The afternoon sun cast long, golden rays across the riverbank, but despite the warmth in the air, an unnatural stillness loomed. The water, once a lively current that danced with the wind, now moved sluggishly, its murky surface barely rippling. Where there used to be lush grass and vibrant wildflowers, now patches of dried weeds and eroded earth framed the river’s edge. The pce had changed over the years, aging with time just as they had.

  Minho stood with his hands in his pockets, his eyes scanning the ndscape before turning to Lyn, Aky, and Yna. They had all agreed to meet here, the pce where they had st been seen together twenty years ago. Yet, none of them had any real memory of what had happened that day.

  Lyn ran her fingers over the worn bark of an old tree nearby. “I feel like I remember something,” she said hesitantly, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I don’t know if it’s real… or just a dream I made up when I was a kid.”

  “What do you remember?” Minho pressed gently.

  She frowned, her fingers tightening against the rough bark. “The forest. I remember us going there. But… I don’t remember why.”

  Aky, who had been standing slightly apart, exhaled deeply. “I have dreams,” he admitted. “Of running. Of being chased through the forest. But my parents always told me I was never allowed to go there. They said I’d never been.”

  Yna remained silent, her gaze fixated on the water. Her fingers brushed absently against the scar on her arm, a deep, gnawing pain settling into the old wound.

  “Yna?” Minho asked, stepping closer to her. “Do you remember anything?”

  She hesitated before shaking her head. “Nothing.”

  Minho offered a reassuring nod. “It’s okay. If something is meant to come back to you, it will.”

  A heavy silence lingered between them before Minho broke it with a quiet suggestion. “Let’s go to the forest.”

  The walk toward the tree line was deceptively peaceful. The sun shone high, filtering through the leaves in golden streams, yet something about the pce felt off. The air was thick, unmoving. Shadows stretched just a little too long. Each step they took felt heavier, like something unseen was pressing against them.

  Yna winced suddenly, clutching her arm.

  “You okay?” Aky asked, his brow furrowed in concern.

  “Yeah.” She forced a small smile. “It’s just the scar acting up again. It’s fine.”

  They continued deeper into the forest, eventually stumbling upon a clearing. A patch of nd y barren, charred remains of old wood scattered across it. The bckened stumps told the story of a fire long since extinguished. The faintest scent of something burnt still lingered in the air, though it could have been their imagination.

  From afar, the soft murmuring of water called to them. A ke, hidden just beyond the trees.

  “We shouldn’t go there,” Minho stated firmly, his voice heavy with caution. “The police are still investigating the bodies found in that area.”

  A shiver ran down Lyn’s spine. “The ones from the reopened case?”

  Minho nodded. “Yeah. The simirities are disturbing—same location, same pattern as the case from twenty years ago.”

  Yna sucked in a shaky breath. Her fingers brushed over the scar on her arm, the old wound suddenly pulsing as if it remembered something she couldn’t.

  Aky shifted uncomfortably, his unease palpable. “Maybe we should leave.”

  They did. Their steps were quicker this time, drawn by something unspoken, something pulling them toward a pce more familiar—the old snack bar where they had reunited just days ago. Unlike the riverbank, it had barely changed.

  The air was thick with the scent of damp wood and timeworn memories. The once-bright paint on the walls had faded to a dull, peeling husk of its former self, revealing patches of gray beneath. The sign above the entrance tilted slightly, its edges curling from years of neglect, yet the letters remained legible as if stubbornly clinging to their purpose.

  The windows were clouded with dust, but inside, the wooden chairs and tables stood eerily undisturbed, waiting for customers that never came.

  Minho's gaze swept across the empty space, his chest tightening. “It’s strange,” he muttered. “It still looks… fine. Just abandoned.”

  Lyn ran her hand along the edge of the counter, her fingers tracing invisible patterns in the dust. “I used to sit here,” she murmured. The words felt heavy, as if they carried more than just a simple recollection.

  Aky turned toward her, his brows furrowed. “I remember that.” He paused, lost in thought. “Didn’t we always get the same thing?”

  Lyn nodded slowly, her lips curving slightly. “Fish cakes and tteokbokki.” Her voice softened as if tasting the memory. “And those iced popsicles in the summer.”

  Yna let out a quiet chuckle. “Right. And you always stole bites from mine.”

  Lyn smiled faintly, but the warmth of the moment was fleeting. Her expression darkened. “There was a man,” she said, gncing toward the back of the shop, as if expecting someone to step out from behind the counter. “The owner… He was always here. Always watching over us.”

  Yna, who had been staring at the wooden walls, suddenly straightened. “I remember him.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “His face, his voice... He was kind, wasn’t he?”

  “What was his name?” Aky asked.

  Silence.

  The four of them looked at one another, the weight of the question pressing down like an invisible hand squeezing their throats. Yna's brows furrowed as she tried to grasp at the memory, but it was like sand slipping through her fingers.

  “I… I don’t know,” she admitted, frustration cing her voice. “I can see him so clearly in my head, but I can’t remember his name.”

  Aky exhaled sharply. “That doesn’t make sense. We came here all the time. We talked to him.” He turned toward Lyn. “You remember, right?”

  Lyn’s lips parted, but no sound came out. Her fingers gripped the edge of the counter as her mind scrambled to find the answer that should have been there. But it wasn’t.

  The name was gone.

  Just like everything else from that time.

  Aky shifted uneasily. “Maybe we shouldn’t be here.”

  Lyn pced a comforting hand on Yna’s shoulder, her touch grounding. “Maybe being here is helping,” she said softly. “Maybe the memories will come back.”

  But as they stood there, surrounded by the ghosts of their childhood, an eerie silence settled over them.

  And for the first time, the old snack bar no longer felt familiar.

  It felt like something was missing.

  Something important.

  Something they were never supposed to forget.

  The air grew thick again, heavy with unspoken thoughts. Outside, the sun was beginning to set, casting long, stretching shadows across the ground. And for the first time since they had gathered, it felt like something—or someone—was watching them.

