codename: Seraphim

But before he could reach them, a police officer intercepted him, pulling him aside to ask a series of routine questions. Beom answered tersely, glancing back over his shoulder, his mind focused on the mysterious figure. The questions seemed to drag on, each second heightening his urgency, his desire to reach the shadow at the end of the hall gnawing at him. Finally, he shook free of the officer's inquiries and turned back—only to find the figure gone, vanished as if it had never been there.

"Where did he go?" Beom whispered to himself, frustration bubbling within him. He scanned the hallway, peering down every corridor, but it was as though the figure had simply melted into the walls, disappearing without a trace.

A low chuckle drifted to him from behind. "Where did who go?" Sasha's smooth, mocking voice cut through the silence. Beom turned, his jaw clenched, anger simmering in his eyes. Without a second thought, he seized Sasha by his tie, yanking him down to eye level, his grip unyielding as he stared into Sasha's smirking face.

"I feel we're being watched," he said, his voice a taut whisper, every word laced with suspicion. "And I'm certain the murderer is still here, lurking nearby."

Sasha's lips curled into a mischievous grin, his eyes twinkling with amusement even as Beom's grip tightened. "It feels like you're about to kiss me," he murmured, his voice teasingly soft. "Lucky for you, I'm a very good kisser."

Beom's eyes flashed with annoyance, his jaw clenching as Sasha's words landed. "Shut up," he muttered, his voice a low growl as he released his hold on Sasha, pushing him back. Sasha straightened his collar, a playful glint still lingering in his gaze, clearly relishing Beom's reaction. But Beom's expression had darkened, a flicker of unease shadowing his features as he looked around the hallway once more.

The faintest trace of a frown creased Sasha's brow as he watched Beom, his usual playful air slipping for just a moment, replaced by a hint of something sharper, colder. "Whoever this watcher is, they've clearly got you rattled," he observed, his tone light, yet carrying a subtle edge. "But, I wouldn't waste my energy on phantoms. Keep your wits sharp—there's a lot more at play here than meets the eye."

Beom didn't respond, but his mind was racing, the sense of unseen eyes still prickling at the back of his neck.

"Come on," Beom said, motioning for Sasha to follow him, his tone tight with determination.

Sasha raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "To where?" he asked, though he already had an inkling.

"We're going to check the cameras," Beom replied, his voice steely, his steps brisk. "There has to be something—some evidence. We'll find something." He led the way down the long corridor, his posture tense and focused. Sasha followed, his usual amusement replaced by a faint curiosity as he watched Beom's intense drive to get to the bottom of the mystery.

They reached the security post, a small room lined with monitors showing various feeds from around the building. Beom immediately seated himself in front of the screens, his fingers tapping across the keyboard as he began to rewind through the footage. His eyes scanned each flickering frame intently, searching for any movement, any shadow that might hint at what had happened. Sasha leaned casually against the wall, watching him with his arms crossed, a faint, knowing smile on his lips.

"You're not going to find anything, you know," Sasha said, his voice laced with an edge of skepticism. He tilted his head, his gaze fixed on the blank sections of the footage. "You think these murderers are amateurs? They'd do everything possible to cover their tracks, to keep their identities safe."

Beom ignored him, focused entirely on the screens in front of him. But as he fast-forwarded through the footage, a creeping sense of dread began to settle in. It was as if Sasha's words were manifesting into reality—every frame seemed emptier than the last, each camera angle displaying nothing but empty hallways, still rooms, and silence.

Sasha leaned in, pointing at the monitor with a hint of satisfaction. "See? They've tampered with the cameras." His finger traced the screen, drawing Beom's attention to one particular section where the footage abruptly cut to static, a stark break in the continuous stream. "They knew exactly what they were doing. See that?" he said, his tone almost triumphant. "Nothing. It's as if they were never there."

Beom's eyes narrowed as he replayed the footage again, unwilling to accept defeat so easily. "But there has to be something," he muttered, his fingers flying over the controls as he scrolled back even further, combing through every second in a desperate search for any missed clue, any overlooked flicker of movement. His mind raced, piecing together the bits of evidence they'd gathered, trying to connect the dots in a way that made sense.

Sasha chuckled softly, the sound low and mocking. "Beom, it's pointless," he said, shaking his head. "Whoever did this knows exactly how to avoid detection. They'd never be careless enough to leave behind any incriminating footage." He straightened, looking down at Beom with a glint of amusement in his eyes. "It's almost cute, watching you cling to the hope of finding something."

Beom clenched his jaw, frustration boiling inside him. Sasha's dismissive tone grated on his nerves, but he refused to give up. "If there's nothing on the cameras, then maybe they left something else behind," he said, more to himself than to Sasha. His gaze remained fixed on the screens, unwilling to accept that the murderers had slipped through their grasp so easily.

Sasha let out a long sigh, feigning boredom as he tapped his fingers against the table. "Always the optimist, aren't you?" he said, his voice laced with irony. He leaned in, his face close to Beom's, his eyes dancing with a mix of amusement and something darker. "Sometimes, you just have to admit when you're beaten."

Sasha's voice was cold, almost clinical, as he delivered his assessment. "We're here for the mission, not to play detective for an ex-agent's death," he said, his tone firm and unwavering. His sharp eyes cut through Beom's focus on the monitors as if challenging him to snap out of it. "If I were you, I'd let the cops handle it. It's their job, after all. We have our own objective—to find Yaroslav and retrieve the Seraphim Code." Sasha's gaze narrowed, his patience wearing thin as he watched Beom's gaze linger on the empty, static-filled screen. "Stop wasting time on useless distractions."

