The car rumbled down the dirt road, kicking up a cloud of dust. Jun-ho gripped the wheel tightly, his jaw clenched. Salin sat beside him, mentally reviewing the route to the so-called neutral zone, fingers drumming against his knee.
They pulled over discreetly near an abandoned warehouse.
A tall Black man stood nearby, the kind of presence that had clearly been in fights without ever needing to raise his voice. Broad shoulders, well-groomed beard, shaved head cut with surgical precision.
The kind of beauty that didn't ask for permission, it just existed.
It was Alexandre. He was already waiting.
The man leaned against a black car, blazer slung over one shoulder, carrying the look of someone who'd lived more than he ever wanted. When he saw them approach, he straightened up.
But his eyes didn't go to Jun-ho.
They locked onto Salin.
