Page 5

“I… Monroe,” I choke out, the word mangled in my throat. “M-Monroe Ross.”

He stares for a moment, his dark eyes cold and hostile. “Where do you live?”

I swallow down more nausea. “H-Here… I… I live here.”

“Here?” he lashes out, his tone sharp and impatient. “Here? You live in this filthy alley? Is that what you mean?”

“No… no… I meant Busan. I-I live in Busan. I’m a… I’m just a teacher. Please. I’m on my way h-home.”

“Enough,” he interrupts. “I have no interest in hearing your stutters… or having your tears spill on my shoes.”

The men behind me chuckle. This is entertainment for them, just like stabbing the man bleeding out in the puddle.

I’ve tried not to look directly at him for fear I’ll gasp or cry all over again—I’ve never seen a dead body before—but Jin forces me to.

He turns from me to the man collapsed in the puddle, now motionless. He plants a boot on the man’s side and yanks the large knife free with a sickening wet sound. Blood slides downthe blade in nauseating fashion, like some grotesque scene out of a horror film.

The smell of it hits me all at once—copper that’s heavy and metallic and so potent I soon taste it on my tongue.

He’s facing me again, watching the blood drip from the blade, in a sudden state of calm. “What did you see tonight?”

I almost gag trying to answer. A wave of nausea rises up my throat and threatens to spew past my lips. Forcing it back down with a hard swallow, I urge myself to play along. Answer his questions and pray he’ll show mercy.

But it’s so hard when my hands tremble violently and I can’t even think.

“Nothing,” I answer. “I-I didn’t see anything. I got lost and I just made a… a wrong turn. If you just?—”

“Because if you did see something, then there would be a problem.”

He takes a step toward me, and I immediately flinch. Crouching down so we’re almost eye level, he digs his fingers into my tight curls and yanks my head back. I have no choice but to look up at him.

He presses the knife to my throat. The steel blade is cold, wet, and sharp at the same time, kissing my skin in the most brutal way.

I’m frozen, every muscle inside me painfully tense.

“I could so easily slit your beautiful throat in this alley,” he muses aloud. “And no one would ever know. No one would ever dare come looking for you. Would you like that to be your fate?”

“No,” I whisper. It’s all I can think to say. What else can I at this point?

The moment feels like it goes on forever.

My head’s reeling, my heart racing. I’m dizzy and nauseous and terrified beyond belief. I’m honestly a few seconds awayfrom pissing myself. Something I’m definitelynotproud to admit.

Jin seems to hold me in this position for pure sadistic enjoyment, taking his time to decide what he wants to do. If he wants to slit my throat and end me.

Then, at last, he pulls the blade away and shoves it into the hand of another henchman nearby.

I almost pass out from the intense relief that crashes down on me.

Jin straightens up to his full height once more. He reaches into the pocket of his leather jacket and withdraws a tiny glass vial containing some kind of black substance.

“Do you know what this is?”

I can only shake my head in answer, my breaths hitching out of me.

“It’s called muk,” he explains. “Ink. Made from soot and glue. We use it for seoye—traditional calligraphy. But sometimes…” He pauses to uncap the vial. “A special version is concocted and used for ceremonies. And for gang initiations and rituals. It is used to mark what is owned by us.”

Why is he telling me this? What does this have to do with letting me go?