chapter three

One week. Matthew had an entire week to kill before he’d be allowed back at the station, and even then he wasn’t on the case anyway, so there really was no point. But being at the station with at least something to do would be better than the maddening nothing that he had to keep him busy at home.

Home, which was the apartment he shared with Somin.

He had been careful to seal away any emotional reactions. The discipline instilled by training as well as the exposure to various gruesome crimes he had gotten as a member of the special investigations unit helped, allowing him to purposefully ignore the reminders of her all around their home—numerous shoes lining the entrance, a couple blankets on the couch for when she was too lazy to turn on the heat, the clutter on her half of the bathroom vanity. He wasn’t about to hide the reminders—she’d be back, so there was no point in that—but saying he didn’t glance at them for a second too long would be a lie.

Matthew knew his limits, though, so after spending the rest of that Sunday at the station finishing up with the eyewitness account he had to provide and filing the report on the man that had been killed by their car, he slept in for most of Monday. He didn’t think he would’ve bothered getting up if not for the nightmares—the same scene, over and over again.

He ended up cleaning most of the apartment over the course of Monday and Tuesday. Somin would’ve been proud.

It was Tuesday evening before Matthew bothered with the TV. Of course, he had been checking his phone constantly, waiting for any updates from the director or his team, but when he got nothing but support messages he became convinced that they had been warned against involving him in the case, even though he was already involved because it was Somin after all—

His phone started vibrating again, and Matthew didn’t even have to glance at the caller ID to know it was Youngji. He had countless missed calls and probably even more messages from her, but he wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone. Kindness through messages, he could deal with—the emotion didn’t usually translate well through text, so his walls remained undisturbed. But Youngji had a way with breaking down those walls, and Matthew wasn’t ready for that.

Tossing his phone to the side on the couch, Matthew flipped through a few more channels. He wasn’t one for dramas, and he didn’t feel like putting up with the antics of variety shows. Then again, a variety show would be good for taking his mind off things . . .

“—rumors of a murder and a kidnapping.”

Matthew froze before he could change the channel. The news reporter was at the entrance of the community in which Youngji and Hongbin lived, pointing down the street; right before the point where the street turned out of view, the back of a police car was visible.

“The exact details are not yet known, but an investigation is underway. We do have exclusive sources, though, that came out with their accounts of what took place on this tragic night.”

His hand tightened on the remote, but Matthew forced himself to keep his breathing steady. He was used to this type of bull being aired during other investigations, but this was one was different. It was personal.

“One source said that the victim, a man in his thirties, was shouting for help when she was alerted about his presence. However, seeing the perpetrator still on the scene, she had fled for safety. Another source said that he had seen the victim at the party, and that he had stepped out for drinks but never came back. More will be revealed as the investigation continues, but until then, stay tuned for the latest—”

Matthew switched to another channel quickly, desperate for more news. It was mostly false—lies from supposed sources to get attention and more viewers, but it was more than what he was getting from the actual investigation, which was why he was leaning forward in his seat, anxiously tapping his foot.

“—the murder victim has not been identified—”

“—connections to gang activity—”

“—a victim? Or was this a target? Reports rev—”

“—kidnapping, however, has not been explained. Was this simply because the victim had seen the murder? Or were there additional motives involved? We’ll be back shortly with the latest report.”

With a heavy sigh, Matthew leaned back in the couch. He ran a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his face, and then rubbed his hands against his temples.

“ this,” he muttered after a moment, and he stood up, grabbing his wallet and keys to head to the gym.

Wednesday was shaping up to be the same as the other days until about noon, when the apartment intercom chimed. Matthew reluctantly got off the couch to check the monitor—and did a double take when he recognized the long, brown hair and wide eyes framed by bangs.

As if she knew Matthew was checking, she waved at him through the screen.

When Matthew opened the door, Youngji all but barged into the apartment. “How many calls have you answered? None. None. What makes you think that’s okay?” She made a sound of frustration as she removed her shoes. “The audacity that you have is unbelievable, I swear . . . have you even been eating? How are you cooking for yourself?”

Only when she disappeared into the interior of the apartment did Matthew notice Hongbin still standing outside. Despite his initial desire to just shut the door, Matthew moved aside a bit, opening the door wider. “Come on in.”

Hongbin gave him a small but genuine smile, an appreciation for Matthew’s willingness to try. “How . . . how are you holding up?” he asked slowly, carefully.

Matthew’s answer was automatic. “Fine.” Then he paused. “I’m getting by, I guess.” He started leading them to the living room.

“Kicked off the case?”

Matthew glanced to the side at Hongbin, surprised. “Y-yeah, actually, how’d you . . .”

“Forensics,” Hongbin said, pointing to himself.

Matthew nodded, remembering Hongbin’s line of work. The topic never interested him before, since it pertained to Hongbin, but suddenly it was all he could think about. “Did you—”

He was interrupted by a shriek from the living room. “Is this take-out?!”

