The safehouse was a whirlwind of controlled chaos. Maps of Seoul were spread across a large table, lit by the cool glow of Lyra’s laptop bank. Alessandro stood over them, a predator tracing the veins of his prey—the city.

One of the Korean lieutenants, Mr. Kim, hung up his phone, his weathered face grim. “Minho’s people are spooked. They’re pulling back. Closing shops. The shipment… it is being moved up. They feel your presence, Bianchi-ssi. They are rats scurrying for deeper ...