When the Clock Strikes|Pi Han Ul x Reader|

(S02) Chapter 41

My chest twists violently at the name.

“And someone wanted you to believe they were dead,” he continues. “To shut you down. To guilt you. Or maybe to distract you.

I stagger to the edge of my desk and grip it with white knuckles. “But where are they?” I whisper. “If they’re alive—where?”

He exhales slowly, gaze fixed on mine.

“Minhwan found the location.”

That stops everything inside me.

My breath. My thoughts. Even the ache in my chest.

“W-what?” I blink at him. “How—?”

“It’s close. Not too far from town, but isolated enough to keep them hidden. A farmhouse. Old, guarded, hard to approach. Minhwan’s been watching for a week. Quietly.”

I blink. It makes too much sense.
Too much.

I swallow hard, vision swimming. The pieces—the river, the timing, the letters—they twist and rearrange in my head like a cruel puzzle.

“Then who’s behind it? If it’s not your father—”

“If my guess inst wrong, he’s in Russia right now. Which means someone else is watching them. Keeping them there.”

“Someone close,” I murmur, my heart thudding. “Someone here.”

Then—

Han Wool steps closer and grips my wrist. Not harsh. Not gentle. Just enough to steady me.

“You’re coming with me.”

My breath catches. “What?”

“We’re leaving,” he says, like the decision was made long before I could say yes or no. “The place I told you about—up in Gangneung. Remote. Safe. We go tonight. We are staying there until they get them out.”

I try to pull my thoughts together. “Han Wool—”

But he cuts in, eyes burning with something I haven’t seen in him before.

“Ye Na. This is not just your fight anymore.”

He holds my gaze. “It’s Minhwan’s too.”

And just like that, the weight of it crashes over me. Minhwan—quiet, patient Minhwan—has been carrying this, too. Maybe longer than I even realized.

I nod slowly.

“Fifteen minutes,” he says, already stepping back, giving me space.

I rush back to gather things.

The black pen from Ha-Ya. The letters from Harin.

I zip the bag. One last look at the room.

It already feels like a chapter behind me.

Outside, Han Wool is leaning against a sleek black car, engine idling. He opens the passenger door without saying a word.

I step in.

This isn’t an escape.

It’s the beginning.

We’re not running anymore.

The early morning sun crept quietly across the sky, pale gold brushing against the windshield as the car moved steadily down the empty road. Dew still clung to the fields we passed, the kind of silence that only belonged to morning filling the space between us.

Inside the car, the air was stiff with everything unspoken.

Han Wool kept both hands on the steering wheel, eyes trained forward. The road ahead was clear, but neither of us saw it—we were both somewhere else, caught in thoughts we hadn’t shared yet.