  The te afternoon sun cast a golden hue over the small, homey restaurant tucked in a quieter street of Gwangju. The restaurant had the charm of a pce that had stood the test of time. The wooden facade, with slightly faded paint and a signboard that had probably been there for decades. Inside, the scent of freshly made noodles, stir-fried vegetables, and savory bck bean sauce lingered in the air, mingling with the soft hum of conversation from a few remaining customers finishing their te lunches.. The pce had a comforting warmth, the kind that reminded people of their childhoods.

  Minho sat at a table near the window, his eyes scanning the menu board fixed to the upper part of the counter. His fingers tapped idly against the table as an elderly woman approached, setting down a gss of water and small ptes of kimchi, pickled radish, and stir-fried fish cakes. “Take your time, son,” she said kindly before shuffling back toward the kitchen.

  Just as he was about to order, the bell at the door jingled. Aky walked in, greeting Minho with his usual easygoing energy. “Hey, you didn’t start without me, did you?”

  Minho smirked, shaking his head. “Barely had time to decide what to get.”

  Aky pulled out the chair across from him and sat down. “Jajangmyeon?” he suggested.

  Minho nodded. “Sounds good.” As they pced their orders, Aky leaned forward. “Yna’s coming, right?”

  “Yeah,” Minho confirmed. “She stopped by somewhere nearby first but should be here soon.”

  Their bowls of jajangmyeon arrived swiftly, the rich bck bean sauce glistening as it coated the thick, chewy noodles. A side of danmuji, bright yellow pickled radish, sat beside the bowl, its sharp contrast of color inviting. The steam curled upward, carrying the familiar scent of comfort and nostalgia.

  As Minho reached for his chopsticks, the door opened again, and Lyn stepped inside. Her expression was unreadable as she scanned the restaurant before walking toward them with her usual composed air. She was dressed simply yet stylishly—a crisp white button-down tucked into high-waisted jeans, her long dark hair tied into a low ponytail.

  “Hey,” Aky greeted warmly. “Grab a seat and order something.”

  Lyn slid into the chair beside him, her lips curving into a small, amused smile. “I haven’t had Korean food in years.”

  Aky feigned disbelief. “Years? That’s a crime.”

  She ughed lightly. “I lived abroad, remember?”

  “Still,” Aky said, shaking his head, “you need to eat properly. Try the jajangmyeon.”

  Lyn peered at their bowls, unimpressed. “It looks… heavy.”

  Before she could say more, the door opened again, and Yna hurried inside, slightly breathless. “I’m so sorry I’m te.”

  Despite the rush, she looked effortlessly elegant. Her light blue blouse was slightly oversized, tucked into a soft beige skirt that ended just above her knees. Her dark hair was loosely curled, framing her face, and though she had clearly hurried, there was something effortlessly graceful about her arrival.

  Minho stood, pulling out a chair for her. “It’s fine,” he assured her as he took her bag and pced it on an empty chair beside her. He poured her a gss of water, sliding it toward her.

  Aky grinned. “Where’d you run off to?”

  Yna took a sip of her water before answering. “Just met up with a colleague nearby.”

  She picked up the menu and, after a moment, decided, “I’ll have the cold noodles.”

  Lyn gnced over at her. “You know what? I’ll have the same.”

  Aky chuckled. “Now you’re avoiding Korean food with sauce?”

  Lyn rolled her eyes. “I just feel like something lighter.”

  The restaurant owner soon returned with their meals. Minho and Aky’s bowls remained filled with dark, glossy jajangmyeon, while Yna and Lyn’s dishes arrived with perfectly coiled strands of cold noodles submerged in icy broth, thin slices of beef resting on top, garnished with julienned cucumbers and half of a boiled egg. The refreshing aroma of vinegar and mustard lingered in the air as they mixed their noodles together.

  As they ate, conversation slowed, the occasional clink of chopsticks against bowls filling the silence. But once their ptes were nearly empty, Minho cleared his throat. “Alright,” he began, leaning forward slightly, “now that we’re all here, let’s talk.”

  The atmosphere shifted as they steeled themselves, preparing to retrace the blurred, fragmented memories of twenty years ago. The past was waiting—hidden in the gaps of their minds, buried beneath forgotten details and uneasy truths.

  They ate while reminiscing about old times, ughing at scattered memories from school. The restaurant was warm, the scent of broth and spices lingering in the air. The old woman who had served them earlier moved between the tables, collecting empty ptes and refilling water gsses. When their own ptes were finally cleared, Minho leaned forward, his voice lowering slightly.

  “There’s been progress,” he said.

  Aky, Lyn, and Yna immediately focused on him. The atmosphere around their table shifted, the warmth of nostalgia repced with quiet tension.

  “The boy… Jung Woo-bin,” Minho continued, his voice steady but tense. “He’s under the care of social workers now. They’ve been working with a psychiatrist to help him communicate.” He hesitated for a moment before adding, “And… he’s started drawing.”

  “Drawing what?” Lyn asked, her grip tightening around her gss.

  “Pces,” Minho said. “Specific pces. A house, a factory—locations that seem important to him somehow. And…” He paused, his gaze darkening. “He keeps drawing a man in bck.”

  Aky frowned. “A man in bck?”

  Minho nodded. “Yeah. He sketches him the same way every time—standing in the shadows, watching. It’s eerie. He still won’t talk, but it’s like he’s trying to show us something. Like he knows something.”

  Yna exchanged a gnce with Lyn before hesitantly asking, “Did we… did we ever see a psychiatrist when we were kids?”

  A long silence stretched between them. It was a question that should have had an easy answer, but it didn’t.

  “If we had,” Lyn muttered, mostly to herself, “wouldn’t the case from twenty years ago have been solved? Wouldn’t we have remembered something back then?”

  Minho pressed his lips into a thin line. “Exactly what I’ve been thinking.”

  Before he could say more, another elderly woman emerged from the kitchen. Unlike the first woman who had served them, this one was older, her face lined with deep wrinkles. Her silver hair was pulled into a low bun, her faded floral blouse and dark apron making her look as though she had been part of the restaurant for decades.

