The city was always awake. Even at midnight, its rhythm thumped on—neon signs flashing in metronomic disarray, the hum of cars driving down the streets, and midnight lovers murmuring in dark alleys. Laughter, fights, and clandestine negotiations of individuals who had too much to lose all blended into an eternal, agitated symphony.
But to Seo-yeon, life outside was a muffled hum.
She leaned on the penthouse balcony, the nighttime breeze whispering across her exposed arms. A wine glass hung limply between her fingers, full of rich dark liquid that shone beneath the streetlights. The smell of grapes and something acrid hung in the air.
Trapped.
That was the first word that entered my mind.
Cornered by two men.
Two types of fire, two different kinds, both of which are lethal in their own unique way.
