The school parking lot was almost empty when Kim walked back to his car.
Evening light bled across the asphalt, staining it the color of rust.
He moved without hurry, every step measured, a faint smile lingering as if he had all the time in the world.
Inside, the leather seats still held the day's heat.
He sat for a moment, hands resting on the wheel, watching the last families drift away.
Then he drew out his phone and dialed.
The ring sounded loud in the hush.
"Hello?" A man's voice—tired, wary.
"Good evening," Kim said, warm and steady. "This is Dr. Kim."
A pause, a catch of breath.
"Doctor… thank you for calling."
"How is everyone holding up?"
"We're still searching," Mariya's father whispered. "The police… nothing yet."
"I'm so sorry," Kim murmured, letting the silence stretch, a soft echo of comfort.
"Would it be alright if I came by? Just to see how your family is doing."
A long pause. "Of course, sir. I'll text you the address."
Night settled like ash over the neighborhood when Kim arrived.
The house smelled of incense and damp earth.
Inside, a single lamp flickered against the dark.
Mariya's father met him at the door, eyes red and hollow.
Kim clasped the man's hand gently, holding it a beat longer than needed.
"I can't imagine your pain," he said, voice carrying the calm weight of someone used to bad news.
He slipped a plain envelope into the man's palm—its quiet bulk unmistakable.
"This is for your son's schooling," he added softly. "It's nothing compared to what you've lost, but please… accept it."
The man blinked hard, a tear sliding down his cheek.
"Doctor… you don't have to—"
"I insist," Kim said, the faintest smile curving his lips.
The gratitude in the father's eyes was almost painful to watch.
By the time Kim reached the hospital, the moon had climbed high.
Nurses greeted him with warm voices; security guards nodded with respect.
"Good evening, sir!"
He answered with the same practiced charm.
"Good evening, everyone."
In the wards, patients brightened when he appeared.
He checked pulses, offered small jokes, laid a reassuring hand on a shoulder.
To them, he was kindness itself.
But when he finally stepped back into his car, the mask slid away.
The softness drained from his face until only stillness remained.
His knuckles whitened around the steering wheel.
"Time to hunt," he whispered, so quietly the night barely heard.
The bar smelled of smoke and sweet liquor.
Dim lights pooled like liquid gold across the worn counter.
Kim chose a corner seat and ordered his usual—rum with honey, three cubes of ice.
From two stools away, a woman watched him.
Crimson nails. Hair that caught the light like a warning.
She leaned closer, voice low and teasing.
"Rum in summer? Bold choice."
He turned, offering that faint, inviting smile.
"Dr. Kim," he said, lifting her hand to his lips.
"Jenny," she replied, eyes bright with curiosity. "Looking for company?"
"Perhaps."
They talked.
Minutes slid by like warm syrup—her laughter a little too loud, his gaze a little too steady.
She thought him wealthy, safe.
He thought of her as a puzzle already solved.
Loaded, she mused. Easy pickings.
A perfect new toy, he decided.
When Jenny finally leaned against him, asking softly for a ride, it felt inevitable.
Kim guided her through the hotel lobby, eyes sweeping the ceilings, the corners, each camera's reach.
He moved like water—never rushed, never noticed.
"Something special," he whispered, and she followed.
The mansion rose out of the dark like a forgotten cathedral, its windows blind.
Jenny's excitement flickered into a thin thread of unease as the elevator began to descend instead of climb.
"Close your eyes," Kim said, almost tender.
She laughed—nervous but playful.
"Okay, doctor."
The gate at the bottom groaned open.
A breath of cold, metallic air slid across her skin.
"You can open them."
Jenny's smile froze.
Bodies—rows of them—hung in the dim light, silent as discarded dolls.
Some were headless.
Some were only pieces.
A woman in a red sari swayed gently, makeup perfect and obscene.
Jenny's breath hitched.
Then the scream tore free.
Miles away, Claut woke with a start, the echo of that scream—though impossible—ringing in his ears.
The alarm clock blared, but he barely heard it.
Morning had come.
The nightmare had only begun.