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It was everywhere. Streaked across the walls. In puddles on the floor.

He had slaughtered her in the most gruesome way possible.

My chest aches as I stare around the dark shapes of my bedroom and scrub the disturbing images from my mind.

Monroe had been discarded on the floor, so battered and torn open she was unrecognizable.

Violence has never bothered me before.

And yet…

The day passes in a blur.

I go through the motions—collecting debts, checking in with members of my crew, cutting a new business deal with an arms supplier. I throw jabs and kicks into a heavy bag at the gym until my knuckles bleed and I’m slicked with sweat.

All the while, the only thing I can think about is Monroe.

How she has eight hours left to live. Then six. Then three…

I remind myself over and over again that this is what has to happen. Jae-hyun is the Baekho-je and he called for her death. It was a direct order.

I marked her.

She must die. It’s the Baekho Pa’s way.

Yet it doesn’t matter how many times I remind myself this. It’s beyond logic and reason that deep regret starts filling my lungs like sand, making it hard to breathe clearly.

The sun sets as the time ticks toward eight p.m.

I make a snap decision and grab my phone. In-soo answers before the first ring is even over.

“Yes?”

“It’s off,” I say quickly. “It’s canceled. Do not touch her. You hear me?”

There’s a pause, sounds of the wind whipping in the background.

“I’m already outside the building.”

“So walk away! I don’t want to carry out this job. You can keep the deposit?—”

“We had an agreement,” he interrupts. “It was made, so the job will be done.”

“Listen, you fucking bastard—I’m telling you it’s off. Don’t go into her building! Don’t lay a finger on her!”

“I don’t have time for this. I’ll update you once it’s complete.”

And then he hangs up.

I stare at the phone, my breathing hard and stilted. It takes me a second to process what the fuck he just said. That he’s still fucking going through with it.

I’m at the Claw Lounge as I pivot on my heel and sprint toward the door, hoping I won’t be too late.

I tear through the city like traffic rules don’t exist.

My tires screech across the asphalt as I cut through an intersection. A red light flashes, but instead of pressing the brakes, I slam on the gas. Other cars honk and drivers poke their heads out the window to yell.

I’m already gone, racing across the city.