The shack reeked of decay, a suffocating blend of damp wood, rust, and something faintly metallic—blood, perhaps. Dim light filtered through the grime-coated window, casting long, eerie shadows that danced along the wooden floorboards. The air was thick, oppressive, as though the walls themselves were closing in. Dust swirled with every movement, coating their skin like a yer of grime.

  Yna’s breath hitched as she froze, her wide eyes locking onto the figure in the doorway. Jang Kiho loomed like a specter, his stillness more menacing than any movement. The shadows stretched across his masked face, obscuring his expression, but they didn’t need to see his eyes to feel the sheer malice radiating from him. He was a predator savoring the fear in the room.

  The woman they had just helped barely had the strength to stand, her body trembling violently. She dropped to her knees, her breath coming in shallow gasps. Aky and Yna fought to maintain their composure, their bodies tense, hearts hammering in their chests. Lyn, however, stood firm, her expression unreadable, showing no trace of fear—only a sharp, calcuting focus.

  The man tilted his head slightly, the movement slow, deliberate. Then, in a voice smooth yet ced with amusement, he murmured, “This is about to get fun.”

  A chill swept through the shack like a gust of wind, tightening its grip on them.

  And then he lunged.

  The fight erupted in the darkness. The man moved with a deadly swiftness, his gloved hand shooting out toward them. Aky and Lyn instinctively threw themselves in front of the woman, shielding her from his reach. But his hand found Yna. His fingers cmped down around her wrist like a vice, and she screamed, her fear raw and piercing.

  Aky and Lyn reacted instantly. Aky drove his knee into the man’s side, making him grunt, while Lyn struck at his arm, prying Yna free from his grasp. The moment Yna stumbled back, Aky turned and kicked the nearest shelf with all his strength. The rickety wood groaned before colpsing, sending an avanche of toy tops and wooden trinkets onto the masked man.

  He staggered but didn’t fall.

  Gritting his teeth, Aky searched for anything to use against him. His eyes darted to another shelf stacked with old, dusty boxes. Without hesitation, he delivered another kick, toppling it. Lyn, quick to follow his lead, darted to a table den with art materials and overturned it, sending supplies scattering across the floor. Pencils rolled, paint spttered, paper fluttered like fallen leaves.

  Jang Kiho growled, shoving aside the debris. Though weakened, he was still strong. Too strong.

  With a sudden burst of power, Jang Kiho lunged through the chaos, his hand locking around Aky’s arm. Before Aky could react, the man hurled him toward the open hatch in the floor. The impact sent Aky tumbling into the darkness below, his body nding with a sickening thud.

  “Aky!” Yna screamed, her voice cracking with terror.

  Still holding onto the woman, Yna frantically grabbed anything she could find—a paint can, a wooden box—hurling them at the man. He barely flinched.

  Lyn tried to reach the door, but the man was faster. His iron grip seized her wrist, yanking her back. She fought, twisting her body, smming her elbow into his side. He grunted but held firm. Gritting her teeth, Lyn reached down, fingers grazing across something sharp on the floor—one of the scattered supplies Yna had thrown. Without hesitation, she sshed at him.

  The bde bit into his mask, cutting across the fabric and grazing his cheek. He let out a guttural growl, staggering backward, pressing a hand to the fresh wound.

  But then he turned on her, enraged.

  With terrifying force, he shoved her toward the open hatch. Lyn gasped as she fell, her body crashing into the darkness below, nding hard against Aky’s motionless form.

  Darkness swallowed Lyn as she plummeted through the open tch, the air rushing past her ears before she nded with a painful thud. A sharp gasp escaped her lips as she collided with Aky’s unconscious form. For a moment, the wind was knocked out of her, but she quickly pushed herself away, careful not to put more pressure on him.

  “Aky!” she hissed, crawling closer. Her hands trembled as she reached for his face, gently shaking him. “Wake up!”

  Aky let out a low groan, his body stirring. His eyelids fluttered before his gaze, dazed and unfocused, met hers. He winced, reaching for his throbbing head.

  “Lyn...?” His voice was weak, barely above a whisper. He tried to sit up, but as he shifted, his fingers brushed against something cold.

  Something solid.

  His breath hitched. Aky froze, a shiver creeping down his spine. Slowly, he turned his head, his gaze following his trembling hands until they rested on the figure lying beside him. The dim light filtering through the cracks above barely illuminated the space, but it was enough for him to see.

  A body.

