Whatever, he thought, forcing away the lingering unease from their encounter.

 "Free money’s free money. I can grab something quick for Michael."

The alleyway emptied out onto a slightly busier street where worn storefronts lined the sidewalks like tired sentries. Flickering neon signs buzzed overhead, and somewhere nearby a car horn blared lazily.

On the corner, a small, dingy convenience store sat hunched between two shuttered buildings. Its windows were fogged, the sign half-lit. But it was enough.

"Hope this place has it," Won thought, or something easy.

He stepped inside, pushing open the door with a low creak. A dull bell above gave a half-hearted jingle.

Jingle-jingle.

The warmth inside was stale, the air thick with dust and old freezer air. The cashier, a young guy barely out of high school, looked up from his phone, gave a slow blink, and looked back down without a word.

Good. Just how Won preferred it.

"Don’t draw attention. Just grab the stuff and get out."

He moved past the aisles quickly, not making eye contact, feet soft against the scuffed tile floor. His eyes landed on the noodle shelf—cheap, instant ramen in plastic cups.

Won grabbed two.

"This’ll last us a day or two…"

He turned toward the medicine rack, spotting a small bottle of cold syrup and a few foil packets of tablets. His hand hovered above the cold medicine.

"Should I…?"

The dizziness from earlier flashed through his memory—how his knees had buckled, how the air had thinned like he’d been suffocating.

He grabbed the bottle quickly and tucked it under the ramen.

"Just in case I really am getting sick."

At the counter, he placed the items down wordlessly. The cashier rang them up, barely glancing at him.

“That’ll be five-sixty,” he said, voice flat.

Won dug into his pocket, pulled out the wrinkled bill, and handed it over.

It still felt wrong—accepting help from someone like that. But if it kept Michael warm, fed, and safe… it didn’t matter where it came from.

He took the change with a nod and tucked the bag under his coat. Then, just as quietly as he came, he slipped back out into the night.

Not far behind, James moved like a shadow.

A tiny mic clipped discreetly to his collar caught his soft voice. “Target is on the move,” he murmured. “Heading back toward the east side.”

Miles away, leaning casually against a sleek black car parked beneath a flickering streetlamp, Rocky listened through a single earpiece. His eyes were calm, patient.

“Don’t lose him,” Rocky replied evenly. “And don’t be seen.”

James gave the faintest nod. “Yes, sir.”

Back on the streets, Won kept a brisk pace, his steps quickening the closer he got to familiar territory. Something prickled along his spine. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

…Am I being followed?

He didn’t dare turn around, but the unease sat heavy in his chest. His hand tightened slightly around the plastic bag swinging at his side. The cold wind bit at his cheeks as he turned sharply into another narrow alleyway.

Don’t panic. Just get home.

He moved faster now. Not running—but fast enough to shake anyone who might be watching. The alley was empty except for scattered garbage and dim light pooling in patches along the cracked pavement. His heart thudded louder with each step.

That guy was weird, he thought bitterly, but whatever—I got what I needed.

He glanced over his shoulder again.

But... I’m definitely being followed.

Behind him, James adjusted his cap and pulled his sunglasses lower on his nose despite the fading light. He kept his pace casual, posture relaxed, blending in with the flow of people crossing intersections or loitering near the old corner store.

Keep it slow. Don’t get noticed, he told himself.

Won disappeared into the alley ahead.

James followed—silent, measured, invisible.

Won crossed a busy intersection, weaving between cars and half-hearted honks. His gaze flicked left, then right, and without slowing, he slipped into a narrow side alley between two closed butcher shops.

Shortcut. Less people.

Behind him, James stayed just far enough back to avoid detection. He paused at the curb, pretending to check his phone before casually stepping into the same alley a few beats later.

Hiding something, huh? James thought, eyes sharp. Let’s find out what.

Inside the alley, Won slowed near an old vending machine humming in the corner. He hovered there, pretending to scan the drink options, eyes scanning the cloudy plastic.

Then, in the corner of the reflective glass—movement.

