(TWO WEEKS BEFORE STORM)
The Queen paused, her gaze sweeping across the board like a blade unsheathing in slow motion. She said nothing.
She didn't need to.
The digital board glowed in the dim room, its harsh blue light slicing through the dark, casting sharp shadows across the six women seated in a semicircle.
At the helm of the table sat the Queen—Helena—her posture regal and unreadable, a porcelain mask veiling her face. Arms folded, legs crossed, her stillness radiated authority. The air was thick, the silence not empty but filled—brimming with the unspoken tension of loyalty, unfinished business, and the echo of past bloodshed.
With a curt nod, she signaled them to begin.
Hana, ever the first to pick up the thread, rose fluidly. The soft tap of her boots against the marble floor echoed faintly as she walked over to the digital board, a sleek tablet tucked in her arm.
As she swiped across its surface, the board came alive—photos snapped mid-motion, surveillance stills with timestamp overlays, redacted reports now bared open like wounds. Everything that had unfolded in Helena's absence was now arranged in visual precision on the board.
The five women each took turns stepping forward, voices sharp and steady as they relayed the critical developments across Korea.
"Red Dragons is currently the most powerful mafia group in the country," Areum reported, arms crossed behind her back, gaze fixed on Helena even though she knew the Queen already was aware. "Unlike globally, where they rank beneath us—Black Panther—here, their Korean franchise outpowers ours."
"Their base of strength has always been Korea," Helena finally spoke, her voice smooth and cold like steel pulled from ice. "In contrast, our foundation was New York."
"Was?" Harin's brows drew together, her ears catching the shift in tense. "So you really are planning to relocate?"
"We've amassed enough power to return," Helena leaned back in her chair, the leather creaking softly beneath her. Her masked face tilted slightly. "After all, the hunt for truth is best done from the land it was buried in."
They exchanged looks. She had a plan. Of course she did.
They spent the night dissecting and reassembling every thread. The room filled with murmured strategies, the soft clicks of tablets, the flicker of maps and overlays. Every breath, every sentence held weight.
Minji's voice broke the silence next, calm and edged with perpetual caution. "Shipment from Red Ruby lands in one week, 3 a.m. sharp. Code Red crate will move through Incheon under the radar."
"I've already falsified customs data," Hana chimed in, eyes flicking between her laptop and tablet. The gum in her mouth clicked rhythmically as her fingers danced over touchscreens. "No alerts on our end. Drones will sweep the port every three minutes. Thermal's locked in and synced."
"No room for error," Areum added coolly. Her voice was melodic, calm, but there was a blade beneath the silk. "If they sniff even a trace of us, the entire Opal Route collapses."
Her voice was a weapon—smooth enough to disarm, firm enough to conquer. It was why diplomats surrendered in her presence without ever realizing they had.
None interrupted the other—they had long since learned to move in sync, shaped by years of orchestrating crime together. Each one knew exactly when to speak and how to play their designated role. Every sentence flowed seamlessly from one to the next.
"I'll assign Minho," Minji said, barely blinking. "He owes us three crates and a pair of lungs."
"He should have paid before I got creative" Harin muttered.
Soyeon, who had been idly spinning a revolver around her finger, leaned forward, eyes skimming the digital map. "What about rooftop activity? Too many vantage points. Snipers or not, the docks are a playground."
Helena remained still, observing, absorbing. She never interrupted unless it was necessary.
"Already accounted for," Harin flipped through a black folder, precise and unhurried. "My scouts will perch tonight. If anyone even blinks wrong…" She smirked, sharp and confident. "They won't blink again."
Soyeon's gaze lingered on her just a moment longer. She remembered the days when Harin and her scouts could arrive within minutes—and vanish into the shadows just as quickly, before anyone could even comprehend their presence. That was two years ago. And as the five other members of the inner circle began to grasp what was unfolding, their rival gang's four hundred men collapsed onto the cold floor—throats slit, stomachs stabbed, arms severed.
The smirk didn't go unnoticed.
Hana's sly grin returned as she pulled up 3D models onto the board, a quick flick of her fingers layering the screen with visuals and bullet points. "New AI prototype's live. I ran simulations against every government counter-op we've faced." Her grin grew crooked. "We're still untouchable."