  The man’s face was drained of color, his clothes torn and soaked in dark patches of dried blood. His limbs were eerily still, twisted unnaturally. The unmistakable scent of decay filled the air.

  Aky let out a strangled gasp, scrambling backward, his breaths coming in sharp, panicked bursts. His chest tightened, nausea rising in his throat. “Lyn...” His voice cracked, his eyes wide with horror. “H-He’s... he’s dead.”

  Lyn's heart pounded against her ribs as she turned her gaze to the corpse. A cold dread seeped into her bones. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to move closer, her hands shaking as she reached out, hesitating just inches away. The man’s skin was ice-cold. The realization sent a violent shudder through her.

  Her fingers curled into fists. Chills ran down her spine as her mind raced. Who was he? How long had he been down here?

  Lyn’s breath grew uneven as she scanned the dim space, her mind repying every moment from earlier. She had helped the woman out of the hatch just minutes earlier—had scanned every corner in her desperate rush—yet she hadn’t noticed a body before. It hadn’t been here.

  A fresh wave of dread settled in her stomach.

  Had he been hidden beneath something? Had she simply been too rushed to notice? Or worse—had he been alive when they first arrived, only to die in the moments that followed?

  A shiver crawled up her spine. The woman had been frantic, making noise, almost as if she were calling for help. And now, as Lyn repyed the moment in her head, she realized—she had been trying to signal something. But before Lyn could piece it together, Jang Kiho had appeared, plunging everything into chaos.

  She turned to Aky, who was still shaking, his gaze locked onto the body in frozen terror. Lyn squeezed his hand, her voice steady despite the fear cwing at her throat.

  Above them, the sounds of struggle continued—furniture crashing, muffled yells, Yna’s desperate screams. The walls of their prison seemed to close in tighter.

  Aky sniffled, his shoulders shaking. He wasn’t just scared—he was crying. Lyn clenched her jaw, pushing aside her own fear. She reached for Aky’s hand, gripping it tightly.

  “We have to get out of here,” she whispered, her voice firm despite the fear cwing at her throat.

  Aky wiped his face, his breath still uneven, but he nodded. Above them, Yna was still fighting. And they had to find a way to help her—before it was too te.

  Yna trembled, sobbing as she shielded the woman behind her. Her chest rose and fell in rapid, panicked breaths. Jang Kiho advanced, his dark presence swallowing the dim light.

  He reached for her.

  But the woman, though weak, pushed forward, shoving him back with all her remaining strength. The impact sent Yna stumbling toward the door.

  “Run!” the woman cried, her voice hoarse but firm.

  Yna hesitated only for a second before seizing the chance. She bolted, her legs weak but fueled by sheer terror. The moment she burst through the door, she ran. The wind roared in her ears, her vision blurred by tears. The uneven ground nearly sent her tumbling, but she forced herself forward.

  Her lungs burned. Her body ached.

  Then—

  A shadow fell over her.

  A pair of bck shoes. Standing directly in her path.

  She tried to look up, but the sun was too bright, blinding her. She squinted, barely able to make out the figure looming over her.

  Then, darkness swallowed her as she colpsed.

  Back inside the shack, the woman fought with all the strength she had left, wielding a broken wooden stick, striking at the man’s arm. He grunted, his fatigue showing. The fight with Mr. Jang had weakened him. He let out a loud sigh, frustrated, and with a single kick, sent the table flying. The woman lost her bance, crashing onto the floor.

  Slowly, he stepped toward her, his breath heavy, his posture rigid. He loomed over her, then lowered himself, pinning her down.

  His gloved hands wrapped around her throat.

  She gasped, her fingers cwing at his wrists, her eyes wide with terror as the pressure tightened. Her breaths came in short, frantic bursts, her body convulsing.

  Then—

  A creak.

  The door swung open.

  A new presence filled the room, one of undeniable authority. The man in the suit stepped inside, the air around him chilling. His sharp gaze locked onto the scene before him, his expression unreadable.

  Jang Kiho didn’t let go, but his body tensed, uncertainty flickering in his stance.

  The suited man took a step forward, his voice calm but edged with finality.

  “Enough.”

  For a moment, silence reigned.

  Then, ever so slowly, the strangler loosened his grip.

  Lost Without Words

  Yna stirred at the sound of a voice calling her name. Her eyelids fluttered open, her vision hazy, adjusting to the dim glow of the police car’s headlights illuminating the riverbank. The air was cool, the scent of damp grass mingling with the faint metallic tang of water. Crickets chirped in the distance, their song weaving through the night air. The river, a dark ribbon under the moonlight, glistened with each gentle ripple.

