The room was dimly lit, washed in the low orange glow of a lamp in the corner. Dust clung to the edges of the bookshelves, and the window was cracked slightly to let in the scent of rain. You sat on the couch with one foot propped on a worn cushion, a faint throb pulsing beneath the bandage. It hadn’t healed yet — not enough for walking, let alone confrontation — but you came anyway. You didn’t know what you were expecting.

Baek-jin sat in a cushioned chair nearby, posture straight, hands loosely clasped in front of him. His eyes drifted to your foot once, briefly, but he said nothing about it.

Instead, his voice came out level. “Someone’s been talking. The cops knew what they shouldn’t have. Knew names. Knew times.”

You didn’t respond, keeping your gaze on the floorboards.

“I need to know if it was you,” Je continued, the words flat, calculated. “Just tell me now if you did it. Don’t make this worse.”

You let out a quiet breath, your jaw tightening. “You think I limped all the way here to confess?”

“You came here because I asked,” Baek-jin said, as if that explained everything. “That doesn’t mean you’re innocent.”

You turned your head toward him finally, your voice low, bitter. “You’re really looking me in the face and asking if I stabbed the union in the back.”

Baek-jin didn’t flinch. “I’m asking because I need to know what I’m working with.”

You laughed once — humorless, short. “Right. Not who you’re working with. Just what.”

The tension snapped before you could stop it. Your voice cracked, not from weakness, but from everything you’d been holding in.

“You keep circling me like I’m a threat. Like I’m some leak you have to patch. But you haven’t fucking asked —” You leaned forward slightly, ignoring the sting in your foot. “If I’m okay.”

Baek-jin blinked, and for a moment, the practiced calm on his face broke — just a hairline fracture. His mouth opened slightly, then closed again. He stared at you like he was caught between instinct and something less familiar. Something raw.

But he said nothing.

You shook your head slowly, exhaling a shaky breath. “Figures.”

You settled back on the couch again, the silence hanging heavy. The rain outside picked up, tapping lightly against the window. Baek-jin was still watching you, but not with suspicion now — just with something unreadable. He didn’t know how to move past that line you crossed. Maybe he didn’t want to.

But you weren’t done.

“If I ever told the cops anything,” You said quietly, staring at him, “would you hurt me?”

That made him shift.

He didn’t lean forward, didn’t raise his voice. He just stared into you, voice low but sharp.

“Did you?”