Sasha's words hung heavy in the air, the finality of his tone sinking into Beom's thoughts. The mention of Yaroslav—their true target, the elusive figure holding the key to their mission—shifted Beom's focus, reminding him why they were there in the first place. The Seraphim Code, with all its dark secrets and potential to wreak havoc, was their only priority. The urgency of their mission began to weigh on him, overshadowing the tragedy of the agent's murder.

"Yaroslav could be responsible for this himself," Sasha continued, his tone almost casual. There was a ruthless quality to his voice, a cold pragmatism that left no room for sympathy or doubt. "Elena was a loose end, perhaps, or maybe she was a liability in his eyes. Who knows? But frankly, it doesn't matter. She's dead—and maybe, in some twisted way, she even deserved it." The way he spoke made it clear that he saw human lives as chess pieces, expendable parts in a much larger game. Sasha gave Beom a look of finality before turning on his heel, the door clicking shut behind him as he left.

Beom sat there, staring at the blank monitor, Sasha's words echoing in his mind. "She's dead… and somehow deserves it…" The coldness in Sasha's voice, the sheer disregard for human life, unsettled him deeply. Yet, even as he felt a pang of remorse for Elena, he knew Sasha was right. Their mission wasn't to solve her murder, to seek justice for her death. They were here to stop Yaroslav, to find the Seraphim Code before it fell into the wrong hands.

He drew in a deep breath, straightening in his chair as he tried to push the image of Elena's lifeless body from his mind. "Sasha's right," he murmured to himself, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm here for a mission." His own words felt strange in his mouth, as if he were trying to convince himself, to steel his resolve against the creeping doubts that threatened to take hold. He let out a sigh, closing his eyes briefly as he gathered his focus, reminding himself of the stakes, of the lives that would be at risk if they failed.

Beom stood, his expression hardening as he replayed Sasha's last words in his mind. Yaroslav was still out there, a shadowy figure pulling strings, orchestrating plans that were likely far more sinister than they could imagine. The Seraphim Code, their true target, held secrets that could reshape everything, secrets that could not fall into the wrong hands.

As he left the security post, he felt a renewed sense of purpose, his footsteps echoing in the hall as he walked back to join Sasha.

Beom walked alongside Sasha, feeling a surge of determination. Now that they had a face to match the notorious name of Yaroslav, it felt like the stakes had escalated even further, the pieces of their mission slotting into place with unnerving precision. "So… what's the next step? Now that we know what he looks like," Beom pressed, keeping his gaze steady on Sasha's unreadable profile. But Sasha seemed almost dismissive, his attention drifting elsewhere.

"Are you even listening to me?" Beom's tone had an edge of impatience, his frustration bubbling over as Sasha appeared more focused on his own musings than the question at hand.

"Yes, I'm listening," Sasha replied, his voice a lazy drawl as he stretched his arms, stifling a yawn. "But honestly, right now? I'm starving. Haven't eaten anything decent since we got here." He cast a quick, assessing glance at Beom. "You probably haven't eaten either, right?"

Beom blinked, slightly thrown by the abrupt shift in tone. Food? Of all things, with their mission looming and Yaroslav's face fresh in their minds, Sasha was focused on breakfast.

"You should go eat," Sasha continued, sounding almost bored as he gestured vaguely down the hall. "Once we're both done, we'll regroup and come up with a plan. No use strategizing on an empty stomach." And with that, Sasha strode purposefully toward the elevator, leaving Beom standing there, half-bewildered.

Beom frowned, watching Sasha disappear behind the closing elevator doors. "Where's he even going?" he muttered under his breath. "Couldn't he just order room service like a normal person?" He let out a sigh, shaking his head as he turned to head back to his own room. His mind was still racing with questions, but his stomach growled in agreement with Sasha's suggestion. Food, it seemed, was the one thing they could agree on for now.

In his room, Beom scanned the menu, barely paying attention as he punched in his order for room service. His mind kept drifting to Yaroslav's image, the hard lines of his face, the shadows in his eyes. The reality of their mission, the danger surrounding them, hung over him like a storm cloud. But he couldn't deny the pang of hunger gnawing at him, reminding him that Sasha might have a point. He took a deep breath, pushing the mission to the back of his mind for a moment. The plan would come soon enough, but right now, they had to be sharp—both mentally and physically.

Settling into his room, he waited for his meal to arrive, resolving to clear his mind.

As the elevator doors closed with a soft hum, Sasha's face remained unreadable, a mask of cool indifference with a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Standing alone in the mirrored elevator, he touched a tiny earpiece, tilting his head slightly to listen to the faint voice on the other end.

"Sir, should we proceed with the plan?" a voice asked, crackling softly in his ear.

A low, almost sinister chuckle slipped from Sasha's lips. His fingers tapped lightly on the elevator railing, his amusement barely restrained. "Yes, proceed. Let's see if Beom has the wits to survive… or if he'll stumble his way into an early grave." His tone was a chilling blend of arrogance and detachment, as though the unfolding chaos was nothing more than a game he was orchestrating from afar.

Meanwhile, in his room, Beom sat on the edge of his bed, his thoughts swirling in restless circles. Yaroslav, the mission, Sasha's suspicious behavior—it all weighed on him, a heavy cloak of unease he couldn't shake. He was still lost in thought when a knock sounded at the door, breaking the silence. Startled, he glanced up, expecting his meal.

"Oh, that was fast," he murmured, feeling a brief sense of relief at the interruption. He opened the door, allowing the room service attendant to wheel the tray inside. She offered a polite nod as she left, leaving him alone once more. Beom approached the tray, his gaze settling on the silver cloche covering his meal. He lifted the cover with a casual motion, anticipating food—only to find, instead, a stark white piece of paper lying on the tray.