Slowly, he let out a steadying breath, though he didn't trust himself to glance back. Instead, he fixed his gaze forward and took a single, measured step toward the door, every nerve on edge as he forced himself to keep moving. Pushing the door open, Beom slipped out, feeling the tension release as soon as he stepped into the corridor, free from the unsettling closeness of Sasha's presence.
The air outside felt like a rush of relief, but his heart continued to race, his breaths coming faster than he'd realized. He hadn't been aware of it, but he'd been holding himself rigid in there, bracing against the tension, against Sasha's disarming words. It was as though he'd been holding his breath the entire time, and now he let it out, filling his lungs with fresh air, steadying himself.
"Damn it," he thought, running a hand through his hair, frustration mingling with something deeper, something darker. Sasha's words, his tone, the way he'd lingered close enough to feel the warmth of his breath—everything was designed to unravel his defenses, to make him second-guess every assumption.
Beom let out a shallow, shaky breath as he made his way down the dimly lit hallway back to his room. His footsteps echoed slightly against the quiet, each one marking a steady rhythm, though his thoughts were anything but calm. He could still feel the weight of Sasha's presence, the lingering sensation of his breath against his ear, that dangerously soft voice that had wrapped around him like a vice, sowing seeds of doubt and tension.
Reaching his room, he opened the door and slipped inside, closing it softly behind him. For a moment, he leaned against the door, eyes closed, breathing deep to steady himself, trying to shake the hold Sasha's words had on him. But even now, alone, he felt as though a shadow of Sasha's manipulative influence clung to him, like an unwanted chill he couldn't quite shake off.
Meanwhile, back in his own space, Sasha sprawled comfortably across the couch, every inch of him exuding a lazy confidence, like a predator biding its time. The room was dim, the only light coming from the faint embers of his tobacco. He took a slow drag, letting the smoke curl up and drift lazily through the room. His pale blue eyes held a glint of amusement as he watched the smoke fade, his thoughts drifting back to Beom.
Sasha's mouth curled into a satisfied smirk. He could still see the flash of uncertainty in Beom's eyes, the way he had hesitated, questioning. Sasha relished the thought—planting seeds of doubt and watching them grow was a particular talent of his, and this game, this unraveling of Beom's confidence, was proving to be especially enjoyable.
"This is going to be fun," he mused to himself, his voice a low, almost purring murmur in the quiet of the room. "Breaking him... watching him fall apart... it'll be so much fun."
With a faint chuckle, Sasha stretched one arm along the back of the couch, his demeanor relaxed yet sharp, like a coiled serpent, poised and ready. He reached for his phone, dialing with a familiar ease, and waited for the call to connect. Bringing it to his ear, he let out a slow breath, settling even deeper into his seat as he spoke in smooth, practiced Russian.
"Да, продолжаем по плану." The words rolled off his tongue with a practiced ease, his tone firm yet unhurried, each syllable laced with a quiet authority that left no room for uncertainty.
He let the words linger for a moment, his gaze drifting back to the doorway as if he could still see Beom's retreating figure, still savoring the last traces of their tense encounter. The call ended with a soft click, and Sasha placed his phone aside, reclining deeper into the plush cushions of the couch, looking every bit as pleased as a wolf with its prey in sight.
Taking another long drag from his tobacco, he exhaled slowly, watching the smoke swirl upward, dissipating into the dimness of the room.
Beom sat at his laptop, draped in a simple bathrobe, his fingers tapping away on the keyboard with a focused intensity. The warm glow of the screen cast a faint light across his face, the lines of concentration evident in his brow as he stared at his screen. The room was quiet, almost eerily so, save for the soft hum of his laptop. He leaned back slightly, exhaling as he hit the call button, and waited for Nakwon to pick up.
"Hello... yes, I've found him. My partner... Sasha, right?" Beom's voice was steady, but there was a subtle edge to it. It was rare for him to voice doubts outright, but something about Sasha gnawed at him, a prickle of mistrust that he couldn't shake.
Nakwon's familiar tone crackled through the phone, reassuring in its steadiness. "Yep..." Nakwon replied, a touch of curiosity slipping into his voice, as though he could already sense the unease in Beom's words.
Beom paused, gathering his thoughts, his fingers absently drumming against the edge of the laptop. "Nakwon, can you just... do a little background check on Sasha for me?" He kept his voice low, almost conspiratorial, as though Sasha could somehow hear him through the walls. "I just don't trust him. Something about him feels... off." His words hung in the air, weighted with a suspicion he couldn't fully explain.
There was a brief silence on the other end, then Nakwon's voice came back, thoughtful, but tinged with a familiar protectiveness. "Okay, got it. But still, if you feel something's wrong, trust your instincts, Beom. People like that... they're hard to read. And if he's playing any kind of game, better to be one step ahead."
Beom nodded, even though Nakwon couldn't see him, feeling a flicker of relief at his friend's words. "Yes, got it." He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face as if to clear away the lingering doubts.
The conversation turned, his tone softening. "For now... Nakwon, can you do me a favor?" he asked, his voice gentler, almost hesitant. "Could you visit my mom? My sister's leaving for the States tomorrow, and I just want to make sure Mom isn't left alone. She means the world to me."
Nakwon's response was immediate, unwavering. "Of course, Beom. Don't worry about it. I'll check in on her, make sure she's doing alright."
