The boots hit the alley like a hammer on an anvil—twenty men at least, low-rank officials in dull gray uniforms, swords loose in their scabbards. Lanterns swung from their belts, throwing jagged shadows across the laundry lines. At their head walked Gu Chil's magistrate cousin, seal of office dangling from his sash like a promise of broken bones.
Seo-joon shoved the wrapped pot deeper behind the altar the instant the first shout rang out. No time to duplicate anything. The herbs he'd planned to double would have to wait. One wrong glance and the secret that had kept him alive would get them all executed for sorcery.
"Han Min-seo!" the cousin called, voice oily and loud enough for the whole row to hear. "By order of the district magistrate, you are summoned on suspicion of aiding coin forgery and demonic trickery. Step forward or we burn this rat's nest looking for you."
Min-seo froze beside Seo-joon, her torn blouse still clutched shut under his outer robe. The fresh bruise on her breast peeked at the edge of the fabric where his fingers had traced it minutes earlier. Her eyes met his—wide, furious, terrified. "They know my name. How?"
"Gu Chil sold you out," Seo-joon whispered, voice flat steel. "Stay behind me."
Mak-bong darted in from the alley mouth, face pale under the mud and blood. "They've got papers. Real ones. Wol's stalling them at the corner but they're coming straight here."
Old Lady Wol's voice carried from outside, sharp as a broken bottle. "You want the girl? You'll have to go through every hungry mouth in this row first, you paper-pushing bastard!"
A slap echoed. Wol cursed louder.
Seo-joon stepped out of the shrine with Min-seo half-hidden behind him. The cousin's smile widened when he saw her.
"There she is. The pretty delivery whore who spreads rumors and marked coins. Take her."
Two officials moved. Seo-joon blocked them with his body, hands empty but stance screaming fight. "She works for me. Under Deok-su's protection. Touch her and you touch him."
The cousin laughed once, soft and vicious. "Deok-su is a slum lord. The magistrate answers to the capital. This warrant names her specifically—witness testimony from honest collector Gu Chil that she helped the root seller mark coins with devil marks. Sorcery in the king's realm. She'll be questioned. Thoroughly."
The word "thoroughly" hung in the air like a threat of more than questions. Min-seo's hand brushed Seo-joon's back, nails digging through his shirt. He felt her tremble once, then go still. The same tremble he'd felt when his palm had rested against her bare breast.
He kept his voice calm, the way he used to talk down drunk salarymen back in Seoul. "Gu Chil is a thief and a liar. Deok-su has the ledger. Kang Yul has the proof. Arrest her now and you'll have a riot on your hands before noon. The market already hates your cousin's dog. How many sellers lose coin when word spreads that officials are dragging women away for selling porridge roots?"
The cousin's eyes narrowed. He stepped closer, close enough that Seo-joon could smell the cheap ink on the warrant. "Bold. But the magistrate already knows about your little business. He's interested. Very interested. Hand the girl over quietly and maybe your root trade survives. Refuse… and we take everyone. Including the boy and the old hag."
Behind them, Min-seo's breath brushed Seo-joon's ear. "Don't. Not for me. You said you'd destroy anyone who tried to take what's yours. Prove it."
Her voice was low, raw, laced with the same dark heat from the shrine. The words hit him low in the gut. She was daring him—daring the monster she both feared and wanted. His hand found her wrist behind his back and squeezed once, hard enough to remind her exactly who owned her in this moment.
He looked the cousin dead in the eye. "She stays. Take the warrant and shove it up your magistrate's ass. Tell him Deok-su will deliver Gu Chil's replacement deal by sunset tomorrow. Double the revenue. Triple if he leaves my people alone. Or he can explain to the capital why the entire poor market row suddenly stops paying taxes because his men are raping and arresting women over porridge."
The officials shifted, uneasy. One of them muttered something about "slum filth talking big."
The cousin's face twisted. He snapped his fingers. Two men lunged.
Seo-joon moved faster than he should have. He drove an elbow into the first man's throat, dropped him choking. The second grabbed for Min-seo—fingers brushing the robe over her torn blouse—and Seo-joon caught the wrist, twisted until bone creaked. The man howled.
Chaos erupted. Mak-bong hurled rocks. Wol screamed and swung her basket like a club. The officials drew swords but hesitated—riots were bad for careers.
The cousin stepped back, face red. "You've just bought yourself a full investigation. Tomorrow at noon we return with more men. If the girl isn't waiting with a confession, we burn this shrine and every root you own. And you—" He pointed at Seo-joon. "—will watch while we question her. Personally."
They retreated, dragging their injured, leaving the warrant nailed to a post like a death notice.
Silence fell heavy as graves.
Min-seo turned on Seo-joon the second the boots faded. She shoved him hard against the shrine wall, robe slipping off one shoulder again, exposing the curve of her breast and the bruise he'd claimed as his. Her eyes were wet with rage and something hotter.
"You almost let them take me," she hissed, fists bunched in his shirt. "You stood there calculating like I was just another ledger line. Then you fought like a demon the second they touched me." Her body pressed against his, hips flush, breath ragged. "Tell me the truth, Seo-joon. Was that for the business… or because you can't stand the thought of anyone else putting their hands where yours were?"
He grabbed her hips, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. He yanked her closer until there was nothing between them but sweat and torn cloth. "Both," he growled against her mouth. "The business keeps us alive. But you… you're mine. Not because I'm kind. Because the second I let them take you, I'm back to being the powerless bastard who got dumped and left for dead in Seoul. I won't let that happen again. Not to me. Not to what belongs to me."
Her lips crashed into his—angry, desperate, teeth and heat and the metallic taste of blood from the earlier fight. It wasn't soft. It wasn't love. It was survival and possession and the dark fire that had been building since the first time he'd protected her. Her hands clawed into his hair. His slid under the robe, palm flat against the bare skin of her back, then lower, cupping her ass through the thin skirt as he pinned her to the wall.
She broke the kiss with a gasp, forehead against his. "I hate what you're becoming," she whispered, voice shaking. "But I want you anyway. God help me, I want the monster too."
A cough from the alley mouth broke them apart.
Kang Yul stood there, ledger in hand, face carefully blank. "Deok-su heard the commotion. He wants you both. Now. The magistrate just sent a runner—Gu Chil is to be released at dawn unless you deliver proof that makes the warrant look like toilet paper. Sunset tomorrow is no longer enough. You have until first light."
Seo-joon released Min-seo slowly, but his hand stayed possessive on her waist. The pot waited behind the altar, still untouched.
He looked at the warrant nailed to the post, then at the woman whose lips were still swollen from his.
One night left.
And now the pot had to buy more than roots.
It had to buy blood.