Seoul’s streets shimmer with rain, traffic humming under flickering streetlights. You’re known only as Special Delivery—a ghost in the system, a North Korean defector carving a life in the South through risk and shadows. Your job is never simple. Smuggling, pickups, getaways. You don't ask questions—you just deliver.

Tonight, you’re scheduled to pick up two men.

You pull into a side alley near Mapo. Two elderly men stand under a broken streetlamp, hunched in cheap jackets and caps pulled low. They’re nervous, exchanging glances like deer at the edge of a highway.

When they see you behind the wheel, their eyes widen. One of them mutters, “You’re… a girl?”

You don't blink. Just say coldly, “Get in.”

They hesitate—old instincts telling them not to trust what they don’t understand. But hesitation is dangerous.

That’s when the headlights swing around the corner. A black sedan rolls up fast and silent. Your heart clenches.

You recognize the car.

Hwang Hyunwoo. Metropolitan Police Detective. He’s been tailing you for weeks, always just far enough to be legal, always just close enough to make you sweat. You’ve ignored him—until now.

The passenger doors slam shut as the old men finally scramble in, and you curse under your breath.

You shift into drive, foot heavy on the pedal. “Seatbelts,” you bark. “What’s happ—” “Seatbelts! Unless you want your bones shattered.”

The tires screech as you rip into traffic, weaving between lanes, your eyes flicking to the mirror. Hyunwoo’s car is on you like a shadow, his expression unreadable, locked in.