  She pushed herself up, the damp grass pressing against her palms. Aky and Lyn sat nearby, their clothes disheveled, dirt clinging to their skin. They both looked as if they had just woken up as well, their eyes distant, hollow. Aky’s hands rested limply on his p, his fingers twitching slightly. Lyn stared at the ground, her lips slightly parted, her face eerily void of any emotion. Neither of them spoke. They just sat there, staring bnkly, as if their voices had been stolen.

  Two police officers loomed over them, their faces creased with concern.

  “What happened to you kids?” one of them asked, kneeling down. “How did you get here?”

  Silence.

  The officers exchanged gnces before offering their hands to help them up. Guided gently, the children were led to the police car, its fshing red and blue lights casting fleeting shadows across their faces. They climbed in without protest, their movements mechanical. The car doors closed with a dull thud, and soon, they were being driven through the quiet streets, the hum of the engine the only sound filling the heavy silence.

  At the police station, the fluorescent lights felt harsh, buzzing faintly. The officers asked them again, their voices firm yet patient. “Can you tell us what happened? Were you lost?” But none of the children answered. They remained seated, their expressions frozen in unreadable masks. One officer sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

  “They’re in shock,” the older officer murmured to his partner. “Whatever happened, they’re not ready to talk about it.”

  “Could they have witnessed something? Two bodies were found hours ago, in separate kes,” the younger officer mused. “Maybe they got scared?”

  Before more could be said, the station doors swung open with a force that made a few officers gnce up.

  Aky’s parents rushed in first, their faces drained of color, their breath uneven from what must have been a frantic drive. His mother’s hands trembled violently as she clutched her husband's arm, her eyes darting around the room until they nded on her son.

  “Aky! Oh my God, what happened?” she cried, her voice breaking as she stumbled forward. She fell to her knees before him, her fingers gripping his hands, feeling their coldness. “Baby, talk to me,” she pleaded, her voice thick with desperation. “Say something.”

  Aky sat still, his expression vacant, his lips slightly parted but not moving. He barely blinked.

  His father, usually a man of composure, stood stiffly behind his wife, his jaw clenched so tightly that the muscles twitched. His hands balled into fists at his sides, but his eyes betrayed him—they were filled with a deep, concealed worry.

  Following closely behind them was Yna’s grandmother, her frail frame shaking as she took quick, unsteady steps toward her granddaughter. “Yna,” she murmured, her breath hitching when she caught sight of the bandage wrapped tightly around the girl's arm. Her weathered hands hovered over Yna’s shoulders, hesitant to touch her as if she were made of gss.

  “She wasn’t wounded this morning,” she whispered to herself, her fingers finally brushing over Yna’s arm, as if confirming that what she was seeing was real. Her lips quivered. “My poor child, what happened to you?”

  The silence in the room was suffocating.

  Moments ter, the sound of hurried heels clicking against the floor echoed through the station. Lyn’s mother arrived with her personal driver trailing behind her. Her face was unusually pale, her usually fwless hair slightly out of pce—a rare sight for a woman who always carried herself with perfect poise.

  Her sharp eyes scanned the room, and the moment they nded on Lyn, her expression hardened.

  “Lyn!” she barked, her voice a mix of fear and frustration. “Look at what happened! I told you, you should never have been pying with them.” Her tone was reprimanding, but there was an undeniable tremor in her voice.

  Aky’s parents turned at once, their backs stiffening at the comment.

  Aky’s father’s face darkened as he turned to her. “Maybe it was your daughter who dragged them into this,” he snapped.

  Lyn’s mother’s eyes fred. “Excuse me?”

  Before the tension could ignite into something worse, one of the officers stepped forward, raising a firm hand.

  “That’s enough,” he said, his voice carrying the weight of authority. His gaze swept over the worried parents, his tone softer when he continued. “I understand that you’re all frightened. I would be too if it were my child. But bming each other isn’t going to help right now.”

  Aky’s mother wiped her tears hastily with the sleeve of her coat, but her grip on her son’s hands didn’t loosen. “Then tell us, officer,” she said, her voice shaking, “why won’t they speak? What happened to them out there?”

  The officer exhaled, gncing at his colleagues before crouching slightly to their level. “We don’t know yet,” he admitted, his voice low but gentle. “We’ve asked them questions, we’ve tried to comfort them, but… they won’t talk.” He looked at each of the children carefully, the deep concern evident in his face. “Right now, we need to be patient. Whatever happened to them tonight—” he hesitated, choosing his words carefully, “—it was enough to shock them into silence. They need time.”

