They ran deep into the restricted zone.
No signs. No fences. Just silence.
The kind that warns you without needing to explain.
Yul knew the terrain.
His steps were sure.
Tae-Jun followed, limping but silent.
No questions. Not yet.
---
They reached a hollowed-out concrete station, half-buried by moss and fog.
Inside: rusted lockers, empty crates, dust frozen in time.
Yul closed the door behind them.
Barred it with an iron pipe.
Tae-Jun collapsed to the ground, chest heaving.
> "Where are we?"
Yul didn't answer immediately.
He looked around. Then knelt.
From his jacket — a hidden flap.
He pulled out an ID badge, cracked in the corner.
The photo was faded. The name partially scratched out.
But the symbol on the badge was unmistakable:
> Intelligence Division.
Not infantry.
Not field soldier.
Spy.
---
Tae-Jun's breath caught.
Yul sat back.
Didn't look ashamed.
Didn't look proud either.
Just tired.
Then he held up three fingers.
Dropped one.
> "Three sent."
"Two died."
"One left."
Then pointed at himself.
---
> He was never just a soldier.
He was a weapon.
And his own country left him too.
---
Tae-Jun opened his notebook.
> Entry Seventeen.
He wasn't lost.
He was discarded.
He wasn't just surviving.
He was hiding.
From his own orders.
From whatever mission turned wrong.
I don't need to know the full truth.
I already know what matters.
He didn't shoot me.
He stayed.
He ran with me.
---
Yul handed the badge over.
Tae-Jun looked at it.
Then tucked it gently between the notebook's pages.
Proof.
Not of betrayal.
Of trust.