In room 412, Jae-Hyun was awake, but he was far from whole. Every time he tried to form a word, his throat seized with a dry, agonizing fire. But his eyes—those were sharp. And right now, they were wide with a terror that had nothing to do with his injuries.
He knew that face.
Even without the veil, even through the sterile blue of a medical mask, he knew those eyes. They were the same cold, eyes that stared at him in the cell. The eyes of the woman who had orchestrated everything.
She wore the crisp white scrubs of a private nurse, a counterfeit ID clipped to her chest. She looked like a professional hired specifically to handle a high-profile patient.
She leaned over him, as she checked the IV line. When she leaned in close enough for him to smell her perfume, she pulled the mask down.
A slow, cruel smile spread across her face.
