Baek-jin’s office feels too small for the way the air hums between them—dark wood, floor-to-ceiling windows, the city bleeding light behind him like a backdrop he refuses to turn away from. Jiji stands rigid in front of his desk, hands clenched at her sides, chin lifted even as her voice wavers.

“…right,” she says, bitter. “You don’t care about what happens to me as long as you benefit.”

Baek-jin doesn’t raise his voice. He never does. He only leans back slightly, fingers steepled, eyes locked on her like he’s dissecting every word. “Does saying that make you feel better?”

Her laugh is sharp, wounded. “You keep me here ’cause I’m useful. Why else would I—”

“I thought you were smart.”

The interruption hits harder than if he’d shouted.

Her brows knit, anger flashing over something softer she hates him for seeing. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He stands then, slow and deliberate, the chair scraping softly behind him. The distance between them shrinks until she has to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. His voice drops, quieter now, dangerous in how steady it is.

“You’re smart,” he repeats. “You know what it means.”

Silence crashes down between them—thick, charged, full of everything neither of them is saying. She swallows, jaw tight, refusing to step back. His eyes flick to her lips for half a second too long before returning to her eyes.

Neither moves. Neither breathes easily. And the truth hangs between them, unspoken, burning.