  She paused upon seeing Yna, her gaze locking onto her with an unreadable expression. Her hands trembled slightly as she clutched a rag in her grasp. Yna shifted uncomfortably under the intense stare.

  “Ma’am?” Aky asked hesitantly. “Do you… need something?”

  The old woman’s lips parted slightly, her voice quiet but firm. “You look exactly like someone I knew a long time ago.”

  Yna frowned. “Who?”

  The woman shook her head slowly, her gaze never leaving Yna’s face. “I can’t remember her full name… but her st name was Yoon. She looked just like you, only a little shorter and thinner. She worked for the Choi family.”

  Lyn stiffened, her breath catching. “Wait—are you talking about Chairman Choi Tae Sung?”

  The old woman’s brows furrowed, as if she were grasping at something just out of reach. “I… don’t know. Maybe. It was so long ago.”

  Minho exchanged a gnce with Aky, both of them clearly unsettled.

  “And you,” the old woman murmured, turning her gaze to Aky. “You remind me of someone, too.”

  Aky blinked. “Me?”

  The woman nodded, her gaze distant as she recalled the memory. “There was a man. That pretty woman—the dy you resemble—she was always with him. They used to come here often.” Her brows knitted together as she spoke. “But they never ate much. I remember telling them to finish their food.”

  She let out a small chuckle, though there was a hint of something unsettled in her tone. “They would sit there, talking—always serious, always quiet, like they didn’t want anyone to overhear. They paid well, so I never compined, but they barely touched their meals. In the end, I just let them be. The important thing was getting paid.”

  A heavy silence settled over the group, their minds racing with questions.

  “What does this mean?” Yna whispered, her voice barely audible.

  No one had an answer. But deep in their bones, they knew—they were on the verge of uncovering something long buried. Something that had been waiting twenty years to be remembered.

  The old woman suddenly tilted her head, eyes narrowing as she studied them again. “Did you… actually live around here before?”

  Minho exchanged a quick gnce with the others before nodding. “Yeah… but that was a long time ago. We lived here when we were kids—twenty years ago.”

  She nodded slowly, as if trying to piece something together. “Then maybe it was your parents I remember. Maybe they were the ones who used to come here.”

  Aky let out a dry ugh, shaking his head. “That’s impossible. Yna and I aren’t even reted.”

  The woman blinked, confusion flickering in her expression. “Oh… maybe you’re right. Maybe it was just a faded memory.” She chuckled softly, though something about the way she did it felt… off. “I’m old, you know. My memories must be rotten by now.” With that, she waved them off and turned away, shuffling back toward the kitchen.

  The four of them exchanged puzzled gnces, but none of them spoke. There was something unsettling about her words, the way she had looked at them.

  But they ignored it—for now—and turned back to their conversation about Jung Woo-bin.

  Jung Woo Bin’s Drawings

  The drive to the psychiatric facility was quiet, each of them lost in their thoughts. The sky was overcast, a bnket of gray clouds stretching across the horizon, casting a muted light over the city. A cool breeze drifted through the slightly open windows, carrying the faint scent of rain.

  Minho’s hands rested firmly on the steering wheel as he navigated the streets, his focus unwavering. The car, a dark sedan with a slightly worn interior, hummed steadily beneath them. Yna sat beside him, her fingers idly tracing patterns on the window as she watched the passing buildings. In the back, Aky leaned against the door, arms crossed, while Lyn stared out at the shifting scenery, her thoughts unreadable.

  Though none of them spoke, the silence wasn’t empty—it was thick with unspoken questions, with the weight of what they were about to uncover.

  “We need to see those drawings,” Minho finally said, breaking the silence. “If Jung Woo-bin is trying to tell us something, we can’t ignore it.”

  Aky nodded. “And we need to find his sister before it’s too te.”

  Lyn exhaled sharply. “I still don’t understand why the police are so quick to rule these cases as accidents when it’s clearly not.”

  Minho tightened his jaw. “Because they did the same thing twenty years ago.”

  The car fell silent again.

  When they arrived at the psychiatric facility, a clean yet eerily sterile building, they were met by Dr. Yoon Min Seo, the psychiatrist overseeing Jung Woo-bin’s care. She was a woman in her te fifties, her neatly styled hair streaked with silver, and wore a professional yet warm expression. There was a sharpness to her dark eyes—years of experience evident in the way she carried herself—but also a softness, as though she had seen too much suffering and wished to ease it.

  She greeted them with a warm smile, but her gaze lingered on Yna for a moment too long, her expression flickering with something unreadable.

  “It’s good to see you,” Dr. Yoon said, her voice steady but ced with an odd familiarity. When she reached out to shake Yna’s hand, there was a brief hesitation before she firmly grasped it. Yna, slightly flustered by the warmth of the greeting, simply nodded and offered a polite smile before quickly looking away.

  Minho cleared his throat, bringing the conversation back to focus. “Dr. Yoon, we wanted to ask about Jung Woo Bin’s condition. More specifically, the drawings he’s been making.”

  Dr. Yoon nodded, her fingers interlocking on the desk. “Woo Bin has been through immense trauma. His drawings are his way of expressing what he cannot say aloud. But...” She hesitated, her gaze flickering once more to Yna before continuing. “They are unsettling, to say the least.”

  Lyn noticed the way Dr. Yoon’s expression shifted every time she looked at Yna, a flicker of recognition or uncertainty crossing her face. Yna, sensing the attention, furrowed her brows slightly but chose to ignore it.

  Aky leaned forward. “Could we see them?”

  Dr. Yoon hesitated again before finally rising from her chair and retrieving a folder from a locked drawer. She id out several pages on the desk. The group leaned in, their eyes scanning the crude yet chilling drawings—a dark shack, a river, faceless figures standing in the shadows.

  Minho exhaled sharply. “This... this looks exactly like the area where the bodies were found.”

  She then led them into a small but organized office filled with stacks of patient files and a few carefully arranged potted pnts. There was a sense of comfort in the room, despite the clinical setting. As she moved to sit, she stole another gnce at Yna, quickly masking whatever thoughts crossed her mind.