  Aky’s father let out a long, exhausted breath, dragging a hand down his face.

  Yna’s grandmother pulled Yna closer, whispering, “You’re safe now, my love. You’re safe.”

  The officer straightened. “Take them home. Let them rest in familiar surroundings. If—when—they remember anything, or if they say something, anything at all, please call us immediately.” His eyes softened slightly. “They’ve been through something terrible. Right now, they need comfort more than questions.”

  A heavy silence stretched between them before, one by one, the parents nodded.

  And so, the children were taken home. But the silence remained.

  At home, Aky’s father guided him into the bathroom, the warm glow of the single overhead light casting long shadows along the tiled walls. The water ran steadily from the faucet, steam curling up in ghostly wisps. Aky stood still, his small frame trembling slightly, his clothes clinging to him, damp with sweat and grime. His father knelt before him, gently peeling away his dirt-streaked shirt, his fingers careful yet firm.

  With a deep breath, he dipped a cloth into the basin, the water turning murky as he scrubbed the filth from his son’s skin. The rhythmic swipes should have been comforting, but instead, the silence between them grew heavier. The soft spshes of water and the faint humming of the house’s old pipes were the only sounds that filled the space.

  “Aky,” his father murmured, his voice steady but ced with concern. “Tell me what happened.” His hands slowed as he wiped Aky’s arms, his eyes searching his son’s bnk expression. “Where were you?” He waited, hoping for even a flicker of response, but Aky remained silent, his gaze distant, fixed on the tiled floor.

  Aky’s father’s jaw tensed. His fingers gripped Aky’s small shoulders, his patience beginning to wane. “Aky,” he repeated, his voice now sharper. “Talk to me!”

  The boy flinched at the sudden change in tone. His lips quivered, and for the first time that night, his chest rose and fell erratically. Tears welled in his eyes, spilling over his cheeks in silent, uncontrolble sobs. His small body shook, his hands curling into fists at his sides.

  Before his father could say another word, Aky’s mother appeared in the doorway, her eyes filled with worry. She rushed to them, kneeling beside her son and pulling him into a tight embrace. “Enough,” she whispered, her voice soft yet firm, her fingers stroking his damp hair. “Let him be.”

  Aky’s father exhaled sharply, his frustration warring with his concern. He ran a tired hand over his face before stepping away, his gaze lingering on the broken expression on his son’s face. He wanted answers—needed them—but for now, all he could do was watch.

  Aky’s mother wiped his face with gentle strokes, whispering reassurances as his sobs quieted into soft sniffles. She helped him into his pajamas, the fabric warm against his chilled skin. When they finally id him down in bed, he curled into himself, his back to them, his breaths coming in uneven hitches.

  His mother sat at the edge of the bed, running a soothing hand down his arm. “Sleep, sweetheart,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to his temple. “You’re home now.”

  His father stood in the doorway, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. He watched as the boy’s shoulders twitched with the remnants of his crying. Then, finally, the room fell into an uneasy silence, the weight of the unknown still pressing heavily upon them.

  Lyn’s mother paced the length of the vish bedroom, her heels clicking sharply against the polished wooden floor. The room was bathed in a soft golden glow from the ornate chandelier overhead, but despite its warmth, the air felt cold with tension. The scent of vender from a recently lit candle mixed with the sterile crispness of freshly undered sheets.

  “This is what happens when you let her run wild,” she spat, her perfectly manicured nails tapping against her folded arms. Her face, usually composed, was tight with frustration, her brows furrowed in disapproval. “We should have put her in an academy before school. This never would have happened if she had been disciplined properly.”

  Lyn’s father sat at the edge of the chaise near the foot of their daughter’s bed, rubbing his temples with slow, deliberate movements. A deep sigh left him as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His suit jacket y discarded on the armrest beside him, his tie loosened. He looked exhausted. “She’s just a child,” he countered, his voice calmer but firm. “She knows what she’s supposed to do and not to do.”

  His words only fueled his wife’s frustration. “And yet, here we are,” she shot back, throwing a hand toward the closed door that separated them from their daughter’s room. “Did she know what she was supposed to do tonight? Did she know she was supposed to stay safe?” Her voice wavered, betraying the true emotion beneath her anger.

  Before her husband could respond, a soft, heart-wrenching sound broke through the heavy silence—a quiet, stifled sob from the other side of the door.

  Both parents froze.

