CHAPTER FOURTEEN: Static
Glass shattered.
He didn't know where the sound came from.
Rain slicked the alley. His gun was drawn.
Breath sharp. Cold metal under his fingers. A shadow flickered ahead—Sangwoo.
He turned the corner—
No one.
The world bent inward.
Then—
Beep.Beep.Beep.
"Heartbeat's rising," a voice whispered through the fog.
Light spilled into his eyes. White. Blinding. Bleach-scented air and machines humming in a slow, clinical rhythm.
He blinked. The ceiling stared back.
Alive.
Weeks passed in fragments: muted footsteps, wheeled trays, long silences. His body worked again. The badge came next. He returned.
The precinct was quieter. Or maybe he was.
He requested the file.
It was heavier than he remembered. The folder had a faint smudge on the corner, as if someone's thumb had hesitated there. Inside: Sangwoo's name. Yoonbum's face. Photos—some blurred, some far too clear. A list of items retrieved from the house. Blood type. Tape residue. Zip ties. Floor plans. Burnt hair.
He didn't flinch this time.
Detective Seungbae traced the timeline again, fingers dragging over ink that had long dried. His pen hovered above one detail: "Unknown witness at scene. Male. Unidentified."
He tapped it. Once. Twice.
"Pull security footage from the gas station on Miran Street," he told a passing officer without looking up. "That case is closed, Detective." Seungbae finally met the man's eyes. "It isn't."
That night, he sat alone in his apartment. Rain again—always rain. A dull ache pulsed beneath his ribs where the bullet had gone in. He poured a glass of water and didn't drink it.
A file lay open on his kitchen table. Another photo. Not Sangwoo. Not Yoonbum. The man who'd crashed into him. Dark eyes. Tilted grin. A strange tension in his body, like he was always bracing for something—or nothing at all.
Kang Hyunwoo.
Seungbae stared at it. Something about him didn't fit. He remembered the way Hyunwoo had smiled at the precinct, casual like a smirk stitched over secrets.
Tomorrow, he'd call him in. Tonight, he left the glass of water untouched.
Outside, thunder crawled across the sky.
The game wasn't over. It had just grown quieter.
Watching the rain trace lines down the glass,
Seungbae didn't speak about the breath. Or the flicker in the cabinet. He told himself he imagined it. He had to.
But when he came back the next day, the cabinet was open.
Not wide. Just enough.
Inside was a single sheet. Old paper. The ink faded at the edges.
No header. No case number. Just one word in red type.
Oh Sangwoo. Status: Deceased. Cremated. Ashes found scattered in his home like a final joke. Yoon Bum. Dead on impact. Car crash. Closed case.
He read it again. And again.
None of it matched what he remembered.
The chase. The confrontation. Yoonbum's eyes. The blood. The door slamming shut behind him. The feeling of being watched.
But dreams rot quickly in daylight.
Except one name clung to his ribs like frost:
Hyunwoo.
No file. No mention. Not in his dream. Not in the real world.
Not anywhere.
He stood in the archive room late that night. Fluorescents flickered. Dust swirled.
Something moved in the reflection of the filing cabinet.
He turned.
Nothing.
Only the sound of the lights… and a slow, steady breath that wasn't his.
Oh Junwoo
He didn't remember grabbing it. Didn't remember opening the drawer. But he was holding it now.
He looked for records. Computer searches. Department logs.
Nothing.
No address. No fingerprints. No mention.
He asked a fellow detective—casually, cautiously.
"Junwoo?" The man blinked. "Who?" "No one," Seungbae muttered. "Forget it."
But he couldn't.
That night, at home, he placed the paper on his kitchen counter. Stared at it.
He went to bed.
At 3:07 a.m., he woke up choking.
Not on smoke. Not on air. On silence. A thick, suffocating kind.
His hallway light was on.
The paper was no longer on the counter.
It was on his chest.
In handwriting, below the red letters, something had been added:
"Detective, look behind."
"I stood behind you the whole time"