Minji allowed herself a small grin. "You say that like it's surprising."
A beat passed.
The Queen's gaze, ever still and deliberate, scanned each of their faces.
Then, she finally spoke. "And the Russians?"
Minji didn't flinch. "Still playing diplomat. But they'll bend once we pull off the Seoul raid."
"Last time they 'played diplomat,' we burned their vodka shipments." Soyeon commented lowly.
Harin grinned at the reminder of the lesson they had granted.
Areum leaned in slightly, her whisper cutting through the air like a lace-wrapped dagger. "Speak softly. But carry a bigger gun."
Hana allowed herself a slight chuckle, placing her spinning revolver on the table. It whirred in a circle before slowing to a stop with a sharp clack. "I like the way she thinks."
And as they always did, they circled back to that night. It had become a ritual—not one of mourning, but of forensic memory. Of digging and re-digging until something broke loose.
The screen flickered. A blueprint appeared, grainy and flickering. Then a short, soundless video. Flames. Screams—muffled. No title. No captions. But they all knew what it was.
Only Haseul—now masked as Helena—felt the jolt of a memory strike her:
Her little sobbing form secretly watching her mother's broken smile through a narrow crack in the almirah.
Her stomach dropped every time that cursed black video played, flickering with flames and screams.
The video was the only legal evidence that proved that the tragedy had truly happened.
Hana's voice dropped to a tired whisper, her usual edge dulled by years of frustration. "I re-ran the surveillance glitch from eight years ago. Still the same blackout window. Nine minutes."
Areum's eyes locked with Helena's masked face. "Too clean to be a coincidence."
Minji murmured, "Too clean to be an accident."
Harin's jaw clenched, her fingers curling around the edge of her chair. "No explosion leaves no shrapnel. No wreck leaves no debris. But that night… we got ash. Just ash."
Soyeon's voice lost its usual lilt. "The silence was too loud."
The dim light casted a slight glow on each of their faces.
Areum's eyes lingered on a photo—an old one. A young woman, a birthmark tucked just beneath her left ear. Her expression softened, just slightly. "And too well-paid for."
Helena didn't speak. But her hand—usually still—flexed subtly at her side. It was the only visible crack in her ice.
'Eight years. Still ashes and no clues.' the thought taunted her cruelly.
"Keep digging," she ordered. "Quietly."
They nodded. None of them truly understood why Helena cared so deeply about the Song family tragedy from eight years ago. None dared ask. To them, it made no sense. Helena was a figure forged in fire, but the Song family had always been above violence. Especially the now-chairman, Mr. Song Sehun.
None could've imagined that Helena was the daughter of that family.
Hana's voice was a murmur. "There's one name. Buried deep in deleted metadata. Could be nothing."
"Or everything," Harin whispered back.
Areum's diplomat tone returned—this time, steel-wrapped velvet. "We don't speak it yet. Not until we're sure."
Minji, quieter now: "And when we are?"
Helena's eyes focused sharply on the video. Even through the distortion, the pain in the muffled screams rang clear. Her voice was ice.
"We don't warn them."
A heavy silence fell, thicker than before. Ruthless in its finality.
Soyeon, brave or foolish, dared to ask, "You think they've forgotten?"
Helena turned to her. Her gaze was a scalpel, and Soyeon felt it—like being slowly flayed beneath an arctic wind.
"They want to."
A pause.
The scent of metal lingered in the air, accompanied by the distinct sound of guards' footsteps echoing outside the room. They were gathering—summoned for a small assembly the boss had decided to hold after this meeting ended.
Then that dangerous gleam ignited in her gaze, flickering like a blade in firelight.
"Let's remind them."
The board flickered off. The room dimmed. The only remaining light came from the red glow of Helena's serpent emblem on the wall.
No matter how perfect the crime, they weren't amateurs. Despite their youth, they had risen to a mastery that time and blood alone could not teach.
The Queen had returned.
To erase the sinners.
In her own twisted way.
And this time, shadows would not conceal her.
They would serve her.
As her weapons.