Chapter 166.2

Chapter 166.2

“Ugh… bitter.”

He scowled and downed a shot.

Just like that, the unofficial members of the Overseas Intelligence Division’s Team 1 vanished without a trace. Wonchang sat in a daze, poking at his now-cold gukbap (soup rice).

What am I even supposed to do in Team 1 now, with both the Chief and the Team Leader gone? The future looked bleak.

-Police arriving at the scene discovered the 32-year-old husband, Mr. Lee, collapsed from a gunshot wound. The Korean couple had traveled abroad for a simple ceremony at their honeymoon destination-

Wonchang absentmindedly lifted his head, then froze.

Taking up half the screen was none other than an Owl’s composite sketch.

Startled, he knocked over his soju glass.

-Authorities confirmed her escape from custody, and Interpol has launched a manhunt.

‘Why… Why is Owl an Interpol fugitive?!’

-Mr. Lee, the husband, was rushed to the hospital for emergency surgery but remains unconscious in critical condition.

“…!”

Wonchang grabbed his windbreaker and backpack in a frenzy and shot to his feet.

‘An unconscious Mr. Lee?’

‘If Owl really shot her husband, then that husband must be…’

Lee Wooshin, the one who left the country with her!

Bowing repeatedly as he shoved past people.

“Sorry, sorry!” He fought his way through the crowd.

How did things escalate like this right after the chief’s death?!

He checked the NIS ID in his pocket and immediately flagged down a taxi.

He needed to confirm Lee Wooshin’s condition, now.

“Incheon Airport!”

***

Every time he opened his eyes, Lee Wooshin saw flashes; operating room lights, an unfamiliar ceiling, the face of a foreign doctor.

The rattling wheels of a gurney, an oxygen mask pressing against his nose, a blurry field of vision.

A searing pain, like a red-hot iron rod, burned through his ribs. Beyond these fragmented sensations, he remembered nothing.

‘I was… dreaming of something…’

He had been a small boy, skating with his parents on a frozen lake.

His parents, arms wrapped around each other, spun in slow circles as if dancing a waltz. The little boy wasn’t afraid of the winter wind.

The lake had been his birthright, little Solzhenitsyn exploring every inch of the blue expanse.

“Yuri!”

From afar, his loving parents waved at him.

“Yuri! Don’t go too far, it’s dangerous!”

Scraping to a stop, the boy stared down at the mirror-like ice.

“Chief! Team Leader!”

Ah… Who was that?

Beyond the transparent ice, someone’s face appeared.

Thud!

A man who had tumbled off a long bench scrambled back up, blocking his view.

With great effort, Wooshin blinked his heavy eyelids.

A young man with a tearful face stared back at him.

“Team Leader, can you hear me?”

“…”

“Please wake up. It’s been a whole week!”

“….”

“You’re still listening to me, right?”

But the boy only tapped the ice with his skate. Tap. Tap. testing its surface.

“I tried looking for her myself, but there’s no trace.”

He clawed at his hair in frustration.

“The owl really vanished without a trace.”

Owl? The boy frowned, but a distant voice called.

“Yuri!”

He turned away without hesitation. His blades scraped sharply against the ice as he circled the lake once, twice, three times, four times.

Then, glancing down again, he saw the same man from before, now even gaunter, rubbing his tired eyes.

“It’s already been two months, Team Leader… You can’t keep sleeping like this. Interpol’s hit a dead end, and we’re way past the golden hour for tracking. Without witness reports, we’ve got nothing left. If this keeps up, we might never find her.”

“Quit the damn doom-talk!”

A girl he’d never seen before suddenly grabbed the young man by the collar. The boy narrowed his eyes, still fixed on the ice.

“They said her life isn’t in danger, so I oughta smash that thick skull of yours with a hammer!”

“Are you, are you insane?!”

“Who the hell asked you?! You think I’d let some sneaky spy bitch play around with unnie?”

‘I can hear the two fighting.’ The boy’s thoughts drifted hazily. His breathing grew faint, his eyelids heavier.

If he didn’t snap out of it now, the deep waters would drag him under again, but luckily, a biting gust of wind stung his cheeks.

“Yuri!” His father’s low, gentle voice echoed. The boy looked past the white birch forest toward the soaring spires of the winter castle in the distance.

It was time to return to the Solzhenitsyn estate.