  “What are these?” Yna murmured, studying the dark, heavy strokes of charcoal.

  “Shadows,” Dr. Yoon said, spreading out more drawings. “A man in a suit, a man in bck.”

  Aky’s brows furrowed. “A man in bck?”

  Dr. Yoon nodded. “Yes. But there’s something unusual about them.”

  “Woo-bin only draws figures in bck, but there seem to be two different ones. One is just a shadowy silhouette, faceless. The other… has sharper details. Especially the shoes—pointed, polished. Almost deliberate.”

  Minho studied the drawings, his expression unreadable. “So there were two of them.”

  Dr. Yoon nodded. “It’s always the same. A figure standing in the shadows. Woo-bin never draws his face, just his presence.”

  Minho studied the sketches in silence, his fingers tapping lightly against the desk. His thoughts raced as the familiar patterns fell into pce.

  “This isn’t random,” he said finally, his voice firm.

  He straightened, reaching into the folder he had been holding. The rustle of paper filled the quiet room as he pulled out a worn case file, its edges slightly frayed from years of handling. He set it down on the table, flipping it open to reveal old crime scene photos and reports.

  “Twenty years ago,” he continued, pointing to a photograph of a crime scene, “two bodies were found. A married couple. The husband worked for Chairman Choi Tae Sung’s right-hand man, and the wife was a nurse at a psychiatric hospital.”

  Dr. Yoon’s expression turned grim as she gnced between the file and the drawings in front of them. The weight of the past was resurfacing, and this time, they couldn’t afford to let it be buried again.

  Lyn crossed her arms. “And now, another married couple is dead. The husband worked for Daehwa Trading Group. But the wife… she was just a housewife.”

  “What’s the connection between them?” Aky asked.

  “That’s what we need to find out,” Minho said. “And here’s another thing—both cases were handled by the same detective.”

  Dr. Yoon stiffened. “Park Man-sik.”

  Aky’s brows furrowed. “Wait… that’s my father’s uncle.”

  Minho and Dr. Yoon both looked at him, surprised. “What?” Minho asked.

  Aky shrugged. “I barely see him. He’s a distant retive. I didn’t even know he was still working as a detective in Gwangju.”

  Dr. Yoon’s expression turned contemptive. “That… complicates things.”

  Aky’s head snapped up. “Why?”

  Minho exhaled sharply, his fingers drumming against the table as he gathered his thoughts. “Detective Park Man-sik,” he finally said, his voice quieter than before. “He’s… been involved with the Choi family for years. Always present at their events, their fundraisers.”

  He hesitated, as if weighing his next words carefully. “I—I don’t think it’s a coincidence,” he admitted. “He’s been around too long, involved in too many cases tied to them. But listen—” Minho gnced at each of them, his gaze lingering on Aky. “I’m doing this investigation on my own. I can’t ask for help from the inside.”

  His jaw tightened, a flicker of something unreadable in his expression. “There are things about this case I can’t trust anyone else with. If I bring this up to my superiors, they’ll either shut it down or twist it into something else entirely.”

  He hesitated again, rubbing the back of his neck before continuing. “There’s… another reason I’m looking into this.” His voice dropped lower. “The case 20 years ago—the one they ruled as an accident… it wasn’t just any case.” He exhaled, his hands curling into fists on the table. “It was my family.”

  A heavy silence settled over them, the weight of his words pressing down like a vice.

  Silence.

  Aky leaned back, processing the revetion. Yna pced a hand on Minho’s arm, as if grounding him, while Lyn’s expression remained unreadable.

  Yna spoke first, her voice steady. “I knew.”

  Aky exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “So that’s why you’re so invested in this case.”

  Minho nodded. “It was never just about justice. It’s about uncovering the truth.”

  Lyn’s fingers clenched into fists. “I just want answers. About the nightmares. About why this has haunted me my whole life.”

  Aky looked at Minho, then at Lyn, and finally Yna. “Then let’s do this. Let’s solve this case once and for all.”

  Before anyone could say another word, Minho’s phone rang. He answered it, his expression shifting as he listened. When he hung up, he turned to them, eyes sharp with urgency. “The missing girl… she’s been found.”

  As the conversation continued, Dr. Yoon stole yet another gnce at Yna, her expression unreadable. Was it recognition? Suspicion? Whatever it was, it left a lingering tension in the room that none of them could ignore.

  The Brave Child

  The police station was abuzz with quiet urgency as officers and social workers moved swiftly through the halls. The harsh fluorescent lights cast a sterile glow over the waiting area, where Minho stood, hands deep in his coat pockets, watching the scene unfold.

  The girl had walked in on her own.

  She was small for a ten-year-old, her frame wrapped in an oversized hoodie that wasn’t hers. Dirt clung to the fabric, streaked across her pale skin, but unlike her younger brother, Jung Woo-bin, she wasn’t barefoot. Her shoes were old and slightly loose, as if they hadn’t belonged to her originally, but they had kept her feet protected—an unsettling contrast to the way Woo-bin had been found.

  Her name, she had stated clearly to the officer on duty, was Jung Woo-ri.

  “I need help,” she had said. Her voice was soft but unwavering, her dark eyes unblinking as she looked up at the stunned police officers.

  The station had moved quickly, cleaning her up, giving her fresh clothes, and offering her something warm to eat. She sat quietly at a metal table, her fingers gripping a cup of tea they had given her, absorbing its warmth as she sipped it carefully. She wasn’t trembling, wasn’t crying. Instead, she carried herself with a stillness that unsettled even the most experienced officers.

  Unlike her brother, Woo-ri spoke. It was she who had approached the police station, asking for help. Her voice had been calm, composed even, but there was a deep weight behind her words that unsettled those who listened.

  Minho arrived at the station, stepping in with measured urgency. His eyes scanned the room until they nded on the small girl sitting in the waiting area. There was something about her—her quiet presence, the way she sat still despite the chaos around her—that made his chest tighten.

  The investigation had already begun. A social worker, a composed woman in her te forties, led Woo-ri into an interview room, speaking gently as they settled into their seats. By protocol, a minor could only be questioned with a social worker present. Minho remained in the station, waiting, listening to the murmurs of officers discussing the case. His mind was racing.

