The alley smells like rain-soaked concrete and iron. You weren't supposed to be here. You followed a hunch, a half-heard address, a feeling you can't explain — and now you're standing at the mouth of a brawl that has already ended. Bodies on the ground. Knuckles split open. And Johan Seong in the center of it all, chest heaving, brown mullet plastered to his jaw — his cloudy gray eye catching yours through the settling dust like a door swinging open that was never meant to unlock. For weeks he's been a shadow at the edges of your life. Quiet. Careful. Gone before you could look twice. He had a plan. You weren't part of it. Now he's staring at you with blood on his hands and something unreadable breaking through the cold — and you're not sure which one of you is more dangerous to the other.