[POINT OF VIEW: LEO - FIRST PERSON]
I dragged her through the forgotten veins of Seoul. We left behind the echo of sirens and the neon glow of the Gangnam district and plunged into the darkness of alleys that reeked of fermented kimchi and stagnant rain. Every turn, every shadow, was a calculated move in my head. The glamorous world of the red carpet had vanished, replaced by my true environment: the labyrinth of concrete, metal, and stealth.
She stumbled behind me. The ridiculous couture dress, which surely cost more than my gear for the past six months, snagged on rusted pipes and got stained with dirty puddle water. Her high heels were suicide on this terrain, and more than once she was on the verge of falling, but my grip on her arm was like an iron shackle. There was no compassion in the gesture; it was pure logistics. She wasn't a person right now, she was a package. A fragile, expensive, and very problematic package that I had to secure before my enemies decided she was a good enough lever to use against me.
"This way," I ordered in a whisper, pulling her into an even narrower passage between two decrepit residential buildings.
I could hear her agitated breathing, small gasps that were a mix of effort and panic. I felt a pang of something that resembled guilt. This woman, less than an hour ago, was the center of the universe for thousands of people. Her biggest concern was which angle favored her most in photos. Now, her only concern was not twisting an ankle in a dark alley while being dragged by a stranger they wanted to kill. Life has a twisted, fucked-up sense of humor.
But I couldn't afford the luxury of compassion. Compassion makes you slow. Slowness kills you. Finally, we reached our destination: an anonymous, grey apartment block in the heart of the Mapo district, a place so boring and ordinary it was the perfect hideout. No one would look for an international superstar or a hunted treasure hunter in a building where the biggest excitement was the weekly neighborhood community meeting.
I guided her to an apartment on the third floor. The door looked normal, but I knew that behind the cheap wood was a steel plate and three complex locks that took me a precious twenty seconds to open. Every second was an invitation to disaster. Finally, the door yielded with a soft click, and I pushed her inside, closing and securing the refuge behind us. The sound of the bolts clicking into place was like a cell door closing.
[POINT OF VIEW: JO YU-RI - THIRD PERSON]
The sound of the multiple bolts locking behind her was the most terrifying sound Jo Yu-ri had ever heard in her life. More than the roar of the car, more than the screams of the crowd. That sound was definitive. It was the sound of her world disappearing and being replaced by... this.
"This" was an apartment. But it wasn't a home. The air smelled of metal, dust, and something vaguely antiseptic. There were no pictures on the walls. No plush cushions or designer rugs. The furniture was sparse, functional, and looked like it was taken from a military catalog. A metal table in the center was covered with topographical maps, some of places she couldn't recognize, and what looked like a gun cleaning kit. On a shelf was a strange collection of objects: an antique compass, a ceremonial-looking dagger, a broken clay vessel, and several old leather-bound books.
It was a wolf's den. A place designed for survival, not for living.
The hooded man, her kidnapper, finally removed his hood under the harsh light of a bare bulb. His face was a mix of features that left her breathless for a completely different reason than fear. He was young, perhaps her age, with dark, messy hair, a sharp jawline covered by two days' worth of stubble, and eyes that looked much older. They were eyes that had seen too much, intelligent, tired, and dangerously alert. There was a fresh cut on his eyebrow and a bruise blooming on his cheekbone.
"The bathroom's in there," he said, his voice a low growl that seemed to absorb the light from the room. He pointed to a door. "There are water bottles in the fridge. Don't touch anything else. Sit on the couch and be quiet."
It wasn't a request. It was an order. He moved towards the table, opened a laptop, and began typing with a speed and concentration that completely excluded her from his reality.
Yu-ri felt like a ghost in the room. Her hatred was still there, a burning ember in her chest, but now it was mixed with paralyzing fear and a new, terrifying emotion: dependence. Her life, at that moment, depended entirely on that man's ability to keep them both alive. She sat on the edge of the rough fabric couch, feeling the tear in her silk dress. She looked at her hands, they were trembling uncontrollably. And she thought of her phone. Her phone, which was still in her small handbag. Her only connection to sanity. Her only lifeline.
[POINT OF VIEW: CRISIS GROUP - THIRD PERSON][LOCATION: PRESIDENTIAL SUITE - SHILLA HOTEL]
The atmosphere in Lee Jung-jae's luxurious suite was electric, charged with panic and adrenaline. Mr. Choi paced back and forth like a caged animal, his phone glued to his ear, his face pale and sweaty. Min-jun, Yu-ri's friend, sat on a velvet sofa, his head in his hands. Jung Ho-yeon and Wi Ha-joon stood by the panoramic window, staring at the lights of Seoul as if expecting a smoke signal.
"We've been calling her for twenty minutes!" exclaimed Mr. Choi. "Straight to voicemail. This is a disaster! A complete disaster!"
"Calm down, hyung," Lee Jung-jae said, his voice a rock of tranquility amidst the sea of panic. He was pouring glasses of water, a paternal gesture to give everyone something to do. "Panic won't help us. Let's think clearly."
"Clearly!?" shouted Min-jun, lifting his head. His eyes were red. "My best friend has been kidnapped by a maniac who jumped over a car and the police are doing nothing!"
"The police are investigating an 'accident and public disturbance'," Wi Ha-joon corrected with his detective's precision. "They don't have a kidnapping. They don't have a victim. They have nothing. Calling them now would only create a media circus that could put Yu-ri in more danger."
He was right, and everyone knew it. It was then that Mr. Choi's phone vibrated in his hand with an incoming call. An unknown number. For a second, everyone held their breath. The manager answered, putting it on speaker.