Beom felt a wave of gratitude wash over him, and for a moment, the tension in his chest eased. "Thank you," he murmured, his gaze softening as he looked down, gathering himself.
With a final exchange of goodbyes, he closed his laptop, sitting in silence for a moment, his mind racing. He knew Nakwon would be thorough, that he'd leave no stone unturned.
Beom stretched and yawned, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle into his bones. "I should get some sleep. I'm pretty tired," he mumbled to himself, the words almost a sigh as he dragged himself up from his chair. Shutting down his laptop, he shuffled toward his bed, the soft folds of his robe brushing against his skin. The room felt warmer, inviting him into the comfort he sorely needed, and as he lay down, the world around him faded into a hazy blur. Within moments, his breathing softened, and sleep took him in its arms.
It didn't take long before he slipped into a dream, one so vivid it felt like reality tightening around him. He was somewhere dark, unfamiliar—the air thick with an ominous silence. Suddenly, he felt a pressure against his hand. His pulse raced as he looked down, his eyes widening at the sight of rough, gloved hands holding his wrist in a vice-like grip. He tried to pull away, but the grip only tightened, and his fingers were forcefully splayed open. A metallic glint caught his eye—a pair of pliers, large and sinister, drawing nearer to his outstretched fingers.
The figure before him was a looming shadow, cold and unyielding. He could hear the soft, sinister scrape of metal as the pliers drew closer, each second stretching into a tense eternity. Beom's breaths came faster, his heart pounding painfully in his chest. He fought to pull his hand away, panic rising like bile in his throat as the pliers closed in on his knuckles. The pressure mounted, the threat of pain sharper than any real blow.
And then, in a sudden jolt, Beom shot up in bed, his chest heaving as he snapped back into reality. His eyes darted around the room, taking in the gentle morning light spilling through the curtains. He felt his heart thundering beneath his ribs, his breath still heavy with the remnants of fear. Reflexively, he looked down at his knuckles, almost expecting to see bruises or the marks of the pliers' metal teeth. But his skin was smooth, untouched—only a faint tremor in his hand hinting at the nightmare that had gripped him so fiercely.
A nervous chuckle escaped him, his voice breaking the morning silence. "It was just a dream," he whispered to himself, shaking his head as he took another deep, calming breath.
Beom moved with purpose as he got out of bed, still feeling a twinge of lingering unease from his dream. After taking a deep breath, he headed to the bathroom, letting the cool water wash over his face and shake off any remnants of that unsettling vision. He dressed carefully, picking out clothes that looked both sharp and unassuming, blending professionalism with his instinct to remain inconspicuous. Once his attire was settled, he pulled on his mask, ensuring it covered his features just enough to keep him from being easily recognized. Today's meeting with Sasha was critical; they needed to finalize the next steps of their mission, and Beom wanted to be fully prepared.
With measured strides, he walked through the hall, his footsteps barely making a sound. As he approached Sasha's room, he lifted his hand to knock, only for the door to swing open before he could make contact. A man with a striking scar slicing across his eye stepped out, his gaze steady and piercing. The scar added a rugged sharpness to his face, making him look like someone who'd seen more than a few battles. Beom instinctively gave him a slight nod, his eyes quickly assessing the stranger. The man returned the nod without a word, his expression stoic as he passed by and disappeared down the hall.
Curiosity tugged at Beom, but he pushed it aside as he stepped into the room.
"Oh, hey, good morning, Beom," Sasha greeted, looking up from behind his desk. His demeanor was calm, almost nonchalant, but there was a certain intensity in his eyes that couldn't be masked. Today, Sasha looked strikingly formal. He was dressed in a fitted, dark suit, the lines of the fabric sharp and immaculate. A pair of glasses perched on his nose added an unexpected sophistication, framing his gaze in a way that accentuated the subtle, calculating glint in his eyes. The glasses lent him an air of authority, making him seem even more handsome—if dangerously so.
Papers were scattered across Sasha's desk, a chaotic map of their mission's details, with notes, photos, and documents spilling over each other. It was a scene that suggested he'd been working tirelessly, but there was also a sense of controlled chaos, as if he knew exactly where every piece belonged in his grander strategy.
Beom's eyes drifted to the door, recalling the man he'd just encountered. He couldn't shake the curiosity. There was something about the man that felt out of place, almost as if he didn't belong to their mission but was somehow entangled in it. Beom finally gave in to his instincts, asking the question that had been on his mind.
"Who was that… the man with the scar?" he asked, his tone casual but laced with genuine curiosity.
Sasha leaned back in his chair, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He took a moment, as if contemplating how much to reveal, his fingers tapping lightly on the desk.
"Ah, him?" Sasha replied smoothly, tilting his head slightly. "That was Viktor. He's one of our… specialists. Has a particular set of skills that come in handy when we're dealing with… shall we say, more 'sensitive' aspects of the mission." His voice held a subtle edge, as if there were layers to his words that he wasn't quite spelling out.
Beom's eyes lingered on Sasha as he stood up and moved toward the curtains. His every step seemed intentional, each movement slow and calculated, as if he held the room in the palm of his hand. With a quick pull, Sasha drew the heavy curtains closed, shutting out the slivers of morning light that had spilled into the room. The atmosphere shifted instantly, growing dimmer and more enclosed, a heavy sort of anticipation hanging in the air. Beom raised an eyebrow, feeling the tension build.