The knock came again. Harder.
Gin rose silently, grabbing a knife from the kitchen counter. Sori backed away, her face pale. The apartment had only one way out — and they both knew it.
The door burst open.
Two Syndicate enforcers stormed in — one armed with a baton, the other with a pistol.
Gin moved first. He ducked low, slashing the kneecap of the man with the gun. The scream was instant. The pistol fired wildly, shattering a lamp and hitting the ceiling.
The second man swung the baton. It cracked across Gin's back, but he turned with the pain and drove the knife into the man's thigh. A roar, then another blow to Gin's ribs.
He fell.
But didn't stop.
He rolled, grabbed the fallen pistol, and fired. One shot hit the wall.
The second found the enforcer's neck.
The first man was crawling for the door, trailing blood.
Gin kicked him hard in the ribs and pressed the barrel to his forehead. "Who sent you?"
The man spat. "We never stopped watching her. You think she wasn't one of us?"
That made Gin pause.
He looked at Sori — trembling, hands bloodstained.
She looked away.
"Where's the drive?" he asked her, voice low.
"I never moved it. It's still under the floorboard… just like we planned."
Gin nodded.
But the trust was fractured. Her eyes… there was something in them. Guilt. Maybe worse.
He pulled the loose floorboard up and retrieved the flash drive — still inside the hollow casing of an old cell phone.
He turned toward Sori.
Her gun was already pointed at him.
"Sori…"
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
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