Still following me… Won’s jaw tightened. Thought so.

His eyes narrowed. His whole body tensed like a wire pulled tight.

Time to lose him.

Without warning, Won pivoted, his foot hitting the concrete hard as he bolted down a side path, the soles of his shoes pounding against the ground.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

James blinked, caught off guard. “Tch—fast for a skinny kid,” he muttered and broke into a sprint after him.

Won didn’t look back.

He darted between buildings, turned sharply into a network of back alleys that twisted like veins behind the city’s bones. He vaulted a low fence, ducked under drying laundry, and leapt over scattered trash bins like he’d done this before.

Hope I remember the turns, he thought, breath ragged. Almost there.

James chased, a bit winded now but unwilling to let up.

Persistent little—fine. You wanna play? I’ll play.

Won took a sharp turn and skidded to a stop behind a large dumpster. His chest heaved, but he forced himself quiet, pressing his back against the cold metal, waiting.

Seconds later, James stormed past, boots thudding, eyes darting left and right.

“Where did he—?”

But he was already gone.

Won slipped out from the shadows like smoke, footsteps light as he moved in the opposite direction, ducking down another alley without a sound.

Lost him.

His lips twitched into a satisfied smirk as he melted into the shadows, back on track to get home before anyone else could find him again.

Back in the maze of alleys, James came to a full stop, chest rising and falling with frustration.

“Damn it…” he muttered under his breath, scanning the intersecting streets. Nothing. No movement. No trace. Just empty paths and the hum of distant city life. The kid was gone.

—

Elsewhere, across town, a rusty door creaked open into a dim, cramped room. The place was barely lit, the only illumination coming from a streetlamp flickering outside the cracked window. A thin mattress sat pushed into one corner, a blanket barely clinging to the edge.

Michael stirred beneath it, groggy and half-asleep. The blanket slipped from his shoulder as he sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes.

“…Won?” he called softly, his voice still fragile with sleep.

Won stepped inside and shut the door behind him quietly. The plastic bag he carried hit the rickety table with a dull thud.

“I brought food,” he said gently. “Eat up.”

Michael nodded but didn’t move right away. His golden eyes just lingered on Won for a moment longer—as if making sure he was real. That he was really back.

Won busied himself unpacking the food, keeping his expression neutral. But as he turned to glance at the boy again, something shifted in his eyes.

As long as I can keep him safe… he thought, watching Michael tuck himself tighter beneath the blanket, I’ll do whatever it take.

Across the city, a sleek black car idled near the edge of town. Its dark windows reflected the blinking streetlights, the drizzle now only a soft mist across the windshield. Inside, Rocky sat in the back seat, one arm resting along the window, the other hand rhythmically tapping the leather armrest.

Knock-knock.

The back door opened, and James slid in, his frustration radiating off him.

“I lost him,” he muttered.

Rocky raised an eyebrow slowly, turning just slightly toward him.

“You lost a kid?”

James scratched the back of his neck, eyes avoiding Rocky’s.

“He knew I was following him,” he admitted. “Slipped into the alleys and vanished.”

Rocky leaned back, thoughtful, fingers still drumming against the armrest—now slower.

“He’s sharper than he looks…” A slight smirk curved the edge of his mouth. “Interesting.”

James sat silently beside Rocky in the back of the car, arms crossed but tension in his jaw. His expression was a mix of irritation and curiosity.

“What do you want me to do now?” he finally asked, eyes drifting toward his boss.

Rocky didn’t turn to look. His eyes remained locked on the reflections dancing in the window—city lights blurring across the glass like slow-moving ghosts.

“Forget tailing him,” Rocky said quietly, voice edged with command. “Just do a background check.”

James raised a brow but was already pulling out his phone, thumbs flying across the screen.

“Name?”

Rocky’s gaze remained steady.

“I don't know.”

James blinked. “That all?”

A faint smirk tugged at Rocky’s lips. “Make it quick.”

Outside, the city exhaled into the night. Quiet. Cold. Unforgiving.

But the game had only just begun.