The video played for the hundredth time. My eyes were bloodshot, tracing every frame, every shadow behind her. My coffee had grown ice-cold hours ago, forgotten next to an ashtray overflowing with the stubs of my frustration.
"The cage is empty, the bird has flown, and the hunter sits now on a broken throne..." Her voice, that melodic poison, vibrated in my ears. I leaned closer to the screen. Suddenly, a flicker of light caught my eye—a reflection in the window behind her. It was a neon sign of a boutique I knew well. My heart skipped a beat. "Gangnam," I whispered. "You're in Gangnam."
I jolted upright, the chair screeching against the floor. "Squad, move out! Target location: Gangnam hideout. This time, S, the cage won't just be locked—it will be buried."
Inside the dim, smoke-choked sanctuary of the Dragon, I stood up with a chilling calmness. I walked toward Typhon, my hand striking his chest in a rhythmic, taunting beat. "What are you waiting for? Do it! Kill me, Typhon!"
A jagged laugh escaped my throat, tasting like salt and tears. "Death must be beautiful. But tell my father... tell him I'll miss him, even if he's the one pulling the strings."
Typhon's face was a mask of pale stone. He didn't utter a word. "Tell me the truth," I pressed, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Did my father really order this? Or are you playing your own filthy game? Are you tired of being a shadow? Do you want to be the Master now?"
He remained silent, but I could see the pity swirling in his eyes. I wanted it to be him. I needed to believe it was his betrayal, not my father's cold command. "One last question before we begin," I said, tilting my head. "Is death faster by a bullet... or by silk?"
Suddenly, the lights died. Darkness swallowed the room. Panic, cold and sharp, clawed at my chest. "I'm sorry, My Lady," Typhon's voice came through the blackness, shivering with a cold finality.
The Dragon had escaped the cage, but the Hunter's bullet was faster than freedom.
The last thing I remember was the deafening roar of a gunshot, followed by a pain so excruciating it felt like my soul was being torn apart.
We stormed the hideout like a whirlwind of steel and thunder. My breath was ragged, burning my lungs like wildfire. My blood was screaming, my finger itching on the trigger. I was going to end this.
But as we broke through the final door, the silence hit me like a physical blow. The air was thick with the suffocating stench of expensive tobacco and spilled whiskey. Shattered glasses littered the floor. The place was a tomb.
Empty.
I walked slowly through the wreckage, my boots crunching on glass.
My eyes searched for a ghost, a trail, anything. Then, I saw it. The blood drained from my face. My legs felt like lead.
On the cold, dusty floor lay her red Cheongsam—the same one from the video. It was torn, soaked in a deep, crimson stain that looked black under the dim light. Next to it, the Dragon's seal was scorched, burned beyond recognition.
I sank against the wall, the silk trembling in my hands. It was still warm. "No..." I gasped. Regret began to claw at my throat, suffocating me. I had pushed too hard. My obsession had driven her into a corner where death was the only exit.
The Dragon had flown, but the fall was fatal.
I stood there, frozen in the wreckage of my own victory, knowing that the guilt would haunt me longer than she ever did.