosphere, leaving her with nothing but her racing thoughts and the hum of the engine to keep her company.

Inho's grip on the steering wheel was tight, his knuckles pale against the dark leather. His face remained unreadable, his expression distant, lost in thought as his mind shifted toward the next phase of whatever plan he was weaving.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The cold air wrapped around Rae-a like an old enemy, biting at her skin the moment Inho's hands brushed over the binds at her wrists and ankles. She could feel him there, the slow, methodical movements of his fingers as he untied the knots, the fleeting press of his skin against hers. The contact was brief—too brief—but enough to send a shiver down her spine, though she couldn't tell if it was from the chill or something else entirely. A slow, deliberate rustling of fabric followed, and then—light. A flood of it, too sudden, too sharp. She winced, her body stiff, her mind racing to keep up. The world rushed back in fragments, color and shape bleeding into clarity, the night swallowing her in its quiet vastness.

Her knees nearly buckled as the sensation of freedom hit her all at once. Pins and needles crawled up her limbs, the remnants of restraint lingering like ghosts on her skin. She absently rubbed at her wrists, feeling the raw, chafed skin beneath her fingertips. It should have felt like relief. It should have been a victory, but it didn't.

Inho stood just feet away, still as a statue, his dark eyes fixed on her with that same unreadable intensity that had haunted her since the moment she first learned who he truly was. His hands were at his sides, but they weren't loose; they were curled, just slightly, like he was holding something back. Something he refused to let show.

She forced herself to straighten, ignoring the stiffness in her legs, the lingering fog in her mind. The weight of his gaze pressed against her like an unseen force, and yet, it wasn't oppressive—it was something else. Something unfamiliar.

"You are free now."

His voice was low, controlled, carrying none of the weight she knew was there beneath the surface. There was no hesitation, no sign of weakness, but she knew him well enough to hear the restraint in it. The way it settled into the cold air, heavy with something left unsaid.

She swallowed. Her stomach twisted, her mind grasping at the finality of it.

That was it?

She was supposed to feel victorious. She had fought for this moment—clawed her way toward it, bled for it, suffered for it. And yet, standing here, face to face with the man who had spent so long holding her prisoner, there was no relief.

Only unease.

"That's it?" Her voice was hoarse, rough around the edges. She wasn't sure if it was from exhaustion or something else. A hesitation slipped in before she added, softer this time, "You're just letting me go?"

She expected a sharp reply. A clipped retort. Some kind of reminder that she had no right to question the mercy of the man who had held her captive.

But instead, silence.

He just looked at her, searching her eyes as if it was the last time he was ever going to see them.

A muscle in his jaw twitched, barely perceptible. She searched his face, trying to decipher what lay beneath the carefully constructed exterior, but there was nothing for her to see. He had always been impossible to read when he wanted to be. And then—

"That was the deal."

The words carried the same certainty they always did, and yet, something in them felt off. It didn't sound like triumph, or even satisfaction. It sounded… hollow.

A strange ache curled in their chests. An ache they refused to name.

She clenched her jaw and let out a slow, steady breath. "And what about you?"

His expression didn't shift. If he felt anything at the question, he didn't show it. But his silence was enough of an answer.

He wouldn't tell her. He wouldn't tell her anything. He never did.

His gaze flickered, just for a fraction of a second, but it was enough. Enough for her to see the weight behind his words when he finally spoke again.

"I never wanted to keep you here."

There was something different in his voice now. A quiet edge. An exhaustion she had never heard from him before. "You never stop fighting, do you?"

A bitter laugh escaped her lips before she could stop it, something sharp and unguarded. She tilted her head slightly, watching him as she exhaled, breath curling in the cold air like smoke.

"You're right about that."

She stepped back. Her fingers twitched at her sides, a restless movement she couldn't quite control. A moment passed between them—one where she could feel something unspoken lingering in the space between their breaths. Something fragile. Something dangerous.

"That's the difference between us."

Her voice was quieter now, but no less firm. "I fight for people. You fight for power."

His jaw tightened. Just slightly.

But he didn't argue.

His gaze was steady, unwavering. Whatever storm raged inside of him, he buried it beneath layers of control, offering her nothing more than the calm, collected mask she had come to know too well.

"Go, Rae-a."

It was not an order. Not a demand. But there was something final in it. Something that made her chest ache more than it should have.

She hesitated. Just for a breath. Just long enough to search his face, one last time, for something—anything. A sign of regret. A trace of hesitation. A part of him that would stop her.

But there was nothing.

Because the man who had carried her drunkenly to bed, the man who had listened when she spoke, the man who had watched her with something almost human in his eyes—

That man was gone.

So she turned.

And she walked away, slipping into the shadows of the empty street, not looking back.

Inho didn't move. Didn't blink. Didn't let a single muscle in his face betray him.

He just watched her go.

Every step she took felt like a thread snapping, like something unraveling inside of him. He had expected relief. Had expected the weight of her presence to lift from his shoulders the moment she disappeared into the night.

But there was only an ache. A deep, quiet ache that settled into his chest, clawing at his ribs, curling around his lungs like a vice.

