The plane jolted. Wheels screamed.

Eva’s head snapped forward, wrists burning under the ropes. Giovanni’s boot still haunted her ribs; every breath scraped raw.

Outside was Seoul.

Her Seoul.

It should have been monsoon rain and street food, her father’s hand tugging her through Gwangjang Market. Instead: jet fuel, cold concrete, neon cutting the night like knives.

A hand clamped her jaw. Perfume, cloying and sweet.

“Wake up, darling,” Katerina purred. “You don’t want to miss ...