The street outside gleamed with rain, neon lights blurring into the puddles like smeared paint. Eli's grip tightened around Seol-ah's wrist as he pulled her from the studio, the door slamming shut behind them.
"Where are we even going?" she snapped, stumbling to keep up.
"Somewhere he can't follow." His tone was clipped, low—like even speaking might draw the shadow closer.
They darted down an alley, past shuttered shops and overflowing gutters. The air was thick with the smell of wet pavement and cigarette smoke. The city felt louder here, like its pulse was right beneath their feet.
Seol-ah yanked her wrist free, her breath fogging in the cold. "Enough! I'm not taking another step until you tell me what's going on. Who is he? Why is he doing this to me?"
Eli turned to face her, the streetlight carving hard lines across his face. Rain dripped from his hair and slid down his jaw. He stared at her for a long moment, like he was measuring how much truth she could handle.
Finally, he said, "He used to be your mentor."
The word hit heavy. "Mentor?"
"You apprenticed under him before opening your own studio. He taught you everything—composition, lighting, even darkroom tricks." Eli's mouth tightened. "But he wanted more than your skill."
Her stomach twisted. "More?"
He stepped closer, voice dropping. "He wanted you. And when you chose me…" His jaw clenched. "He didn't handle it well."
Her pulse skipped. "So the accident—"
"—wasn't an accident," Eli finished. "He tried to erase me from your life. And when that didn't work…" His eyes flicked toward the street. "…he started erasing you."
A sound cut him off—the sharp snap of a shutter. Click.
Seol-ah spun, lifting her camera instinctively. At the far end of the alley, a man in a wide-brimmed hat stood half-hidden in the shadows, a Polaroid camera raised. Rain slid off its casing like tears.
A flash exploded.
Eli grabbed her hand. "Run!"
They bolted, shoes splashing against the slick pavement. Neon signs smeared past—MOTEL, OPEN 24 HOURS—colors too bright against the dark. Behind them, the steady rhythm of boots echoed, calm, unhurried, as though he already knew they had nowhere to hide.
Seol-ah's lungs burned, but she didn't stop until Eli yanked her into the doorway of an abandoned print shop. The metal gate clattered shut, swallowing them in darkness.
Her heartbeat roared in her ears. Outside, the footsteps clicked against the wet pavement, then faded.
Breathless, she turned to him. "You should have told me sooner."
Eli's eyes met hers in the dark. "And would you have believed me?"
Neither of them spoke after that. Rain tapped against the broken glass, neon bleeding faintly through the cracks.
The silence between them felt close—dangerously close—to breaking.