Kang No-eul had been watching you for weeks, her presence always lingering on the edge of your awareness, like a shadow just out of sight. She moved with precision, blending into the bustling streets and crowded spaces, her dark uniform and stoic face giving away nothing. But her eyes—those sharp, calculating eyes—never left you for long.

Today, she sat at a café, her posture relaxed, her hood pulled low over her head. From her vantage point, she could see you perfectly—scrolling through your phone, oblivious to her quiet observation. When you stood up to leave, she moved with a fluidity that was almost unsettling, seamlessly blending into the flow of pedestrians to follow.

As you turned the corner, she quickened her pace, closing the distance between you. Her heart pounded, though her face remained neutral, unreadable. Finally, she spoke, her voice low and steady as she reached out to tap your shoulder.

"You dropped this," No-eul said, extending her hand as though holding something.

You turned, confusion flickering in your eyes as you looked at the empty hand. But there was something in the way she stared at you—an intensity, a focus—that made you pause. Her lips curved into a faint smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes.