Sasha moved to his desk and took out a small tin, producing a rolled tobacco cigarette that he lit with a swift flick of his lighter. He took a drag, the ember casting a small, glowing light in the otherwise dim room, and the rich, woody smell of tobacco began to fill the space. Beom's gaze locked onto the cigarette, his mind reeling. His chest tightened as he recognized it—the same brand, the same distinct smell as the one left behind during his recent attack. His blood ran cold as the realization hit him. Unbidden, he took a slight step back, his body reacting instinctively, the suspicion gnawing at him like a warning.
Sasha noticed, exhaling a plume of smoke as he looked at Beom with raised brows. "What... why are you staring at me like that?" His tone was a mixture of amusement and mild curiosity, a slight smirk curling at the edges of his lips. Sasha's eyes held an unreadable glint as he watched Beom's reaction, aware that he had struck a nerve.
Beom didn't answer immediately. Instead, he reached into his pocket, pulling out the small fragment of tobacco that he'd found near his attacker that night. He held it up, allowing Sasha to see it clearly.
"When I arrived in Moscow, I was attacked," he said, his voice steady but charged with tension. "The attacker left this by me before leaving. The exact same tobacco."
The room fell into a tense silence, each word hanging heavily between them. For a brief moment, the only sound was the faint hum of the city outside, broken by Sasha's low chuckle as he straightened and took another leisurely drag of his cigarette. His gaze never left Beom, and his smirk grew, his expression as amused as it was unbothered. He began to take slow steps toward Beom, his every move calculated, deliberate, and his eyes gleamed with a dangerous, knowing light.
"So... you're trying to say that I attacked you?" he asked, his tone dripping with mock innocence. "That's quite the accusation, Beom-ki." Sasha's voice was soft, almost playful, but his words held a razor edge.
Beom narrowed his eyes, every muscle in his body tensing as he tried to gauge Sasha's intentions. "I'm saying it's a strange coincidence."
Sasha shrugged, his eyes gleaming with a dark amusement that made Beom's pulse quicken. "In this line of work, there are no coincidences, are there?" he said, taking another step closer until he was just inches away from Beom. The faint smell of tobacco mixed with a trace of cologne reached Beom, adding to the intensity of the moment. Sasha's voice dropped to a murmur, one laced with cunning undertones that made Beom's skin prickle. "But maybe... just maybe, I was testing you."
Beom's eyes widened, his mind racing. "Testing me?"
Sasha tilted his head, his smirk deepening. "To see if you're truly cut out for this mission. Moscow isn't kind to strangers, especially ones with so many... vulnerabilities." His gaze was piercing, assessing, as if he could see right through Beom, peeling back every layer to expose his secrets.
Beom clenched his jaw, fighting to maintain his composure. "You think I'd fall for that?"
Sasha chuckled softly, his tone infuriatingly calm. "Oh, it doesn't matter if you believe me. What matters is how you respond. The way I see it, you can either dwell on your suspicions or focus on the mission ahead." He took another drag, blowing the smoke in a calculated direction, away from Beom but close enough to let its presence linger.
"Why would I trust you?" Beom shot back, his voice edged with defiance. He wasn't about to let Sasha control the narrative, not when the man seemed to revel in the mind games.
Sasha gave a slight shrug, his eyes glinting with something dark and elusive. "Trust isn't something we give freely here, Beom-ki. It's earned, if at all." He tapped the ash from his cigarette, watching as it drifted to the floor. "But if you want to survive Moscow… you'll have to get comfortable with a little uncertainty."
The tension between them was thick, a silent battle of wits and resolve playing out in the unspoken space. Beom could feel Sasha's gaze lingering, watching for his next move, as though testing just how far he could push.
Beom's phone buzzed suddenly, jolting him from his spiraling thoughts. He turned, reaching instinctively to check it, but his hand froze, hovering above the door handle. The buzzing faded into the background as his mind reeled, picking apart the strange series of events that had brought him here, to this uneasy alliance with Sasha.
"This is too strange... way too convenient," he thought, his pulse quickening. "What if he's not actually my Russian partner at all? What if... he's Yaroslav himself?" His heartbeat hammered as the thought took hold. "But then again… if he really were Yaroslav, wouldn't he have already made a move? Killed me, maybe, or given away some kind of sign… No, this doesn't add up." Beom's brows knitted, frustration and confusion twisting through him. He was stuck between conflicting instincts, unable to shake his suspicion, yet also aware of how thin it seemed. "None of this makes sense… I'm trapped, and I can't even tell if he's friend or foe."
Lost in thought, he didn't notice the presence behind him until it was too late. A soft, almost imperceptible breath ghosted over his shoulder. He felt the warmth at his back, heard the faintest rustle of movement, and a chill skittered down his spine. Just as the realization struck him, a voice whispered close to his ear, low and smooth, like silk laced with steel.
"What are you thinking, hmm?" The words slithered through the air, brushing past his ear with an unsettling familiarity, each syllable dripping with something dark and knowing. The voice was unmistakable—Sasha's, but with a tone that held an edge Beom hadn't quite heard before, something unnervingly cunning and intimate.
Beom's eyes widened, his pupils trembling as he forced himself to remain still, his heart pounding as if he'd been caught in a trap. Slowly, he turned his head, meeting Sasha's gaze—a gaze that glinted with a hint of something… sinister. There was a smirk tugging at Sasha's lips, as if he knew exactly what Beom had been thinking, as if he could read the doubts and fears that swirled in Beom's mind.
Beom's thoughts scattered, panic mixing with a fierce determination to keep his composure. "How… how did he know what I was thinking?" The question flashed through his mind, setting off a ripple of unease. Sasha's expression was far too calm, too composed, as if he were savoring Beom's discomfort. His eyes, a shade too sharp, too observant, seemed to pierce right through him, peeling back the layers of his thoughts with eerie accuracy.
Sasha's smirk deepened, amusement dancing in his gaze as he tilted his head, watching Beom with the curiosity of a predator circling its prey. "What... you think I'm Yaroslav, hmm?" he murmured, his voice laced with a mocking edge. Each word was drawn out, the tone taunting, like he was enjoying every second of Beom's discomfort.
Beom stiffened, his hands clenched at his sides as he struggled to keep his expression neutral. His mind raced, torn between denying his suspicions and confronting the man before him. The way Sasha said it, so casual yet so pointed, made Beom's skin prickle with tension. His every instinct screamed that this was a test, a game to see how he'd react.
Sasha took a small step closer, encroaching on Beom's space with a deliberate ease, his gaze never wavering. "It's written all over your face, you know," he continued, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "That doubt. That little spark of suspicion… You're wondering if you can trust me, aren't you?"
Beom's heart pounded harder, but he forced himself to hold Sasha's gaze, unwilling to show even a hint of weakness. "He's toying with me," Beom realized, gritting his teeth as he fought to keep his composure. Yet every word Sasha uttered seemed to peel away his defenses, leaving him feeling exposed, vulnerable.
Sasha chuckled softly, a low sound that seemed to echo in the otherwise silent room. "Trust is a dangerous thing, Beom-ki. And I can see you're… struggling with it." His eyes glittered with a dark amusement as he watched Beom's reaction, as if he were savoring every flicker of doubt, every second of hesitation.
Beom swallowed, his throat dry as he fought to push back the rising tide of unease. But Sasha's words lingered, hanging in the air like a shadow, twisting deeper into his mind. "Is he... playing with me? Or is this a warning?" The thought clawed at him, making it nearly impossible to read Sasha's true intentions.
Sasha's smirk softened, his tone shifting as he leaned back, giving Beom just enough space to breathe. But his gaze remained fixed, intense and unwavering. "Don't worry too much," he murmured, his voice a silky reassurance that felt anything but comforting. "After all, we're… allies, aren't we?"
Sasha lingered close to Beom, his presence almost suffocating in its intensity. The faint scent of smoke from Sasha's tobacco mixed with something colder, sharper, as he leaned just inches from Beom's ear, his voice dropping to a low, seductive whisper that carried a threat wrapped in velvet.
"Just imagine if I wasn't on your side, but Yaroslav…" he murmured, each word unspooling with a chilling softness. His breath was warm against Beom's ear, teasing, as though savoring the effect his words had. "Do you think you would have survived?"
The words lingered, floating in the air like smoke, settling deep within Beom's mind. His jaw clenched, the muscles tightening as he felt the rush of tension coil through him, fighting the urge to flinch. Sasha's tone was disturbingly calm, with an edge that hinted at something darker. It was as if he wanted Beom to picture every possible outcome, every way this could go wrong, every narrow thread upon which Beom's survival hung. Sasha was a master at sowing doubt, unraveling defenses with the simplest of statements, all while keeping that maddeningly calm demeanor.
Beom's thoughts raced, but his face remained set in stone, his instincts forcing him to stay still, not to let any reaction slip through. Sasha's words cut deeper than he wanted to admit, twisting his own suspicions and feeding them back to him. "Is he testing me? Or is he… toying with me?" The questions clawed at his mind, but he forced himself to keep his gaze fixed forward, refusing to give Sasha the satisfaction of seeing him rattle.
Sasha gave a low chuckle, clearly enjoying the effect he had on Beom. He allowed a moment of silence to stretch, his presence still impossibly close, before his voice softened further. "Relax…" he said smoothly, his tone switching to something almost soothing, though it carried an undercurrent of command that left no room for doubt. "Stop letting your mind play games, Beom."
With that, Sasha finally pulled back, the space between them stretching, and Beom felt the air return to his lungs. He remained still for a heartbeat, his senses gradually adjusting, as though he'd been released from an invisible grip.