“Why is Chen still alive?”

Suho grimaced. The caller couldn’t see his expression, so it was safe enough to express his feelings in his face, but he knew he mustn’t allow a hint of it into his voice.

“There were complications. The cops got wind of the deal and –"

“I don’t expect excuses from you, Suho,” Director Kim cut him off. “Sounds like you’re losing your touch.” The words carried a clear threat. Suho’s fingers twitched.

“Give me a few more days,” he said quickly. “I’ll get him next time –"

“You’ve had three weeks,” Director Kim said. “It’s not good enough. Come down to Gwangju. Now.” He hung up. Suho’s hand fell to his side limply. He stared into the middle distance for a few seconds. He knew exactly what was going to happen in Gwangju, and there was no way he could avoid it. Not if he wanted to survive.

“Not good, huh?” Jwi had been watching his face. At the older man’s question, Luhan looked up from whatever he’d been playing on his phone. Suho glanced between them. These two dregs of humanity weren’t exactly who Suho would have picked to stand beside him, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. They made an odd pair – the seedy middle-aged gangster with his receding chin, tattooed forearms and long, greasy hair, and the tall, delicate youth, perfectly structured face still marred by fading blue bruises streaking beneath each eye. Chen had really done a number on that kid.

“Director Kim wants to see me,” he said. Jwi’s mouth twisted. He obviously knew just as well as Suho what this meant. He jerked his head at Luhan, who jumped to his feet, looking uncertain.

“You’re driving, kid. Go bring the car around.”

It was a three-hour drive from Seoul down to the southern city, which gave Suho plenty of time to brood over his less-than-ideal situation. The SWAT teams that had shown up to the fight at the school had arrested most of Jwi’s men, and Suho himself had barely managed to escape. To his secret relief, Jwi had taken his session of discipline to heart, and appeared to have given up on the idea of taking over himself. He’d come crawling back to Suho’s hideout much later that night, after rounding up the few other men who’d managed to escape the raid. Two days later, a concussed and feverish Luhan had staggered in and collapsed at Suho’s feet, begging to be hidden from Chen. It turned out he’d escaped during the confusion and had hidden in the forest for all that time, evading the cops that had swarmed the area after the incident. Suho was grudgingly impressed. To look at him, he wouldn’t have thought the kid had that kind of stamina. He’d let Luhan stay more because he needed as many people on his side as he could get right now than because he thought the runner would be any use. But you never knew when people would come in handy.

He'd ordered Jwi to recruit as many men as he could from Bakwi’s people. Now that the distribution ringleader was in jail, they would be at a loose end. Unfortunately, Xiumin had already had the same idea and recruited most of them. Jwi had only managed to convince a few of them to work for Suho. With his manpower sadly lacking, Suho was forced to rely on his reputation for now. Everyone knew you’d be crazy to go against Suho. Chen was the only one with the balls to try it.

He thought about Chen. Word on the streets was that he’d killed that cop, but Suho had his doubts. He knew Chen. Probably knew him better than anyone. His one-time protégé didn't have the coldness of soul required to kill an innocent man in cold blood, even if the target hadn't been a cop. But everyone was saying it was Chen, and Suho wasn't going to bother sticking his oar in. For all he knew, Chen was happy about the rumours. They'd certainly made his reputation a lot more fearful. Maybe he'd even had Xiumin and his friends spread the rumours themselves.

Dead cops aside, the kid had really messed up the Seoul distribution ring. Kicking out Bakwi and taking his place sounded simple enough on the surface, but there was a lot more to it than that. Gwangju didn’t look kindly on people messing with the structure they'd set up in Seoul, which was the whole reason why Suho was in this fix now. He had more than one reason for not wanting to kill Chen, but his plan to get him arrested instead had gone extremely wrong. Now the cops thought Chen was a cop-killer, and Gwangju thought Suho needed reminding of where his loyalties lay. He muttered a curse under his breath, attracting a sidelong glance from Luhan at the wheel.

“Listen up, kid,” he said. They were nearly there, and he needed to teach Luhan how to behave in this kind of situation. Being in the wrong place at the wrong time had dragged the runner from the fringes of the gang straight to the very centre, and once you were this deep in, there was no way out again. It was going to be a steep learning curve. “We’re going to see Director Kim now. He’s also known as Gwangju, because the city belongs to him. He’s very powerful and very dangerous. If you want to survive the next hour or so, then you must show him absolute respect. No matter what happens, keep your mouth shut unless you’re directly spoken to. Answer his questions immediately and truthfully, without hesitating, and address him as Director Kim. Stay next to Jwi and don’t move unless he does. If Gwangju tells you to do anything – and I mean anything ­­­– you do it. If you don’t, he’ll kill you, and possibly me too for not teaching my people right.”

Luhan swallowed. “Got it,” he said.

“Good,” Suho said. “You do well here, and maybe I’ll think about teaching you some stuff. You want to learn how to fight?”

Luhan’s face lit up, and Suho was suddenly, vividly reminded of another boy who’d looked at him just like that. Like he was someone admirable, someone to look up to, someone whose approval was greatly desirable.

Once, this would have pleased him. Now it just made him sad.

They were expected. Gwangju’s men searched them and confiscated the weapons they found – a wickedly sharp bowie knife and a garotte from Jwi, Suho’s black-bladed tanto knife and heavy retractable baton, and a small folding penknife from Luhan. He’d have to get the kid a better blade than that child’s toy, Suho thought as they were escorted through a maze of traditional hallways. The centuries-old hanok was beautifully kept. The raised wooden floors and carved walls were polished to a warm amber glow, and the undersides of the graceful tiled roofs were painted in traditional green and red. They skirted a large central courtyard swept pristine of dust and leaves and went down another glowing wooden hallway adorned with traditional artwork and calligraphy. Gwangju’s house was like a museum, and there was a reason for that. Director Kim had his hands buried deep in more than one world.

Gwangju’s men led them into a large, dim room. The man himself was sitting at the head of a huge table, in a high-backed, carved chair that was almost a throne. Three bodyguards stood to his right and slightly behind him, bodies held almost unnaturally still, eyes sharp and alert. Seated to his left was a younger man, probably in his mid-thirties. His hair was dyed a pale blonde and partly pulled back into a half-ponytail, leaving flowing waves framing his face. He wore a designer shirt and rings on every finger. As Suho walked along the side of the long table towards the men sitting at the head of it, he flicked a quick glance at his fine-featured face. Yes, he was sure now. There was a resemblance between him and the man sitting at the head of the table. This must be Gwangju’s son. He’d heard of him, but never actually seen him. Rumour had it that Kim Heechul was crazier than a road lizard.

Gwangju smiled at Suho as he approached, Jwi and Luhan flanking him. It was a pleasant smile, but Suho knew better than to return it. With the same fine, gentle features as his son, tidy salt-and-pepper hair, and fatherly expression, Director Kim looked the epitome of a kind and trustworthy man. It was one of the most terrifying things about him. That smile sent chills down Suho’s spine in a way no scowl ever could.

“Suho,