A threat to the threat

Carrie stood at the threshold of the abandoned, half-finished building, her breath shallow as the night pressed in around her. The air was thick with dust and the scent of damp concrete, but something else lingered—a tension, like the remnants of a presence that had never fully left. The building loomed like a silent predator, waiting.

She clenched her fists. There was no turning back.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped inside.

The room was dimly lit by a single, flickering bulb. In the center, Hwang sat lazily on a chair, his fingers twirling a gun with casual indifference. Behind him, five men stood motionless, their faces veiled by black masks. Shadows clung to them, making them appear almost inhuman—like wraiths summoned to his will.

A slow smile crept onto Hwang's lips. "I knew you'd come," he mused, his voice smooth but laced with amusement. He tilted his gun towards the empty chair in front of him. "Sit."

Carrie remained standing, eyes unwavering. "I'm not here to play games with you. What do you want with Taeyang?" Her voice was steady, sharp. "What are you planning?"

Hwang's smirk widened as he leveled the gun at her chest. "I like her," he murmured, eyes gleaming with something unreadable. He rose to his feet, taking slow, deliberate steps toward her. The barrel of the gun found its way to her forehead, cool against her skin. "You've got fire," he murmured. "That's good." He glanced over his shoulder. "But tell me, do you realize where you are? You're surrounded by men who could kill you before you even blink." His voice lowered to a taunting whisper. "And yet… you're still talking."

Carrie met his gaze, her expression unreadable. Then, she exhaled and cocked her head. "Are you just here to waste my time?"

A slow, dark chuckle escaped Hwang's lips. "Reckless," he murmured approvingly, pressing the gun closer—

A voice cut through the tension like a blade.

"You play too much."

Hwang immediately dropped his weapon, turning with a lazy grin as a woman emerged from the shadows. She moved with effortless grace, her presence commanding yet strangely elegant. Carrie's breath caught in her throat.

Ms. Kim.

"Oh, it's my Noona," Hwang drawled, unamused.

Ms. Kim's gaze flickered to Carrie, her lips curving into a small, knowing smile. "Don't mind him, Ms. Evans. He enjoys being dramatic. And a little dumb."

Carrie didn't move, her mind racing. The way Hwang responded to her—the familiarity, the unspoken authority she held over him. Who was she? She definitely wasn't the Ms. Kim she used to know.

"She'll play the role well," Hwang remarked, tilting his head as he studied Carrie.

"I know," Ms. Kim replied smoothly, lowering herself into the chair he had vacated. She gestured towards the other seat. "Sit."

Carrie hesitated before lowering herself into the chair, her gaze locked onto Ms. Kim.

"You better start explaining," she said.

Ms. Kim merely smiled, picking up the discarded gun. With practiced ease, she raised it and fired. The gunshots echoed through the empty space, each bullet shattering a glass bottle lined up in the middle of the room. She didn't miss a single one.

Carrie's pulse quickened.

Ms. Kim set the gun down with a soft clink. "That's a question you'll have to answer yourself," she said. "But that's not why we're here."

Her smile faded, her expression turning unreadable. "I need your help."

---

SEVEN HOURS LATER

The air in the room crackled with a quiet, simmering tension, thick enough to smother. The most unexpected duo sat across from each other, separated only by a candlelit table set for a meal that neither had any intention of enjoying—at least, not in the way it was intended.

Na-eun, poised and regal, cut into her barely-seared steak with surgical precision. The knife slid through the tender flesh effortlessly, revealing deep crimson beneath the charred surface. The scent of iron clung to the air, thick and taunting. She took her time, chewing with deliberate slowness, savoring every bite as if it were a delicacy only she could truly appreciate.

Carrie, on the other hand, sat frozen, her gaze locked onto Na-eun, her fingers twitching slightly against the table's edge. Her nerves were unraveling, fraying by the second, yet she didn't dare show weakness. Instead, she watched, calculating, waiting.

Finally, Na-eun placed her knife down with a soft clink, dabbing her lips with a napkin stained a faint shade of red. A sly smile curled at the corners of her mouth.

"This is the most unexpected meeting I've had in a while. Intriguing, too."

Carrie met her gaze, her lips stretching into a slow, knowing smirk. "I'm even more interested than you are."

Na-eun's eyes flickered with something dark—curiosity, amusement, perhaps even a hint of admiration. She tilted her head. "I told you to run. Yet here you are. Why? Have you finally decided to work for me?"

A sudden burst of laughter spilled from Carrie's lips—sharp, sinister, almost mocking. It echoed through the dimly lit room, laced with an edge of danger. Then, just as quickly as it came, it faded, replaced by a chilling stillness. Her expression turned cold, calculating.

"Na-eun, you of all people should know—I would rather die than help you."

Na-eun let out a soft hum of amusement, fingers trailing back to the knife beside her plate. She lifted it, letting the dim light catch on the glistening blade still slick with meat's blood.

"Intriguing," she mused, tapping the knife against the table. "I might as well do the honors, then."

Carrie didn't flinch. Instead, her smirk deepened, her voice dropping to something almost deadly. "What makes you think you could kill me?"

Na-eun leaned forward, her curiosity now fully piqued. "Ah. What level of confidence is this? Are you even aware that you're stuck here with me?"

Carrie chuckled, low and ominous, before her eyes darkened into something unreadable. She met Na-eun's gaze, unwavering.

"No. You got it wrong." She leaned in just slightly, her voice nothing more than a whisper, yet carrying the weight of a death sentence. "You're the one stuck here with me."

The moment the last syllable left her lips, the lights cut out. A heartbeat of silence passed. Then—

A sharp thud. A second. A third.

The unmistakable sound of bodies hitting the floor reverberated through the room, followed by the guttural groans of men crumpling under unseen force. Shadows shifted in the darkness, whispers of movement too fast to catch.