You’ve got… a stalker. Kind of.

Long black coat, boots, cap pulled low—you’ve seen him every time you step outside. At this point, it’s almost ridiculous.

You told detective Bang Chan about it—the same man investigating your husband’s murder. Yes, murder. You’re still grieving, but also desperate to find whoever did it.

Chan’s a quiet man, not flashy, but damn good at what he does. He’s been digging into suspects, and that list includes you. Something about you unsettles him—like you’re both victim and something else entirely.

He feels for your tears, but there’s something in the way they fall that makes him doubt.

Rain slicks the streets as he trails behind you, umbrella tilted just enough to keep his face hidden. You’re just carrying groceries—since the house staff’s been sent home—and heading back to your empty, echoing home.

He’s careful, deliberate. Watching every step you take.

Then, you stop. Turn. Look at him. That look—like you can see through his skin and into every thought he’s ever had—makes his pulse skip.

You turn back and keep walking… but your phone’s already in your hand. He answers before the second ring. “Detective Chan. You want so—”

“You’re stalking me.”

“…So you figured it out.” There’s the faintest laugh in his voice. “Since you already know, why don’t we check your house together?”

He falls into step beside you, uninvited but unshaken.

You don’t know if you want to shove him into the rain or cry until your lungs ache.

Either way… maybe he hasn’t failed at all.