  Lyn’s mother inhaled sharply before rushing toward the bedroom. The moment she opened the door, her heart clenched at the sight before her.

  Lyn sat on the edge of her grand canopy bed, freshly changed into pale blue silk pajamas, her damp hair clinging to her tear-streaked cheeks. The room, usually pristine, felt unsettlingly still. A rge window overlooked the city, its curtains drawn back just enough for the moonlight to cast a silver glow across the plush ivory carpet. Plush toys lined the neatly arranged shelves, staring lifelessly into the dim room, their presence doing little to comfort the crying girl.

  Her small hands gripped the embroidered duvet, her shoulders trembling with each quiet sob. The warmth of the thick bnket draped over her did nothing to soothe the shivers that wracked her frame.

  Without hesitation, her mother strode forward, sinking onto the bed beside her and pulling Lyn into her arms. The sharp edges of her earlier anger softened into something gentler, something more desperate. “Oh, my baby,” she whispered, rocking her slightly, running delicate fingers through her hair. “You’re okay. You’re okay now.”

  Lyn didn’t respond—she simply let herself be held, burying her face against her mother’s shoulder, silent tears soaking the expensive fabric of her nightgown.

  Lyn’s father approached the bed, his expression unreadable but his eyes shadowed with concern. He sat down on the opposite side, reaching out to tuck the bnkets more securely around his daughter. His hand lingered at her shoulder, a grounding touch, though he said nothing. Words felt useless in that moment.

  “Sleep now,” he murmured after a long pause, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re safe.”

  Lyn’s sobs gradually quieted, but the tremble in her body remained. It would take time for the echoes of the night’s horrors to fade, if they ever did at all. For now, though, she let her mother hold her, let the familiar scent of her perfume wrap around her like a fragile shield against the darkness.

  At Yna’s home, the small bathroom was dimly lit, the only source of warmth coming from the faint yellow glow of the bedside mp that spilled into the open doorway. The scent of chamomile soap and warm towels filled the air, but despite the comfort of the familiar smell, there was a hollow stillness in the room.

  Her grandmother sat beside her, her weathered hands working with slow, deliberate care as she wiped Yna’s small body down with a damp towel. The old woman’s fingers trembled slightly as she ran the cloth over her granddaughter’s arms, over the bruises forming there, over the bandaged wound on her arm.

  The cut was deep. Too deep. Not the kind of wound a child could get from pying too roughly or falling down. The sight of it made something tighten painfully in her chest.

  Yna remained still, her body pliant beneath her grandmother’s gentle touch, but her eyes were distant, unfocused. She sat on the low stool, her legs dangling slightly, her expression bnk, her lips slightly parted but silent.

  Her grandmother hesitated before pressing her fingers lightly around the edges of the bandage. Her voice cracked when she spoke. “Who did this to you?” she whispered, her breath uneven. “Oh, my poor child…”

  For a long moment, there was only silence.

  Then, Yna blinked—slowly, as if surfacing from a dream. Without looking up, she reached out, her small fingers curling around her grandmother’s hand. Her grip was weak, but the warmth of it sent a fresh wave of emotion crashing into the old woman’s chest.

  “I’m sorry, grandma” Yna whispered, her voice hoarse, barely audible.

  Her grandmother sucked in a sharp breath. Tears welled in her eyes as she stared at the child in front of her, at the sorrow etched into her young face, at the weight she seemed to be carrying—something far too heavy for such small shoulders.

  “Oh, my sweet girl…” she murmured, pulling Yna close. Her arms wrapped around her, holding her tightly, as if she could shield her from whatever horrors she had endured.

  Yna remained stiff for a few moments before slowly melting into the embrace, her fingers clutching weakly at her grandmother’s sleeve. Neither of them spoke again. They simply held each other, the quiet hum of the night their only witness.

  After some time, her grandmother gently finished cleaning her up, dressing her in fresh clothes before tucking her into bed. The old woman sat beside her for a while, brushing light fingers over her forehead, watching as Yna’s breathing evened out into the fragile quiet of sleep.

  The house was silent, but outside, the wind rustled through the trees, whispering secrets only the night could understand.

  The night deepened, wrapping the town in a hush so profound that it felt like the world itself was holding its breath. The streets y empty, bathed in silver light from a waning moon that hung low in the sky, casting long, distorted shadows across rooftops and quiet roads. Streetlights flickered intermittently, their weak glow barely cutting through the thickening darkness. A dog barked somewhere in the distance, its lonely voice swallowed by the vast stillness.

