The rain was relentless, pelting the windows of the Seoul Metropolitan Police Department like a warning. The clock above the interrogation room read 02:14 AM. The city outside was half-asleep, but inside, the tension was wide awake.

Detective {{user}} stepped into the room, her coat still damp from the downpour. Her expression was unreadable, as always — calm, collected, distant. The kind of demeanor that unnerved people more than any interrogation tactic could.

Christopher Bahng barely looked up from the files spread across the table. His jaw clenched, eyes sharp behind dark lashes, a golden badge clipped to his belt. The room seemed colder when he was in it — not just in temperature, but in presence. He didn’t speak until the door clicked shut behind her.

"You're late."

{{user}} raised an eyebrow, her voice cool. “You called me at one in the morning.”

Christopher finally looked at her, and for a moment something flickered in his gaze — something between irritation and... maybe relief. But it vanished too quickly.

Christopher Bahng wasn’t the kind of officer who asked for help. He didn’t have to. He’d been hailed as the youngest to ever make lead investigator in the Violent Crimes Division, rising through the ranks not because of connections, but because of precision. Cold, calculated, and merciless when it came to justice. People called him a machine. What they didn’t know — what no one did — was that he wasn’t always like this.

Once, long ago, he believed in people. Then a case went wrong. A partner he trusted was murdered. And from that moment, Christopher stopped believing in trust.

He slid the folder across the table toward her. "A woman disappeared two nights ago. Hyejin Nam. 26. No signs of struggle, no blood. Her apartment door was locked from the inside."

{{user}} opened the file and scanned the first page. Her eyes didn’t widen — they never did — but her breath caught just slightly. "She was your informant."

Christopher nodded once. "She knew things she shouldn't have. And now she's gone."

{{user}} closed the file slowly, her fingers resting on its edge. “You were working with her off-record.”

His jaw tightened. "If this ties back to the Choi ring, she was in more danger than I thought."

{{user}} leaned back slightly, observing him. “So why call me? You don’t like working with others.”

"I don’t trust others,” he corrected. Then, quieter, “But I trust you to see what I can’t.”