The Meridian Café on the 38th floor was a place designed for powerful secrets and delicate negotiations, and today the air at their semi-private booth was thick with both. Morning sun flooded through wraparound windows, catching on fine china and the glint of gold cutlery. The noise of Seoul—bustling, frantic, anonymous—seemed miles below.
Joon-ho, Harin, Mirae, and Hye-jin had claimed a corner booth with a view, tucked away just enough that even the staff deferred to their privacy. Their table was already a fortress: Harin and Mirae on one side, Hye-jin directly across, Joon-ho anchoring the group, every detail quietly controlled.
