SHADOWS OF DECEIT

Chapter 11

Seokmin pushed open the door to the rundown building, the creaking metal echoing in the dimly lit hallway like a warning bell. The air inside was thick with tension, a palpable sense of unease clinging to the shadows that lined the walls.

The flickering fluorescent lights overhead cast a sickly hue, revealing peeling paint and graffiti that whispered stories of despair and desperation.

Yet, none of this fazed him.

He strode in with an air of indifference, exuding a quiet confidence that came from knowing his place in this world. As he passed, the men and women scattered throughout the space bowed their heads, some even dropping to their knees in reverence—or perhaps fear.

He was used to it, a king among the pawns in this chaotic game.

Navigating the narrow corridor, Seokmin felt the weight of countless eyes on him, a mix of awe and trepidation that fueled his sense of purpose.

He walked past rooms where muffled conversations and the clinking of bottles hinted at the underground dealings taking place. Each step brought him closer to the heart of the operation, a place where power and danger intertwined in a delicate dance.

It was then that he caught sight of a tall, slender figure leaning against the wall, their posture relaxed yet alert. The figure twirled an intricately designed dagger between their fingers with practiced ease, the blade glinting in the dim light.

The handle was crafted to resemble a dragon, the scales etched with such precision that it seemed almost alive, radiating a lethal beauty. In their other hand, they held a cup of steaming tea, the delicate aroma wafting through the air, a stark contrast to the gritty atmosphere that surrounded them.

The figure met Seokmin's gaze, their expression bored yet keenly observant. He could sense the danger lurking beneath their calm facade, a reminder that appearances could be deceiving in this world. The dagger's blade could just as easily be a tool for art as it was for violence, depending on the wielder's intent.

"You've been returning pretty late the past weeks, Seokmin," they drawled, their voice smooth and laced with a hint of mockery. "Getting old, aren't we? Work taking longer than before?"

Seokmin barely registered the taunt, too accustomed to the routine to let it bother him. Instead, he continued toward the kitchen, craving the familiarity of a drink to wash away the residue of the day.

The tension coiled within him tightened, and the dimly lit hallways felt more suffocating than ever. It was a place of shadows and whispers, where alliances shifted like the flickering light, and he was merely a player navigating the chaos.

Pouring himself a generous serving of whiskey, Seokmin was about to take a sip when a larger hand snatched the glass away with a firm yet playful grip.

"Let me do that for you now. We all know how bad you suck at it," the larger man said, his voice deep and resonant, tinged with a playful mockery that somehow managed to soften the hard edges of their surroundings.

"Thanks, Gyu-ah," Seokmin sighed, plopping down on one of the worn stools at the kitchen counter. Gyu, a hulking figure with an easygoing demeanor and a thick beard that suggested wisdom born from experience, effortlessly mixed the drink for him, his fingers deftly maneuvering as he poured.

As Gyu busied himself behind the counter, the petite figure who had been twirling the dagger followed him into the kitchen, taking a seat on the stool beside Seokmin.

Hao was a contrast to Gyu—slender and sharp-eyed, his demeanor was always laced with curiosity. "What's got Dokyeomie all tense now?" he asked, scowling with a hint of concern that barely masked his playful nature.