  Not long after, Dr. Yoon Min Seo arrived, accompanied by another social worker. With them was Jung Woo-bin. The young boy, still fragile from his own trauma, held onto Dr. Yoon’s hand as they stepped into the station. His eyes darted nervously across the unfamiliar setting, but when they nded on Woo-ri, something in him seemed to shift.

  The moment Woo-ri stepped out of the interview room, her gaze locked onto her brother. Without hesitation, she ran to him.

  “Woo-bin,” she breathed out, her voice breaking. She dropped to her knees, wrapping her arms tightly around him. Tears welled in her eyes, but she held them back, her small frame trembling with emotion. Woo-bin froze for a moment, then slowly lifted his arms, embracing her in return.

  “Thank you for being alive,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

  The station fell silent for a brief moment as those watching took in the heartbreaking reunion. Minho exhaled, the weight of the case pressing down on him even more.

  There were still so many questions, but for now, the siblings were together again.

  And that, at least, was a start.

  “She’s strong,” Dr. Yoon murmured beside Minho. “But strength like that only comes from surviving something terrible.”

  The police station had quieted as the night deepened, leaving only a handful of officers and staff moving about in hushed voices. Inside a private interview room, the air was still, save for the soft hum of the ceiling fan overhead. The fluorescent light cast a pale glow over the wooden table, where a small girl sat, hands folded neatly in her p.

  The social worker, Son Ji-hye, observed Woo-ri carefully from across the table. The child had been cleaned up, her face free of dirt, her hair combed but still slightly damp from the earlier wash. Despite the fresh clothes and warm tea she had been given, she still looked fragile—small shoulders hunched, dark eyes heavy with exhaustion.

  Ji-hye softened her voice. “Woo-ri, how are you feeling?”

  The girl blinked slowly. “Tired,” she admitted, her voice quiet but clear. “And… a little dizzy.”

  Ji-hye nodded in understanding. “You’ve been through a lot. It’s okay to feel that way.” She paused before gently adding, “I want to make sure we don’t rush things. If at any point you feel overwhelmed, let me know, alright?”

  Woo-ri nodded.

  Ms. Son took a moment before asking her next question. “Can you tell me what happened that day? The day you st saw your parents?”

  Woo-ri inhaled deeply, her small fingers tightening around the cup of tea in front of her. She let the warmth seep into her hands before finally speaking.

  “It was just a normal day.” Her voice was even, but there was a certain hollowness to it. “It was summer break, so my brother and I stayed at home. Our neighbor, Auntie Sun-hee, was watching over us like she always did when our parents were at work.”

  Ji-hye nodded encouragingly. “Auntie Sun-hee is a close friend of your parents?”

  “Yes,” Woo-ri confirmed. “She’s known them since before I was born. Mom said she would be coming home early that day. She told me in the morning before she left that she got permission to leave work earlier. We were going to meet her at the grocery store. She said she’d take us to buy groceries for the weekend. After that, we were supposed to have dinner together… Woo-bin’s favorite.” Her voice broke slightly at the mention of her brother.

  “What did you pn to have for dinner?”

  Woo-ri’s lips twitched in the faintest hint of a smile. “Woo-bin’s favorite. Fried chicken. We were supposed to eat at our favorite restaurant.”

  Ji-hye noted how Woo-ri spoke of these moments with longing, as if holding onto them tightly.

  “And then?” she prompted gently.

  “Auntie Sun-hee got a message from Mom around lunch. She was about to head to the store. Auntie wanted to take us there, but I told her we could go on our own. It wasn’t far.”

  “Was Woo-bin excited?”

  Woo-ri nodded. “Yes. He held my hand the whole way. “

  “Tell me about your walk to the store.”

  “It was hot. The sun was bright, and Woo-bin kept compining about the heat. We walked past the bakery, and the smell of fresh bread made him whine about getting a snack. I told him we’d get something at the supermarket.”

  Ji-hye let her speak at her own pace. Woo-ri’s voice was steady, but the way her hands clenched and unclenched suggested unease.

  “When we got to the supermarket, we saw the security guard. Mr. Han. He’s been working there since before we were born. He always greets us. He knew our family well.”

  “Did you talk to him?”

  “Yes. He told us that Mom hadn’t arrived yet. He gave us a cart and told us to head inside since it was so hot.”

  “Did you feel like anything was wrong then?”

  Woo-ri hesitated, then shook her head. “Not yet.”

  “What did you and Woo-bin do inside the store?”

  The girl’s voice lightened just a little. “We went to the snacks aisle first. Woo-bin wanted chocote cookies, but I told him to get the honey butter chips instead. He said no, so we got both.”

  Ji-hye smiled softly. “Sounds like a good compromise.”

  Woo-ri nodded faintly.

  “After that, we got juice boxes, then vegetables, then fruit. I realized Mom was taking longer than usual. I took Woo-bin’s hand and went back to Mr. Han. I asked him if she arrived, but he said she hadn’t. He even tried calling her, but there was no answer.”

  Her expression darkened again.

  “What did you think at that moment?”

  “I thought maybe she went home first. Maybe she forgot something. So I decided we should go home.”

  Ji-hye waited, sensing the shift in the air. “And was she there?”

  Woo-ri shook her head. “No.”

  The girl swallowed hard, her voice smaller now. “Woo-bin was getting hungry. So I thought, maybe she went to the restaurant first. We went there… but she wasn’t there either.”

  Her breathing became slightly uneven. Ji-hye gave her a moment before asking, “What did you do then?”

  “When we got back home,” Woo-ri whispered. “The gate was open.”

  Ji-hye leaned forward slightly. “And inside?”

  Woo-ri’s eyes darkened, something distant and haunted settling over her expression. “It was messy. Like someone had searched through everything. But nothing was missing.”

  Ji-hye felt a chill creep up her spine. “What did you do then?”

  Woo-ri hesitated, gripping the edge of her chair. “I took my dad’s toolbox and put it in my schoolbag. Then I grabbed a fshlight.”

