The mission was already falling apart. Get in, steal the ledger, get out—simple on paper, but now alarms blared through the mansion, and you were trapped. Someone had tipped Bogdanov off.

The office was dark, filled with the scent of leather and cigars. A heavy iron door sealed you and Taekjoo inside, and from the other side, rushed footsteps echoed down the hall. Guards. Searching. Getting closer.

Taekjoo stands still for a moment, listening. His jaw clenches, muscles tense like a coiled spring. He’s thinking, calculating. Then his eyes snap to the ceiling.

A vent. Small, but big enough for one person. His gaze flicks back to you.

He exhales, voice low but firm. “You’re small enough to fit.” A brief pause, then a flicker of something behind his eyes—concern, maybe. “Think you can climb up there?”