She was gone.

He had let her go.

This was what she wanted. This was what he had told himself had to happen.

And yet—

His fingers twitched, tightening into fists before he forced them to relax. The breath he released was slow, measured, but beneath it was something far more dangerous than grief.

His fingers lifted the radio to his lips, the cold metal biting into his skin.

He spoke.

His voice was quiet, steady—an echo of his own resolve.

But whatever he said—whatever order was given, whatever plan had already been set in motion.

It was lost to the night.

Only the silence remained.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The city pulsed with an unspoken rhythm, a living, breathing entity where shadows stretched long beneath flickering neon signs. Rae-a moved like water, slipping between bodies, her hood drawn low, her senses attuned to every shift in the air. The streets were thick with evening life—vendors calling out to passersby, distant laughter carried on the wind, the sharp scent of grilled meat mingling with the metallic tang of rain-soaked pavement. But beneath the hum of normalcy, an unease coiled in her gut.

She stopped at a bus shelter, her breath steady, measured. A man beside her checked his watch—not once, but twice. The subtle repetition sent a ripple of unease down her spine, though she kept her expression neutral, her hands buried deep in her pockets.

A street performer a few meters away danced with exaggerated movements, his camera propped up, capturing his performance—or so it seemed. The lens, with a single, imperceptible shift, landed on her.

Further down, an old woman tending a food stall called out to a customer who didn't exist, her voice carrying in a way that was just a little too deliberate. From the corner of her eye, Rae-a caught the flicker of movement in a nearby alley—someone stepping back into the shadows.

She exhaled slowly, forcing herself to loosen her stance. Paranoia would get her nowhere. She had to move.

The alleyway she slipped into was narrow, damp with the remnants of the evening drizzle, the air thick with the scent of wet concrete and something faintly acrid. She adjusted her pace, quick but not rushed, her footfalls absorbed by the uneven ground. The city had a way of swallowing sound, of wrapping secrets in its folds. But secrets never stayed hidden for long.

A soft rumble of an engine reached her ears. At first, it was background noise—one vehicle among many. But then, it slowed. She didn't turn, didn't break stride, but her pulse drummed against her ribs, her instincts flaring. The unmistakable creak of doors cracking open sent a cold thread of warning down her spine.

She risked a glance.

A black SUV idled at the entrance of the alley, its engine a low, deliberate hum that sent dread slithering down her spine. It was sleek, nondescript—designed to blend in—but the men stepping out shattered that illusion. Broad shoulders strained against tailored jackets, the stiff fabric barely concealing the weight of weapons beneath. The ink curling up their necks was more than just a mark; it was a warning, a brand that promised violence. Their dragon marks up their neck were a clear sign of who they were affiliated with. Her breath hitched, her stomach coiling in alarm as her gaze darted for exits, calculating distances, escape routes. Kang Chul-soo's men. And they were looking for someone.

There was no doubt in her mind that it was her they were looking for.

She kept walking, her mind working through exits, forcing herself to appear unbothered even as icy dread curled around her ribs. Her breath felt too loud, her movements too deliberate. Then—her gaze met his. One of the men, tall and built like a wall, locked eyes with her. Irritation took over his expression, his lips parting as if to speak. Her pulse surged, fingers twitching at her sides, her feet bracing for a sprint she might not win.

But before he could take a step toward her, a deafening crash split the air.

A garbage truck slammed into a parked car just meters away, setting off a shrieking alarm that ricocheted through the alley, drowning out everything else. The gangsters snapped their heads toward the chaos, hands instinctively reaching for their weapons. The moment of distraction was all she needed.

Rae-a pivoted, her body already in motion before the thought fully formed. She slipped into the crowd just beyond the alley, merging seamlessly with the ebb and flow of pedestrians. Her heart pounded, but her expression remained impassive. No sudden moves. No looking back. Disappear.

One thing she did not acknowledge was the convienience of it. She didn't know the crash hadn't been an accident.

From the rooftop above, dark figures watched, their radios murmuring updates into unseen ears. Every step she took was noted, her path mapped, her movements anticipated. They lingered in the periphery, never close enough to be noticed, never far enough to lose sight of her.

And somewhere, beyond the web of operatives weaving through the city's veins, a voice—calm, steady—spoke into a receiver.

"Make sure no one follows her, but don't let her out of your sight."

Hwang In-ho leaned back, eyes fixed on the monitor before him, in his car, watching as Rae-a disappeared into the neon-lit sprawl of the city. His fingers hovered over the control panel of the street cameras for a moment before curling into a loose fist. He had given her space, let her believe she had shaken the ghosts that followed in her wake.

But the truth was simple.

All of her movements were being tracked. By more than just him.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The city stretched behind her, a labyrinth of flickering neon and restless movement, but here, at the fringes, silence reigned. Rae-a moved cautiously, her pulse a steady drumbeat against the quiet. The safe house loomed ahead, just as she had left it—forgotten by the world, untouched by time. Or so it seemed.

A place she once called home. A sanctuary turned ghost of its former self.