  Ji-hye’s brows knitted together. “Why?”

  Woo-ri swallowed, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know… I just felt like we needed something. Something to protect ourselves.”

  Ji-hye leaned in slightly, her voice steady but urgent. “And then?”

  Woo-ri’s fingers clenched the fabric of her sleeves, her knuckles turning white. “Then… we went straight to the forest,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

  Ji-hye felt a chill run down her spine. “What did you see?”

  Woo-ri’s breath trembled as she forced herself to continue. “My mom’s bag,” she said, her voice cracking. “It was just there… on the ground… like she dropped it while running.”

  Ji-hye’s heart pounded. “Are you sure it was hers?”

  Woo-ri nodded slowly, her gaze dropping to her trembling hands. “I know it was,” she whispered. “She never goes anywhere without it.”

  Her breath hitched as the memory sharpened in her mind—the dark leather bag lying abandoned on the forest floor, its contents spilled across the damp earth like a cruel sign of struggle. But what caught her eye the most was the small, worn-out keychain dangling from the zipper. A tiny, unevenly shaped star, made of painted cy.

  “I made it for her,” Woo-ri murmured, her voice breaking. “In a school project st year. She said she’d keep it forever.” Her fingers curled into fists as tears welled in her eyes. “And there it was… on the ground. Like she dropped it while running. Like she had no choice.”

  A shiver ran down Ji-hye’s spine. “That’s when you knew?”

  Woo-ri swallowed hard, her shoulders shaking. “That’s when I knew… something was really, really wrong.”

  A long silence stretched between them. Ji-hye could hear the distant murmur of voices from outside the room, but inside, it was only them.

  Woo-ri’s hands were trembling now, gripping the cup tightly. Ji-hye reached out, her own hands warm and steady. “It’s okay. You’re safe now.”

  The girl’s breathing hitched. She clenched her jaw and forced herself to continue. “The sun was starting to set. The wind was picking up, and the trees were swaying. It was quiet, but not in a good way. We followed the trail.”

  Ji-hye’s fingers pressed lightly into the notepad in front of her. “And then?”

  “We heard a scream.”

  Woo-ri’s eyes were unfocused now, lost in the memory. “It was Mom.”

  Ji-hye’s breath caught. “Did you see her?”

  Tears filled her eyes, but she pressed on. “We hid behind the trees. She was there, near the ke. A man… dressed in bck… was strangling her.”

  Ji-hye’s fingers tightened slightly over her notepad. “Did you see his face?”

  Woo-ri shook her head. “He was too far. But his hands… he was strong. Mom was fighting him, but…”

  She wiped at her tears. “That’s when Woo-bin saw it. Dad… floating in the ke. He screamed.”

  “The man turned his head,” Woo-ri whispered. “We tried to hide, but he saw us.”

  The weight of the revetion was suffocating. Ji-hye forced herself to remain steady, to keep her voice calm. “What did you do?”

  The girl’s jaw tightened. “I told Woo-bin to run. I gave him the fshlight. Told him to get help.” Her hands trembled. “Then I took out my father’s tools. I threw my bag down and ran toward them.”

  Ji-hye’s grip on her pen was tight. “And then?”

  Woo-ri’s lips parted, but no words came out at first. Her small frame trembled. Then, in a voice ced with quiet fury, she said—

  “I fought him.”

  Ji-hye held her breath. “You tried to fight him?”

  “I had to.” Woo-ri’s voice was small but firm. “Mom was trying to push him away. But she fell. She hit the rocks and stopped moving.”

  “The man… he turned to me. I swung at him with the tools, but he hit me. I fell.” Woo-ri’s voice cracked. “He picked me up and threw me down again. Then he took Mom… and walked deeper into the woods.”

  A heavy silence filled the room.

  Ji-hye let out a slow breath, steadying herself. “Woo-ri… you are very brave.”

  In Woo-ri’s Eyes

  The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and pine as Jung Woo-ri clutched her younger brother’s hand, leading him deeper into the forest. The sky, painted in streaks of crimson and gold, was quickly darkening as the sun dipped below the horizon. Their mother had not come home. The groceries she had promised to bring back remained unseen, her phone unreachable.

  Their home had been left in disarray—drawers yanked open, furniture overturned. It was as if someone had been looking for something. Woo-ri’s heart pounded against her ribs as she tried to make sense of it. If their mother had been taken, then by whom? And why?

  Woo-bin whimpered beside her, his small fingers tightening around her wrist. “Noona, I’m scared.” His voice was barely a whisper.

  “I know,” Woo-ri said, forcing herself to sound brave. “We’ll find her.”

  She had packed whatever she could from home—her school bag slung over her shoulders, a fshlight, and some of their father’s tools she had grabbed in a hurry. They weren’t weapons, but they made her feel like she had some control. Woo-ri was only ten, but she understood danger. Something was very, very wrong.

  The forest loomed ahead, dense and unfamiliar in the fading light. It wasn’t far from home, but it had always been a pce their parents told them to avoid after dark. But as they crept further in, Woo-ri suddenly stopped.

  A handbag y on the ground just ahead of them, its contents spilled onto the damp forest floor. Their mother’s handbag.

  Woo-bin let out a quiet gasp, and Woo-ri’s stomach clenched with dread. She kneeled, touching the bag with trembling fingers. Their mother had been here.

  Then, a scream tore through the silence.

  A shriek so raw, so filled with agony, that it made Woo-bin jump and grab onto his sister. Woo-ri’s breath hitched. The scream was unmistakable—it was their mother.

  Tears pricked her eyes, but she swallowed them back. She couldn’t cry. Not now.

  “Stay quiet,” she whispered, pulling Woo-bin with her as they ran toward the sound, her heart hammering in her chest. The ground was uneven, the damp soil making it difficult to move quickly, but they pressed on, lungs burning, feet stumbling over roots and fallen leaves.

  Then, through the dense trees, they saw it.

  A man dressed in bck stood in the clearing, his face obscured by the shadows. Their mother, Kim Soo-ah, was on her knees before him, her body trembling violently. His hands were around her throat, squeezing, crushing the air from her lungs.

