The next morning, the city was quiet in a way that felt unnatural. Even the usual morning traffic seemed muted, swallowed by a thick fog that rolled in from the river. My lab sat at the edge of the industrial district, surrounded by abandoned warehouses and shuttered offices. A place convenient for a private forensic doctor—if you wanted privacy.
Ling arrived early, carrying a small tray of coffee and sandwiches. She set it down carefully. "You didn't leave the lab all night?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
"I couldn't," I replied, my voice hollow from sleepless hours. "The first case… it wasn't resolved. The corpse only gave me part of the truth. And I need to know the rest."
Ling frowned, folding her arms. "And that's safe? To spend all night thinking about it?"
I ignored her. My eyes were already on the door as it opened again—this time, a different officer. A young man, nervous and pale, stepped in, holding a small file.
"Dr. Shen Yu?" he asked. "I… I have another case for you. It's… unusual."
I motioned for him to continue. He hesitated, flipping through the papers. "Female, twenty-nine. Found in a storage unit. No ID. No witnesses. Cause of death… unknown. Security footage was deleted. There's… nothing. The police can't make sense of it."
I gestured for him to leave the documents on the table. Ling leaned over, scanning them quickly. The storage unit was in the outskirts, abandoned for months. The girl's body was small, frail, almost untouched—no obvious bruises, no blood, no struggle.
"Interesting," I murmured. "No signs of trauma, yet dead. Did the preliminary autopsy say anything?"
"Preliminary?" the officer blinked. "No. They just… assumed natural causes. Thought maybe a drug overdose or something. The unit's owner called it in late. The body was… already cold when they found it."
I frowned. Cold. Too cold for overnight in that building, with the heating off. Something didn't fit.
"Bring her here," I said.
The officer swallowed nervously. "Can I… come along?"
"No," I said firmly. "This is private. You wait outside."
The corpse lay on the stainless-steel table, sheeted and pristine. I removed the sheet slowly. My heart didn't race, not yet. Years of handling the dead had taught me to remain calm—but this one… felt different.
Small details caught my attention immediately. Fingernails were clean, untouched, and yet one was slightly jagged. The skin on her wrist was paler than the rest, as if pressed against something tight. Her chest rose and fell in a pattern… no, it didn't rise and fall at all. The body was cold, but not uniformly.
I leaned closer, my palm hovering above the chest. The pressure behind my eyes started slowly—faint, almost like yesterday, a warning I was already familiar with. I exhaled and placed my hand firmly on her chest.
"One question," I whispered.
The silence stretched. The room felt heavier, as if the air itself had thickened.
"Ask."
The voice was flat, emotionless, but firm. No hesitation this time.
I hesitated. What question would reveal anything? Yesterday had taught me a harsh lesson. The first corpse had told me how it died, but not who had done it. That question had already been wasted.
I studied her body, every detail. Small marks. Faint bruises. Signs only a trained eye could notice. The jagged fingernail. The slightly discolored wrist. The subtle tension in the shoulders.
Finally, I phrased the question carefully:
"What killed you?"
The pressure spiked immediately, sharper than before. A rush of emotions—fear, confusion, desperation—flowed through my head. It was brief, intense, and left me gasping.
"I… don't know."
I blinked. Not what I expected.
"I… don't know."
Ling, standing at the edge of the room, stiffened. "She… she refused to answer?"
I didn't respond immediately. That shouldn't be possible. Every corpse had answered—once, but always truthfully. There were rules. Hidden rules, yes, but I had never encountered resistance.
I pressed lightly on the chest. Nothing. The silence wasn't just absence—it was resistance.
"Impossible," I muttered. "A corpse can't refuse. Not under my ability."
"Leave me alone."
The words weren't in my head—they echoed softly, almost external. A shiver ran down my spine. I knew then: this was different.
I stepped back. Ling's eyes were wide, scanning my face. "Shen… is this…?"
"Yes," I said slowly. "This is… someone who doesn't want to be questioned."
The implications hit immediately. My power had limits. Some deaths were protected. And if this one resisted, it meant someone—something—was intervening.
Hours passed as I examined the body in silence. Forensics became my only guide. Bruises hidden in the scalp. Tiny abrasions along the wrists. Subtle pressure marks on the neck. A faint residue of chemicals—possibly anesthetic.
Every clue told me more than the corpse ever would. The girl hadn't died naturally. She hadn't even died accidentally. Someone had deliberately made her death look clean. Invisible. Perfect.
"Whoever did this," I muttered, "knew what they were doing."
Ling swallowed. "And the corpse… refused to tell you."
"Yes." I exhaled slowly. The headache behind my eyes pulsed in rhythm with my heartbeat. "And that's dangerous. If they can protect a corpse from being questioned… what else can they protect?"
The thought lingered in the lab like smoke. Power, authority, fear—hidden, unseen, but deadly.
I recorded everything meticulously. Every bruise, every mark, every anomaly. Notes, sketches, measurements. Forensics wouldn't lie. Even if the dead wouldn't speak, the body always had the truth.
By evening, the fog outside had thickened. The city beyond the lab windows was barely visible, ghostly shapes in gray. The lab felt smaller, tighter, suffocating almost, like the walls themselves were closing in.
I finally leaned back, exhausted. Ling moved to the side of the table, brushing her fingers lightly over her mouth.
"Shen," she said quietly, "are you going to stop? Or keep asking?"
I looked at the corpse. Cold. Silent. Resistant.
"I can't stop," I said. "Not yet. Someone did this to her. And someone doesn't want the truth out. That means… someone dangerous."
Ling's eyes widened. "Then be careful. You're poking at things you might not survive."
I nodded. Careful. Always careful.
And yet, a part of me already knew that being careful would not be enough.
Because some corpses were silent not by accident.
And some deaths were designed to stay that way.