The exterior was unassuming, worn bricks blending seamlessly into the surrounding structures, the kind of place no one looked at twice. But as she approached, a prickle of unease traced her spine. The basement door was unlocked. The weight of that detail settled in her gut like a lead stone, but she pushed forward, drawing in a slow breath before slipping inside.

The air was thick with the scent of dust and aged wood, layered with the faint, lingering traces of metal and oil. Her boots barely made a sound as she descended the narrow stairs, her fingers grazing the handrail, counting each step out of habit. When she reached the bottom, her breath caught.

The arsenal was untouched.

Knives, guns, carefully arranged with an order only she would recognize. Shelves lined with ammunition, a worn-out map pinned to the far wall—its edges curled from time, covered in scribbled notes, old escape routes traced in fading ink. The papers scattered across the desk bore remnants of her past—details of Kang Chul-soo's men, their movements, their weaknesses. She had spent her life mapping their patterns, keeping ahead of them like a shadow slipping through their grasp. And then when she truly needed it these notes kept her alive; allowed her to evade them when the noose threatened to tighten.

She exhaled sharply, her fingers pressing into the desk as she braced herself against a flood of memories. This room had been her war room, a place where she plotted and fought against the inevitable. She had studied their methods, learned how they operated, predicted their next moves before they even made them. And yet, for all her careful planning, she had still ended up running. Still ended up hunted.

And yet, something felt off. The air held a stillness that wasn't quite right, a sensation beneath her skin that warned her she was not as alone as she wanted to believe. The arsenal was just as she left it—too perfectly preserved, as if waiting for her to return. As if someone had expected her.

The blade's handle pressed against her palm, its cold metal grounding her in a moment where time seemed to stretch, both a reminder and a weapon. It had been a constant companion, a familiar weight that steadied her mind when everything else felt out of control. But tonight, it wasn't the knife that anchored her—it was the gnawing frustration simmering beneath the surface, the quiet yet relentless tick of her thoughts. She couldn't afford to falter. Not now, not when the path to answers felt like it was just out of reach.

She ran a finger over the blade, her mind working furiously. Inho had left her with nothing but a void. No names, no leads, just the chilling, detached knowledge that one person had survived the Games—someone had made it out, but as elusive as a shadow in the dark. And that was all she had. The money was carefully laundered, locked behind a system too intricate for even her sharpest mind to breach. The trail was cold. If she wanted to uncover anything, she would have to do it the only way she knew how: by digging through the wreckage left behind, using the one method that could expose even the deepest of secrets—breaking into police files.

Her jaw tightened at the thought. Missing persons reports. The key. The names of people who disappeared around the time of the Games. There had to be something. If she could find out who lived, she could learn who didn't. And more than that—she could give the families of her friends the closure they deserved. They weren't meant to be forgotten, reduced to nameless, missing people whose families would spend years searching for ghosts. If no one else would give them answers, she would.

They deserved that after she was forced from them.

But the risk—it always came back to the risk. Phantom was hunted, a name whispered only in fear, a ghost who slipped through the cracks of a system too tangled to capture. She could feel the weight of it—the knowledge that every time she exposed herself, every time she went deeper, the closer she got to being discovered. She couldn't afford to slip up. Not when her every move was being watched by the very people who had once called her an asset. The same people who would see her gone without a second thought.

The idea of digging through police files was tempting, but the consequences were dire. She'd be caught in an instant, a criminal and fugitive whose very existence was an enigma to them. If they knew who she truly was, there would be no escape. She was already living on borrowed time, running from shadows that didn't even know she existed. It was a dangerous game, but it was the only one she could play. She had no choice but to risk it.

Exhaling sharply, Rae-a forced her body to relax, pushing the tension from her shoulders, the weight of every decision pressing down on her chest like an iron fist. Here, in this moment, she could breathe. Here, she was in control. At least, that's what she told herself. The calm was fragile, the veneer of control paper-thin. She was still a target, still a ghost in a world that wasn't ready to let her go. And yet, despite the risk, despite the ever-present danger, she knew she had to act. There were answers buried in those files, answers that could bring clarity to the mess Inho had left behind. But to find them, she would need to step back into the darkness she had spent so long trying to escape.

What she didn't realize, though, was that even in the midst of her carefully calculated plans, there were eyes on her. Unseen, unnoticed, but always there.

Beyond the dim glow of a security monitor, far from the quiet sanctuary she believed she had reclaimed, a figure watched. The feed flickered in shades of static and shadow, the angles of each camera carefully placed outside to capture every movement, every breath. This place had been waiting for her, a carefully laid snare disguised as familiarity.

Hwang In-ho leaned forward, his gaze sharp beneath the mask of unreadable calm. She had come exactly as expected. He had known she would return here—where else could she go when she was grasping at the threads of a past that no longer existed?

Once he found out her identity, everything else about her all fell into place. Her limited connections, the locations where she would reside, everything.

She had always been meant to come here.

And he was still watching.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

Hi guys! Just letting you know I am going to be on holiday for a week so I won't be posting! I am sorry about that but I will be back on it ASAP <3 

Thankyou so much for reading my story, I am so grateful to each and every one of you and I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoy writing it! :)

Take care everyone!