  Woo-ri smmed a hand over Woo-bin’s mouth before he could make a sound. Tears streamed down his face, his small body shaking. She felt her own tears threatening to spill, but she couldn’t look away. Her mother’s eyes were wide, her hands cwing at the man’s arms, struggling against his grip. Her gasps for air turned into weak, choked sounds.

  “No,” Woo-ri mouthed, gripping the bark of the tree they were hiding behind, nails digging into the rough surface.

  Kim Soo-ah’s movements slowed. Her body twitched violently, her fingers losing their strength. The man kept his grip firm, watching coldly as her body began to slump.

  And then, the final exhale.

  Woo-ri bit down on her lip until she tasted blood. Her mother was gone.

  The man let go, her lifeless body crumpling to the ground. A sickening silence followed.

  Then, Woo-bin let out a strangled cry.

  At first, Woo-ri thought it was just from the shock, but when she followed his gaze, her breath caught in her throat.

  Floating in the ke nearby, eerily still, was their father. His lifeless body bobbed slightly in the water, pale under the dimming light.

  A sob built in Woo-bin’s throat, his small frame trembling, but before Woo-ri could cmp a hand over his mouth again, the man in bck turned his head.

  Their eyes met.

  Woo-ri’s blood ran cold.

  She yanked Woo-bin back behind the tree, pressing him close as she whispered frantically, “Run. Now.”

  She reached into her school bag, grabbing the first tool her fingers touched. A wrench. Not much, but it was something.

  She shoved the fshlight into Woo-bin’s hands. “Run to the road. Find help.”

  Woo-bin shook his head, sobbing. “Noona, no—”

  “Go!” she whispered fiercely.

  With one st gnce at their mother’s desperate struggle, Woo-bin turned and ran. His legs, small and unsteady, struggled to find bance on the uneven forest floor. His bare feet slipped against damp leaves, and he fell hard onto his hands and knees, sharp twigs cutting into his skin. Tears streamed down his face, his breath ragged and broken, but he forced himself up, legs trembling beneath him.

  He ran.

  His sobs came in hiccupping gasps as he darted between the trees, the fshlight clutched tightly in his tiny hands. The beam of light bounced wildly, barely illuminating the darkening forest ahead. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, drowning out every other sound.

  But he couldn’t stop.

  He chanced a gnce over his shoulder—back at the nightmare unfolding behind him. His sister, Woo-ri, had dropped her bag, tools cttering onto the ground as she lunged at the man in bck. Their mother’s voice, hoarse and desperate, screamed at her to stop. But Woo-ri didn’t stop. She wouldn’t.

  A strangled cry escaped his lips, and his foot caught on an exposed root. He tumbled forward, nding hard on his chest. For a moment, the world spun around him, his vision swimming with tears. He gasped for air, the taste of dirt on his tongue, but he had no time to cry. He had to get help.

  He pushed himself up again and ran.

  The cold air stung his lungs as he blindly charged forward, his body running on pure terror. His sobs grew louder, his vision blurring as the fshlight wavered in his grip. He barely saw the looming figure in front of him.

  And then—he crashed into something solid.

  The impact sent him reeling backward, his small frame crumpling onto the ground. He looked up, blinking through the haze of tears. A tall man in a dark suit loomed over him, his face obscured by shadows. Woo-bin tried to focus, tried to see who it was, but his body was shaking too much, his vision clouded with panic.

  His lips trembled, trying to form words, but nothing came out. His entire world was a blur of darkness, pain, and fear.

  His tiny fingers cwed weakly at the ground, reaching for the fshlight that had rolled away. His breath hitched, his chest tightening, the overwhelming terror swallowing him whole.

  The st thing he saw before the darkness took him was the man in the suit stepping toward him.

  And then—nothing.

  A shadow loomed behind Woo-ri.

  She turned, gripping the wrench tightly, and swung with all her strength. The man in bck barely flinched. He caught her wrist mid-air and wrenched it behind her back, sending a sharp pain up her arm.

  Her mother, still conscious, groaned weakly from the ground. “No—please…” she whispered.

  Summoning every ounce of courage, Woo-ri reached into her bag with her free hand and grabbed another tool—a screwdriver. She drove it towards the man’s side, but he dodged effortlessly, his grip tightening painfully around her wrist. With one swift motion, he flung her to the ground.

  Her head hit the dirt with a sickening crack. The world spun.

  Through the haze of pain, she saw the man crouch down and grab her mother by the hair, dragging her further into the woods.

  Woo-ri tried to move, to scream, but her body wouldn’t listen. Her limbs felt like lead.

  Then everything went dark.

  The next thing she knew, the sun had already risen. The warm light filtered through the dense canopy above, casting dappled patterns on the forest floor. Her head throbbed with a dull, relentless pain, her body aching from the fall.

  She was somewhere deep in the forest. She could hear the faint sound of water nearby—there had to be a ke close.

  Her breath hitched. The ke.

  Tears welled in her eyes as she scrambled to her feet, swaying from dizziness. She had to find it. That was where she had st seen her parents.

  But the deeper she walked, the more the ndscape blurred into an endless maze of trees and undergrowth. No sign of the ke. No sign of anyone.

  Panic cwed at her chest. What if Woo-bin never made it to the road? What if no one came to help?

  She cried and cried, but the forest swallowed her sobs whole. No one answered.

  With no other choice, she kept moving. Walking and walking, but the trees stretched on forever.

  The sun dipped low again, the sky bruising into twilight. Exhausted and weak, she colpsed beneath a tree, curling into herself. Her stomach ached from hunger, her throat dry from thirst and tears. A terrible thought crept in—maybe she wouldn’t wake up. Maybe this was it.

  But she did wake up.

  The next morning, she forced herself to her feet and walked again. Every muscle in her body screamed in protest, but she kept going.

  Then, finally, through the thick branches, she saw it—a road.

  Her legs trembled as she staggered toward it, her vision swimming. The closer she got, the more familiar it became.

  And then it hit her. Home. This is home.

