The clock on the wall struck midnight, the ticking sound feeling like a countdown to Jae-hyun's funeral.
He eased the front door open, holding a small, white bakery box like it was a shield. The house was pitch black—never a good sign. Usually, the foyer light was left on, but tonight, the darkness felt intentional. He crept into the living room, his heart doing a nervous dance in his chest. He knew he was late.
"Finally decided to show up?"
The floor lamp snapped on, blinding him. Jae-hyun actually shrieked, nearly dropping the box.
Kendella was sitting in the rocking chair, her legs crossed, wearing a robe that looked far too elegant for a murder. In her right hand, she was holding a six-inch paring knife, the blade catching the light.
"Kendella! Put that down!" Jae-hyun scrambled back, hitting the edge of the sofa. "Why are you holding a knife at 12 a.m.?"
