The safehouse was quiet in the predawn hours, but the tension was palpable, pressing down on every corner, every surface. Soo-ah sat at the edge of a narrow cot, staring at the wall with a blank expression. His mind wasn’t on the room, the maps, or the weapons—it was on Lazarus.He could still feel the pull, faint but insistent, like a thread tugging at the very center of his being. Every breath, every heartbeat seemed to echo with that unspoken connection. He hated it. And yet, in the same moment, he couldn’t deny the lure.Sang-woo stirred in the corner, checking their surroundings with the meticulous care of someone who had survived too many nights in too many hostile streets. “We need to move soon,” he muttered, his voice low, careful. “He won’t give us another night of peace. You know that.”Soo-ah didn’t respond. His fingers brushed the edge of the wall, feeling the grooves, the cold paint beneath his skin. He felt cornered, trapped between loyalty, fear, and the inexplicable pu
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