  A sob tore from her throat, her steps quickening. But she didn’t stop at her house.

  She continued walking, her steps unsteady but determined, until she finally reached the police station.

  Pieces of the Puzzle

  A cozy cafe nestled in the heart of the city served as the meeting point. It was a warm contrast to the grim reality they had been drowning in—soft yellow lighting, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee, and quiet chatter in the background.

  Minho arrived first, settling into a corner booth before Yna, Aky, and Lyn walked in. Yna’s eyes were slightly puffy, as if she had been holding back emotions all day. Aky wore a grim expression, and Lyn, as usual, seemed lost in thought, her fingers drumming against the table absentmindedly.

  Minho wasted no time. “I spoke to Woo-ri’s social worker. The girl remembers everything.”

  Yna’s hands trembled slightly as she reached for her cup. “What… happened to them?” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

  Minho sighed. “They were supposed to meet their mother at the supermarket, but she never showed up. When they went home, they found the house ransacked. Nothing was stolen, but someone was clearly looking for something. Then they found their mother’s bag in the forest.”

  Yna swallowed hard. “And then…?”

  Minho’s tone darkened. “They saw her mother being attacked. Their father was already dead in the ke.”

  Yna let out a shaky breath, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Those poor kids…”

  Aky crossed his arms, shaking his head. “It’s a miracle that girl survived. She’s incredibly brave.”

  Lyn, who had been silent until now, spoke up. “This case doesn’t match what happened twenty years ago. Back then, neither of us could speak after what happened. But Woo-ri… she’s talking. And she believes someone was after something specific.”

  The silence was deafening.

  Minho’s voice was calm but firm. “That’s the biggest difference. Twenty years ago, the three of you couldn’t speak about what happened. But now, we have Woo-ri—someone who was able to tell at least part of the story.”

  Aky leaned back, rubbing his temple, his brows drawn together in frustration. His mind was racing, trying to make sense of everything.

  “But what if it’s just a coincidence?” he muttered, though even as he said it, doubt flickered in his eyes. His voice cked conviction, like he was grasping at straws. “There’s no way it could be the same culprit. Whoever did that… they’d have to be long gone by now.”

  Lyn exhaled sharply, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. She stared down at the table, her expression a mixture of unease and deep contemption. “But something isn’t adding up.” Her fingers tapped absently against her sleeve, her mind clearly trying to piece together a puzzle with missing pieces. “Woo-ri’s case is too simir to ours. The details… the way it happened. There are too many parallels.”

  She hesitated, her gaze flickering toward Yna before settling back on the table. “If this was really just a coincidence… then why does it feel like we’re being dragged back into something we were never supposed to escape?”

  The room felt smaller, the air heavier. Minho, who had been listening silently, finally spoke. His voice was steady but ced with concern. “If it really is connected… then we need to know everything. And we need to know now.”

  Silence settled over them like a heavy fog, thick and suffocating. The weight of unspoken truths pressed down on Yna’s chest, making it harder to breathe. The words banced on the edge of her tongue, burning, demanding to be set free.

  She exhaled slowly, her voice barely above a whisper. “I remember.”

  Three pairs of eyes snapped toward her.

  Her heart pounded against her ribs, the sound deafening in the stillness. Her fingers dug into the fabric of her jeans, seeking something—anything—to ground her. But nothing could steady the storm brewing inside her.

  “I remember everything.”

  Aky’s brows furrowed, his jaw tightening. “Yna…”

  Her name on his lips was careful, hesitant, as if he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear what came next. Lyn’s breath hitched, her fingers gripping the edge of the table as if bracing for impact. Minho said nothing, only watching her, his gaze steady but unreadable.

  Yna swallowed hard. The lump in her throat made it feel like she was being strangled by the weight of the past.

  “Yesterday, before we met for lunch… I met someone.”

  Lyn straightened, her knuckles going white. “Who?”

  Yna forced the words out, each sylble scraping against her throat like gss. “Mr. Jang.”

  Aky tensed beside her, his entire body going rigid. Lyn’s eyes widened, a flicker of something unreadable fshing across her face. Minho shifted slightly, his expression darkening, but he still remained silent, letting her speak.

  “He told me everything.”

  Her hands began to tremble, the memories cwing their way back, unrelenting. She clenched them into fists, nails digging into her palms as if the pain could anchor her.

  Aky’s voice was quieter now, more guarded, but edged with something close to fear. “Everything?”

  Yna closed her eyes for a moment, willing herself to stay steady. When she opened them, the room felt smaller, the walls closing in around them.

  “Yes.”

  Her hands were trembling now, so she clenched them into fists to stop it.

  Yna nodded, her vision blurring. “I wasn’t left unable to speak after what happened twenty years ago. Not like you two.”

  Lyn’s brows drew together. “Then…?”

  Yna’s throat felt dry, but she forced the truth out. “I wasn’t left speechless…” Her voice cracked, barely above a whisper. “I was forced to stay silent.”

  The weight of her confession crashed down around them.

  Aky’s breath hitched. Lyn’s eyes widened, horrified.

  Minho’s expression darkened.

  Yna clenched her hands together, pressing them tightly against her p, but the trembling wouldn’t stop. She could feel her pulse hammering beneath her skin, the cold creeping up her arms despite the warmth of the café. Her body was betraying her, shaking with the weight of words that had been buried for too long.

  Minho noticed.

  Without a word, he reached across the table and gently pced his hand over hers. His grip was firm, steady—grounding. A silent promise that she wasn’t alone. That she was safe.

  Yna inhaled sharply, trying to suppress the overwhelming wave of emotions crashing over her.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, the memories flooding in like a tidal wave. “Someone made sure I wouldn’t talk. They made sure I wouldn’t remember.” She exhaled a shaky breath, her voice breaking. “But I did remember. I’ve been remembering all along.”

  The cafe suddenly felt too small, the air too thick to breathe. Minho, Aky, and Lyn exchanged uneasy gnces. This wasn’t just an old mystery resurfacing. This was something much worse.

  Something that had never really ended.

  END OF CHAPTER 13