"...hello?" a voice was heard, a trembling, familiar whisper.
"Yu-ri!" everyone exclaimed in unison.
"Shhh... I can't speak loudly," she whispered. "I'm... I'm okay. I'm not hurt."
"Yu-ri-ah, where are you?" Jung-jae asked, his voice soft and reassuring. "Can you see anything? Did he hurt you?"
"No... he didn't hurt me," she whispered. "We're in an apartment. I don't know where. It's... it's old. And he's here."
"He? The man from the gala?" Ha-joon asked, moving closer to the phone. His detective mode was fully activated. "Yu-ri, listen to me carefully. We need details. Anything. What does he look like? Does he have visible weapons? Did the door have special locks? Accents? Scars?"
"He's... young. He has a cut on his eyebrow," she whispered, her voice trembling. "And the door... the door had many locks. I don't know anything else. I'm scared."
"Don't tell him anything else!" Mr. Choi hissed, panic seizing him again. "We don't know if he's listening! He could have microphones! Yu-ri, don't say another word about your location!"
"We have to get her out of there!" Min-jun insisted. "Let's track the phone! Call the police!"
"No!" Choi and Ha-joon retorted at the same time.
"If we track the phone and the police show up, he could panic," Ha-joon explained with forced patience. "If he's a professional, as he seems to be, he'll consider her a liability and abandon her, or worse, take her hostage. We need to know who we're dealing with. Yu-ri, the most important question of all: why did he take you with him?"
There was a silence on the other end of the line, broken only by Yu-ri's trembling breath.
"He said... he said I was a witness," she finally whispered. "That his enemies saw me with him and that now I was a 'loose end.' He said he'd keep me safe... and then he'd disappear."
The information fell into the room like a bomb. Lee Jung-jae looked at Wi Ha-joon, and they both reached the same terrifying conclusion.
"This isn't a kidnapping," Jung-jae said quietly. "She's not the target."
"He is," Ha-joon finished, his face grim. "And she's caught in the middle of a war that isn't hers. This is much worse than a kidnapping."
[POINT OF VIEW: LEO - FIRST PERSON]
My laptop was my window to the world. I was sweeping online news, black market forums, hacked traffic cameras. The official report was a "car accident" at a high-profile event. The paparazzi images were chaotic, blurry. Good. Confusion was my friend. My enemies, Helix Corporation, as they liked to call themselves, were efficient, but not magicians. They'd need time to regroup and find my trail. Time I planned to use to plot my next move and get rid of my unexpected companion.
I was so focused I almost didn't hear it.
It was a murmur. A whisper so faint it could have been the wind against the window. But I haven't survived this long by believing in the wind. I got up silently. My feet, shod in rubber-soled boots, made no sound on the linoleum floor. I approached the bathroom door, where the sound came from.
I wasn't an idiot. I knew she'd try to call someone as soon as she had the chance. It was the normal human reaction. But I expected a little more time before panic overcame shock. I pressed my ear to the cheap wood.
"...he said I was a witness... that his enemies saw me..."
Shit.
She wasn't just giving them a status report. She was giving them information. She was describing the situation. She was compromising my safety and hers. Every word she said was another nail in our collective coffin.
I didn't kick open the door. I didn't shout. The anger I felt was cold, sharp, and much more dangerous. I slowly turned the knob and opened the door.
She was huddled on the floor, between the toilet and the wall, her luxury phone pressed to her ear like a sacred amulet. Her eyes widened as she saw me, filled with pure, absolute terror. She was speechless.
I held out my hand, palm up. I said nothing. The silence was more eloquent than any shout. After a second of hesitation, and with a look of utter defeat, she handed me the phone. I could hear the frantic voices on the other end before I hung up the call and turned off the device.
I knelt in front of her, looking into her eyes. The fury in her gaze had been replaced by childlike fear.
"I gave you two very simple rules," I said, my voice a frigid whisper. "Don't touch anything and don't make a sound. And I asked you for one thing: to trust me. For forty-eight hours."
I stood up and ran a hand through my hair, frustrated. "And you haven't lasted even an hour."
"They're my friends!" she finally exclaimed, finding her voice. She stood up, defiant despite the trembling in her legs. "They're worried! The whole world is probably looking for me! What did you expect me to do? Sit here and knit while a maniac who almost killed me has me kidnapped?"
Her defiance was admirable, but incredibly stupid. I walked towards the apartment's only window, one that overlooked an inner courtyard. I pulled the worn curtain back an inch and looked down. Nothing out of the ordinary. Yet.
I turned to look at her. The expression on her face was one of righteous indignation. She didn't understand. She didn't understand anything.
"First," I said, my voice cutting like broken glass. "You're not kidnapped. If I wanted to kidnap you, I would have asked for a ransom. You're a witness I'm protecting against my better judgment."
I took a step towards her. "And second, your friends, your manager, and whoever else was on that call now know you're alive and with me. They'll probably try to track this phone. Or worse, one of them will talk to the wrong person, and the news that the 'package' is with the 'target' will reach my enemies. You haven't lit a distress flare, Jo Yu-ri. You've lit a giant neon beacon over my only safe haven in this city."
I watched as the color drained from her face as my words hit her. Understanding finally dawned.
"Thanks to your call," I concluded, grabbing my canvas backpack from the floor. "We're no longer safe here. We have to move."
I looked at her, and for the first time, I didn't see a movie star or a pawn. I saw a terrified girl who had just made a mistake that could kill us both.
"Now."