They shoved her inside and the lock slid home with a metallic clang.

Eva spun, expecting concrete walls and rusted chains. Something brutal. Something that stank of mildew and iron.

Instead—silence. Clean air.

The room was modern, minimalist. White walls. Polished stone. A bed so crisp it might’ve belonged in a luxury hotel. A low table with water pitchers and glass tumblers that gleamed under recessed lights.

And one entire wall—glass. Floor-to-ceiling, bulletproof, overlooking Seoul’s ...