𝗞𝗡𝗢𝗖𝗞𝗢𝗨𝗧 𝗛𝗘𝗔𝗥𝗧𝗦 ʸᵒᵒⁿ ᵈᵒⁿᵍʲᵘ

xx. Routine Interruptions.

He crossed over to her, kneeling beside her with a quiet grunt.

The wallet was cracked with heat damage, but inside was an ID—faded and warped, but visible. A young woman stared back at them in the photo. Her name was barely legible, but Minji didn't need to read it. Her breath hitched.

"That's her," she whispered. "Cha Yoori. She went missing last November. She was on my list."

Dongju said nothing. He could feel her hands trembling slightly. Not from fear—but from rage. From the ache of helplessness that came with every cold trail and unresolved case. He remembered that look. He'd worn it too.

"She was just twenty," Minji muttered, clutching the wallet tightly. "Her mom filed three reports. No one followed up."

"We're following up now," Dongju said softly. "We'll give her a name again."

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence was filled only by the distant creak of metal and the low hum of the wind rattling through broken vents.

Then, Minji stood and moved toward the far side of the garage, flashlight sweeping over the walls. She paused in front of a blackened area—scorch marks streaking upward like smoke trapped in time. Beneath it, on the floor, was something that made her stomach drop.

Blood.

Old. Dried. But unmistakable.

Dongju joined her, his jaw tightening.

"There's more to this place than we thought," Minji said, voice low.

He glanced at her profile in the dim light. Her expression was unreadable—focused, determined, but also weary. Like she was trying to hold something together that had long since started to fray.

"You okay?" he asked.

She nodded. "I'm fine."

He didn't believe her. But he didn't push.

As they turned back toward the entrance, Minji slowed her steps, then asked—almost absently, "You ever think about what we'd be doing if we weren't doing this?"

Dongju raised an eyebrow. "Like, if we weren't cops?"

"Yeah."

He thought about it for a second. "Probably a bartender."

Minji laughed softly. "You'd be terrible at that."

He grinned. "I'd make great drinks and listen to people cry about their breakups."

"You don't even like talking to people."

"I'd just nod and pretend."

She chuckled again, but her smile faded into something more thoughtful. "Sometimes I wonder if I'd still end up in places like this. Even if I wasn't chasing answers."

Dongju glanced at her sidelong. "You think it's fate?"

"No," she said after a pause. "I think it's obsession."

They reached the exit. Dongju opened the door and let the night air wash over them.

"Minji," he said quietly, "you're not alone in this."

She looked at him, really looked at him. His eyes were sincere. Gentle, but firm.

"I know," she whispered.

But part of her didn't believe it. Not completely.

As they walked back to the car in silence, she kept the burnt wallet in her pocket. Proof. Memory. A promise.