Page 135 of Ruthless Touch

It means grandfather, but it’s a term used to denote all highly respected and ranking older men.

“Gun-woo,” he says calmly. “You look well. Rested.”

“Thank you.”

“The beach suited you.”

I don’t ask how he knows about Jeju. The Cheongryong-je knows everything worth knowing.

“It did,” I admit.

He leans back in his chair, steepling his fingers as he surveys me. “Tell me what you learned there.”

It’s an unexpected question that’s not about geographyorvacation recommendations. I consider my words carefully.

“That peace is possible. Even for people like us.”

“Hmmm.” He reaches into his desk drawer and withdraws a manila folder, placing it on the desk space between us. “Do you know what this contains?”

“I’m not sure I that I do, harabeoji.”

“Everything,” he confirms. “Everything about what’s happened is in here. Jerald Quinn’s betrayal. His manipulation and duplicitous use of the Vanguard Agency. The poisoning of your father. The collapse of their Korean operations.” He taps a finger against the folder. “Everything you did to make it right.”

I say nothing. Mostly because I’m still not sure what he expects of me.

“Your father was many things,” the Cheongryong-je continues, musing aloud. “Ambitious. Ruthless. Effective. But he was also... limited. By his short-sightedness. By his need to control everything and everyone around him.”

Still, I’m silent, unsure how to respond to his criticism of my father. His assessment is accurate if not fair.

“You,” he says, leaning forward slightly, “you did something he never could have done.”

“What’s that?”

“You saw past your own pain. Past your own desire for revenge against the Black Suits. You found the truth, even when it was inconvenient. Even when it complicated everything you thought you knew. You didn’t just avenge your father, Gun-woo. You made itright.”

The words hit harder than I expected.

Making it right—that’s all I’d wanted, in the end. Not just blood for blood, but actual justice.

Actual truth.

I wanted to give Elise that and more by righting the wrongs from the past.

“Your father’s seat in this organization was earned through violence and fear,” the Cheongryong-je says. “But you… you earned yours through courage and honor. You didn’t inherit your father’s position, Gun-woo. Youearnedit.”

He opens the folder and withdraws something that makes my breath catch.

It’s a small pin made of a blue dragon’s head, his red horns polished and distinctive.

The mark of a Cheongryong lieutenant.

“Rhee Gun-woo,” he says formally, rising from his chair. “I name you Red Horn of the Cheongryong. You will carry your father’s responsibilities, but you will not carry his methods. You will be your own kind of dragon.”

I stand as well, bowing deeply as he comes around the desk. When he pins the insignia to my lapel, his hands are steady despite his age, a paternal air in the gesture.

“Your woman,” he muses. “She has honor. Loyalty. Fire. These are good qualities in a lieutenant’s woman.”

I meet his eyes. “She’s not just my woman. She’s my equal.”