The alley smelled of rain and old neon. Min-joon sat against the brick wall with Lin's head resting in his lap, the boy's breath rising faintly against his arm. For a long while he didn't move, didn't dare, afraid that the world might flicker back into that hollow plain if he loosened his grip even for a heartbeat.
Keller was the first to break the silence. He slung his rifle over his shoulder and scanned the mouth of the alley. Beyond, Seoul pulsed with its familiar rhythm—cars humming down distant streets, a motorcycle growling past, neon signs flickering in pink and blue. Normal. Ordinary. Alive.
And yet, nothing about it felt right. The night air had a thickness, as if the city itself were holding its breath.
"Doesn't look like anyone's screaming," Keller muttered, but his voice carried no relief. "No mimics. No black sludge. Just… quiet."
