Mung nodded, his face impassive, but inside, he was recalculating everything he knew about Jun-ho's husband.
— Get up, Salin — Mung said, his voice strangely calm.
Salin got to his feet, dusting off his jacket, trying to regain his composure. His heart was pounding against his ribs.
— You didn't even look back — Mung observed, walking up to him. — You read my intention to kill before I even raised my gun.
— I saw your focus shift — Salin replied, his voice a little hoarse. — Instinct.
Mung looked at the bullet hole in the wall behind where Salin had been. If the kid had hesitated, if he had turned to see what it was, he would have been seriously injured.
— Most people freeze. Or turn to look — Mung said, holstering his gun. There was a new kind of respect in his voice, something that went beyond shooting technique. — You don't just have good aim, kid. You have the reflexes of someone who's already lived through hell.
He signaled toward the car.