  The river, which had glistened under the soft morning sun, now stretched like a bck void, its waters moving sluggishly, whispering against the banks. The crickets, once a constant backdrop to the town’s nights, had grown quiet, their song reduced to a scattered few, as if even they sensed the weight pressing down on the town. The cool breeze that carried the scent of damp earth and pine trees earlier in the day now felt heavier, more stagnant, as though it carried something unseen, something lingering just beyond reach.

  It had begun as an ordinary day. The sun had risen in golden splendor, chasing away the mist that clung to the fields. Children had run through the streets, their ughter ringing freely, filling the morning air with life. Parents had called after them, half-hearted scoldings mixed with amused indulgence. Birds had sung from their perches, their melodies threading through the rustling leaves of the trees. It had been a day like any other—a day where the biggest concerns had been chores left undone, errands to be run, and the simple, thoughtless joys of childhood.

  But that world—the warmth, the ughter, the ease—had crumbled by nightfall.

  Now, three homes stood shrouded in grief, their walls heavy with unspoken words, their air thick with the echoes of memories not yet understood.

  In Aky’s house, his small frame curled beneath the bnkets, his body still trembling even in sleep. His father sat outside his room, his hands gripping his head, staring at the floor as if searching for answers in the wood grain. His mother remained awake in the dim kitchen, her fingers wrapped around a cup of tea gone cold, her eyes distant as she repyed the image of her son’s tear-streaked face over and over in her mind.

  At Lyn’s home, the expensive sheets of her bed were tangled, her small hands gripping them even in sleep, as though she were clinging to something unseen. Her mother sat on the edge of the bed, her fingers ghosting over her daughter's damp hair, her lips pressed into a tight line. The sharp words she had spoken earlier echoed in her own mind, filling her with a guilt she couldn’t yet name. Her father lingered in the doorway, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, not daring to step further into the room, as though doing so would force him to acknowledge something he wasn’t ready to face.

  And in Yna’s home, her grandmother sat beside her, watching the slow rise and fall of her breathing, afraid to look away, afraid that if she did, Yna might vanish like a wisp of smoke. Her fingers trembled as she traced the bandage wrapped around the small arm that y limply at her side. The room smelled of chamomile and vender, a scent meant to soothe, but the air remained thick, suffocating in its sorrow.

  Drowned Secrets

  The ke was eerily still, the surface dark and gssy as the st hues of sunset bled into the horizon. A thin mist clung to the water, swirling slightly in the cool evening breeze. The fisherman, an older man with calloused hands and a weary gait, trudged toward the dock, his fishing net slung over his shoulder. His evening routine was second nature to him, a practiced rhythm of preparation before setting out into the open water.

  But tonight, something was different. As he stepped onto the dock, the wooden pnks creaking beneath his weight, his eyes caught something unusual near the reeds. A dark shape floated just beneath the surface, bobbing slightly with the gentle movement of the water. At first, he thought it was just another piece of driftwood or some abandoned trash. But as he took a step closer, his stomach twisted into a cold knot of fear.

  A man’s body.

  His skin was pale, almost blue under the dim light of the rising moon. His clothes clung to his lifeless form, heavy with water. His eyes, open and unseeing, stared bnkly toward the sky. The fisherman staggered back, his breath catching in his throat before he found his voice.

  “Police! Somebody call the police!”

  Hanwol Lake stretched out like an endless mirror, reflecting the pale light of the full moon. But the water’s peace was an illusion. The presence of police lights fshing red and blue against the surface fractured its serenity, as if the ke itself was holding its breath.

  Detective Kim Ryeo Wook pulled his coat tighter against the cold and approached the officers near the shoreline.

  “What do we have?” he asked, his voice cutting through the murmur of low conversations.

  Sergeant Park Dong Sik greeted him with a grim nod. “Body was spotted floating near the dock. No visible wounds. No signs of a struggle.” He hesitated before adding, “You’ll want to see this for yourself.”

  Ryeo-wook stepped closer.

  The forensic team had just pulled the body from the water, ying it carefully on the bck tarp. A man in his forties, dressed in a waterlogged business suit, his arms resting unnaturally at his sides. His eyes were closed. His expression… calm. Too calm.

  Ryeo-wook crouched beside the corpse. He had seen his share of drownings—panicked expressions, cwed fingers, bodies bloated from the water. But this man looked like he had simply… stopped.

  One of the forensic officers carefully pulled back the victim’s bzer, revealing something unsettling.

  His shirt was barely wet.

