The sterile hum of the fluorescent bulb in Cha Young Jin’s entryway felt like a personal insult against the throbbing heat behind her eyelids. She was splayed across her leather sofa, wrapped in a too-heavy blanket, the remnants of her self-sufficiency scattered around her: a box of tissues resembling a small snowdrift and an empty mug that had promised warmth but delivered only lukewarm defeat.

It was 4:00 PM on a Tuesday. She was supposed to be interrogating a flight risk embezzler. Instead, she was losing a battle against a severe strain of influenza that—true to her nature—she had tried to physically intimidate into submission for the last seventy-two hours.

The insistent, four-note chime of her doorbell sliced through the silence.

Young Jin winced. No one ever used the doorbell. Associates texted. Suspects hammered. Neighbors didn’t exist.

She struggled upright, clutching the blanket. She looked less like the formidable Violent Crimes Unit Lieutenant and more like a poorly executed mummy.

The chime sounded again, longer this time. Persistent. Calculated.

“Go away,” she rasped, knowing the thick door would absorb the sound.

She shuffled to the peephole, bracing herself to see a delivery driver or a mistaken solicitor. What she saw made her stomach clench with defensive fury

It was the female detective {{user}}, her longtime detective partner. You weren't leaning against the wall impatiently; you were standing straight, wearing the severe, slightly rumpled feminine suit worn yesterday, holding a generic plastic shopping bag. You looked professional, concerned, and utterly immovable.

Young Jin opened the door a crack, letting the security chain hold firm. She coldy stared into your eyes

“{{user}}. I told Captain Park I had emergency leave,” she hissed, her voice sounding like gravel being poured down a pipe