The rusted hinges of the warehouse door screamed as they were forced open. I stood my ground, my muscles coiled like a spring, ready to strike whatever nightmare had followed us from the alleys of Gangnam. But the figure that stepped into the dim, flickering light was not a monster.
She looked to be in her early twenties, of average height, with sharp, aristocratic Chinese features that radiated a cold beauty. Her clothes were the first giveaway—expensive, high-end fabrics that stood in stark contrast to the filth of this abandoned sanctuary. She belonged to a world of luxury, not this graveyard of rusted iron.
I blocked her path, refusing to let her close the gap. "What do you want?" I demanded, my voice a low growl. "Are you lost? Or did you follow the wrong ghost?"
The girl didn't fight back. Instead, her eyes welled up with tears that seemed almost too perfect. "I'm looking for my sister," she sobbed, her voice trembling with a practiced fragility. "She's been missing for three days. I went to the police... we checked the cameras. I saw someone carrying her here. Please... let me see her."
Her eyes darted past me, locking onto S lying motionless on the tattered mattress. She let out a piercing cry and rushed forward, pushing past me as if I were invisible. "What have they done to you, you poor soul?!" she screamed, throwing herself by S's side.
To my utter shock, S's heavy eyelids flickered open. Through a haze of pain and exhaustion, she whispered, "Sai... you're here?"
"Yes," the girl, Sai, replied as she pulled S into a protective, tender embrace. "You're not alone anymore. Don't worry."
I stood frozen in place, a tidal wave of questions crashing through my mind. Sister? S had clearly told me she was Egyptian, yet this girl was undeniably Asian. Was I being played? Was this a theater of shadows I didn't yet understand?
Sai... S... Tian Long. The names rotated in my head like the tumblers of a lock I couldn't pick. What was the dark thread that bound these three together?
Sai turned toward me, her tear-streaked face now composed. She began to weave a tale of their lives—how they met, and why she called S her sister.
"I know you have many doubts," Sai said, extending a hand that looked delicate but felt strangely steady. "I know we don't look alike. I am Sai. We met when we were children, barely ten years old. My family was on a trip to the Pyramids in Egypt. We found a little girl, lost in the dark, suffocating tunnels of the Great Pyramid, crying for her father. My father took her in. We were raised as sisters under the same roof ever since."
I reached out and shook her hand. "I'm Ming. Nice to meet you."
"I see," I replied, though my internal alarm was screaming. "But what brought you to Korea?"
"A month-long trip," Sai sighed, her eyes drifting back to S. "But my sister's life turned upside down when a mysterious man started following her. Poor girl... her luck has always been cursed."
"You should go sit with her," I said, pointing toward the mattress. "I'm waiting for the doctor."
As she turned away, I felt a bitter taste in my mouth. Liar. My detective instincts were screaming that every word out of her mouth was a carefully crafted fiction. They hadn't come for a vacation; they were here for a deal in the heart of Gangnam's underworld. Someone had betrayed them, and now this "Sai" had been sent from China to clean up the mess and find the girl I suspected was their true leader—the legendary Tian Long.
The sound of footsteps echoed again, but this time it was Yohan. He burst in, drenched and breathless, clutching his medical bag. Without a word, he donned his surgical gloves. The room was soon filled with the sharp, clinical sting of antiseptics, mixing with the heavy scent of dust and old iron.
I watched as Yohan worked. He moved with a frantic urgency, numbing the wound and skillfully extracting the bullet that had been lodged in her flesh since the night Junho's men took her. S's body convulsed under his touch, beads of cold sweat breaking out on her pale forehead. She began to deliriously mutter fragments of broken sentences.
And then, the tattoo.
The mark on her neck—S#003—began to throb with a violent, crimson light. It emitted a high-frequency vibration that seemed to grow louder every time she winced in pain. Yohan, however, seemed to ignore it with a terrifying focus, as if looking directly at it would invite a curse. He finished the stitches with trembling hands, his own face becoming as ashen as his patient's.
"I'm done," Yohan whispered, his voice sounding like dry parchment. He packed his tools with a clatter, refusing to meet my eyes. He looked sick, haunted.
"I'll walk you out," I said, sensing he had something to say that wasn't meant for Sai's ears.
Once we were outside, shrouded by the heavy curtain of rain, Yohan turned to me. He grabbed my shoulder, his grip painfully tight. "Do you even know who you're dealing with, Ming?"
"I know... she's gang-affiliated. Gangnam is full of them."
Yohan let out a harsh, cynical laugh that turned into a cough. He leaned in, his breath cold against my ear. "If only it were that simple. My advice to you, Ming? Get away from her. Even if you see dogs tearing her flesh apart right in front of you, keep walking. Don't look back. This isn't a girl... it's a death sentence."
Before I could ask him what he meant, he vanished into the blackness of the alley. As I turned to go back inside, I found Sai standing at the doorway, her silhouette framed by the dim light of the warehouse. She had been watching us.
"What was the doctor saying before he left?" she asked, her voice silky and dangerous.
"Nothing important," I lied, lighting a cigarette. I took a deep drag, the smoke mixing with the humid air. "Just medical instructions on how to care for the wound."
"Mmm. Good. He seems... kind-hearted."
I leaned against the cold wall, exhaling a cloud of smoke into the void. "Do you know who did this to your 'sister'?"
"I don't know," she replied smoothly. "She was alone when she was attacked."
I stared at her through the haze of smoke, neither of us moving. Then, the silence was shattered.
From the distance, the low, rhythmic wail of a police siren began to pierce through the sound of the rain. It was getting closer.
I turned my gaze toward Sai. Her face, which had been so composed, suddenly drained of all color. She became as pale as a sheet of ice. Her limbs began to tremble visibly, and her eyes darted frantically between her sister and every possible exit in the warehouse, like a trapped predator looking for a way out.
The siren grew louder, a crimson and blue warning screaming through the night.