  His pants were dry from the knees up.

  Ryeo-wook’s stomach twisted. “How long was he in the water?”

  “We don’t know,” Park said. “There’s no bloating, no skin discoloration—almost like he just…”

  “Died before he touched the ke,” Ryeo-wook finished.

  The words left a strange weight in the air.

  Park handed him an evidence bag containing a wallet. Ryeo-wook flipped it open, his fingers tightening when he read the name on the ID.

  Ki Seon Gyeom.

  Ryeo-wook exhaled sharply. He knew that name.

  Ki Seon Gyeom—Chairman Choi Tae Sung’s most trusted man. If Choi Tae Sung was the king of Daehwa Trading Group, then Ki Seon Gyeom had been his silent knight, the man who worked in the shadows, ensuring things ran smoothly.

  Now he was dead, floating in a ke.

  A bad sign.

  “Detective,” an officer called out, her voice tight with urgency. “We just got another call.”

  Ryeo-wook stood. “Where?”

  The officer hesitated. “Jangsan Reservoir. Another body.”

  A chill settled into Ryeo-wook’s bones.

  “What’s the name?” he asked, though deep down, he already knew.

  The officer swallowed.

  “Oh Mi Rae.”

  His grip on the wallet tightened.

  Seon-gyeom’s wife.

  Another body had been found—this time, a woman.

  A cold silence settled over the crime scene.

  Just a few miles apart, near the edge of another ke, a jogger had stumbled upon her floating near the shore. Unlike the man, her body was turned over, her long dark hair fanned out like ink spilling across the water. Her lips were parted slightly, as if frozen mid-breath. The police worked quickly, recovering her as well, their grim faces revealing the severity of what they were beginning to suspect.

  Jangsan Reservoir was nothing like Hanwol Lake. If the ke was peaceful, the reservoir was a void—silent, abandoned, the kind of pce where people disappeared without a sound, where the water swallowed secrets whole. Even the trees that lined its banks stood eerily still, their bare branches twisting like skeletal fingers against the fog-drenched sky.

  Ryeo-wook’s car came to a slow stop on the gravel road, the crunch beneath his tires barely audible over the whisper of the wind. His headlights cut through the thick mist curling above the water, revealing distorted reflections that shivered with each ripple. The air was dense, heavy with moisture, and clung to his skin like something unseen watching, waiting.

  The crime scene was already active. Officers moved with quiet urgency, setting up perimeter tape that fluttered weakly in the cold night breeze. A forensic team worked under the harsh, artificial glow of floodlights, their figures casting elongated shadows over the damp earth. The reservoir itself y undisturbed, its dark surface mirror-like, betraying nothing of what had been found at its edge.

  A bck tarp near the shore.

  Ryeo-wook’s boots crunched against the wet gravel as he approached, the scent of stagnant water mixing with something more unsettling—something acrid, something rotten just beneath the surface. He didn’t flinch. He had been at enough scenes like this to know that smell, to recognize the lingering presence of death even before ying eyes on the body.

  Oh Mi Rae y still, her body arranged with almost unnatural care, her long dark hair fanned out like ink spilled across the ground.

  She had not been left to float.

  Her skin, pale as moonlight, was damp but not bloated. Her clothes weren’t soaked, only slightly wet at the edges, as if she had been pced here deliberately—carefully. A presentation, rather than an accident. There were no obvious wounds, no signs of violence marring her delicate features. If not for the stillness of her chest, the unnatural stiffness of her limbs, she might have looked like she was simply resting.

  Except for her wrists.

  Faint, dark bruises circled them, barely visible in the cold glow of the floodlights. Restraint marks. Not deep enough to suggest a struggle, but present enough to hint at force—at control. Someone had held her down.

  Ryeo-wook exhaled slowly, his breath misting in the cold air. Then there was the note.

  A forensic officer approached, holding out a small, crumpled piece of paper encased in an evidence bag. The handwriting was shaky, hurried, the ink smudged in pces as if written by an unsteady hand.

  "I couldn’t live with what we’ve done. Forgive me."

  Ryeo-wook read the words over and over again, a strange unease settling beneath his skin. Something about them felt off.

  “It’s staged,” he said quietly, more to himself than anyone else.

  Detective Park, standing beside him, let out a weary sigh. “Looks like a suicide note.”

  “No.” Ryeo-wook turned the paper in his hands, the weight of the words pressing against him. “It’s a message.”

  A warning.

  He crouched beside the body, his sharp gaze lingering on Oh Mi Rae’s face. Even in death, she looked… peaceful. Too peaceful. Like she had gone willingly. Like she had accepted it.

  And yet—

  There was something wrong with her lips.

  Something faint.

  Ryeo-wook leaned in closer, his pulse quickening as realization struck. His breath hitched.

  Dirt.

  A thin yer of soil clung to the space between her teeth.

  He shot up to his feet. “Run a soil analysis,” he ordered, his voice colder than before. “I don’t think she died here.”

  The forensic team moved swiftly, collecting samples, their murmurs blending with the low hum of the floodlights.

  Ryeo-wook turned back to the note, the words now feeling heavier in his grasp.

  "What we’ve done."

  The question cwed at the back of his mind.

  What had they done?

  Or rather—what had they found out?

  Hours ter, as the investigation unfolded, officers patrolling the area made yet another grim discovery. Just a few blocks from where the bodies were found, three children y sprawled on the damp grass near the riverbank, their small figures barely visible under the weak moonlight filtering through the trees. The air was thick with the scent of wet earth and something else—something metallic and faint, almost lost to the night. The river’s slow current whispered against the shore, an eerie backdrop to the unsettling scene.

  At first gnce, the officers feared the worst. The children weren’t moving, their clothes were dirtied, their faces pale. One officer crouched down, pressing two fingers to the wrist of the smallest child—relief washed over him when he felt a weak but steady pulse.

  “They’re alive,” he muttered, though his voice held uncertainty. Another officer gently shook the eldest girl, Yna, murmuring soft reassurances. She stirred sluggishly, her eyes fluttering open—but they were empty, unfocused, as if she were looking past him, seeing something far beyond the darkness of the trees.

  The other two children, Aky and Lyn, responded in much the same way. They blinked as they were roused from unconsciousness, but not a single word passed their lips. No screams, no cries—not even a whisper. Their bodies, though scraped and bruised, showed no signs of grievous injury, yet the officers couldn’t ignore the way they stared bnkly, their silence far more unsettling than any sobs or frightened pleas would have been.

  One officer, a middle-aged man with years of experience, sighed as he exchanged a look with his partner. “Shock,” he murmured, shaking his head. “Whatever they saw… it must have been bad.”

  The children were carefully gathered into the patrol car, the warmth of the vehicle doing little to thaw the eerie cold that clung to them. Lyn sat rigidly in the backseat, her hands gripping the hem of her dress so tightly her knuckles turned white. Aky trembled slightly, though whether from fear or the cold, the officers couldn’t tell. Yna, the eldest, simply stared out the window as the city lights came into view, her lips slightly parted as if she wanted to speak—but no words came.

  At the station, under the harsh glow of fluorescent lighting, they were given warm bnkets and seated in a quiet room. Officers attempted to coax them into talking. They asked about their names, their parents, what they were doing by the riverbank, if they had seen anything unusual. But no matter how many times the questions were repeated, the children remained mute, their expressions unreadable.

  One officer, younger and less patient, rubbed his temples in frustration. “They’re not saying anything,” he muttered.

  His older colleague crossed his arms, his brow furrowed in thought. “It’s not that they won’t talk,” he said grimly. “It’s that they can’t.”

  A heavy silence settled over the room. The children sat unmoving, their bnk eyes reflecting the sterile white walls of the station. Whatever had happened to them, whatever they had seen, it had stolen their voices—leaving only an unsettling, unanswered question in its wake.

  The town that had begun its day bathed in the warmth of sunlight now y beneath a sky heavy with stars—distant, indifferent pinpricks of light that offered no comfort, only the illusion of something watching from above. The streets, once alive with the sounds of passing cars and hurried footsteps, had emptied, leaving behind an eerie stillness. Even the wind had quieted, as if the very air held its breath, waiting.

  The houses that had once been filled with the innocent chatter of children and the hum of everyday life were now quiet, their walls heavy with unspoken fears. Behind closed doors, parents y awake, eyes fixed on darkened ceilings, their minds repying the events of the day, questioning, dreading. Curtains remained drawn, as if shutting out the world could also keep out the uncertainty creeping into their lives.

  Somewhere, a dog howled—a long, mournful sound that echoed through the empty streets before fading into silence.

  The town held its secrets close, buried beneath whispers and unanswered questions. It was waiting. Waiting for the moment when the silence would finally break, when the truth, whatever it was, would be spoken.

  But for now, the night stretched on, endless, suffocating, wrapping everything in its inescapable embrace.

  END OF CHAPTER 9