Hongbin started laughing, and it was hard for Matthew to keep the smile off his face as the reached the living room, where Youngji was staring at the center table in borderline horror.

“I’m eating?” Matthew offered, but he was silenced by the glare Youngji gave him.

“You’re so lucky I’m here,” she said, shaking her head, and Matthew realized she was carrying two bags of what seemed like groceries. “We’re staying here for dinner, in case you were wondering. I’m also making said dinner, so get those take-out boxes out of my sight or you’re getting kicked out of your own apartment.”

“Gotcha,” Matthew said, quickly moving to do what she ordered. Youngji was sweet, yes, but she was terrifying when giving out orders. Or when confronted with take-out.

After Matthew cleaned up the living room, he sat with Hongbin at the island in the center of the kitchen, having been banned by Youngji from touching anything after he had almost burned some food in the name of helping out.

“She hates when people try to help,” Hongbin said as they watched her move skillfully between stirring, chopping, and whatever else she was doing. “Even though I’m pretty sure I actually know what I’m—”

“I can hear you,” Youngji interrupted, not turning around from the stove.

“That was meant to be heard,” Hongbin retorted. “I can finally complain and have some support.” He glanced over at Matthew, as if to gauge his reaction, but Matthew only smiled.

“Excuse me?” Youngji said, her tone rising at the end, but the threat was greatly weakened by the way she was laughing heartily.

For the first time since Saturday night, Matthew felt relaxed.

The relaxation didn’t last, though Matthew couldn’t say he wasn’t glad that the director called him on Thursday morning, telling him to come in that day for work. He was shocked, yes, but the director hadn’t said anything about Somin, which she surely would have if there had been bad news.

The first person that greeted him when he reached his desk was Park Jaehyung. “Well don’t you look well-fed,” he said, leaning against the side of the desk.

“Did you expect me to starve myself?” Matthew asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No, but your cooking knowledge lacks anything more than varieties of ramen, and you get tired of ramen easily, so . . . actually, yes, maybe I did.”

Matthew didn’t bother wasting time to roll his eyes. “Sure, Jae. Do you know where Director Park is?”

Jae let out his breath in a loud, exaggerated sigh. “Right. Because we’re at work. And we’re supposed to work, not socialize.” This time, Matthew did roll his eyes at his overdramatic friend.

Clearing his throat, Jae glanced through the window outside their unit’s planning room. “She just stepped out—I don’t think she was expecting you so soon to be honest. Knowing you, she shouldn’t have expected anything less, but . . .” He turned to Matthew with a questioning expression. “I thought you had a week ‘off’?” he asked, using air quotes.

“I thought so too,” Matthew said. “But I was called in this morning . . .”

Jae looked at Matthew for a long moment. “I don’t think we . . . we didn’t find anything, if that’s what you were wondering.”

Matthew must have visibly reacted, because Jae quickly held up his hands in defense. “I just got here a bit earlier than you, so maybe I don’t know anything and you can just ignore me. That works too, ya know.”

“It’s fine, who knows why she called.” Matthew pulled the swivel chair a bit away from the desk so he could take a seat. “Better to be here than at home though.”

Jae nodded. “I’d say.”

Then, there were three light knocks on the door, and before either could respond the door opened. Matthew automatically stood up, expecting it to be Director Park, but was confused by the new face.

She had shoulder-length blonde hair and a round, almost heart-shaped face, but her eyes were distinct, making her gaze cold and sharp. She walked right up to Jae and plopped an overflowing manila folder in front of him. “Here are the files, see if you can find matches,” she said. Her voice was lower and huskier than Matthew had expected.

Jae scanned through the first few documents and then looked up to meet Matthew’s eyes, a look of understanding on his face. “It doesn’t hurt that I’m brilliant and all, but I think I know why Director Park called you in.” He tilted his head toward the blonde stranger. “This is Jeon Jiwoo, she’s the officer that was assigned to this case in your place.”

Matthew looked at the blonde in surprise, and Jae continued, this time directing his attention toward Jiwoo. “And this is Matthew Kim,” he said. “He’s the officer that specializes in these cases. It’s probably why the director called him back even though he’s personally involved.”

“What cases?” Matthew finally cut in, hating being kept out of the loop.

Jae seemed hesitant to answer, but the look on Matthew’s face must’ve been convincing—or scary—enough. “The cases on J.Seph. We think he’s involved in the backend of the murder, and that would probably link him to the kidnapping, too.”

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Somin was awake for a long time before she found the strength to actually get up. Then again, she couldn’t really tell the passage of time anymore—she had no idea what was in her system, and she was drifting in and out of what she hoped was simply sleep.

After what could have been hours but seemed to be mere minutes, Somin finally rolled onto her side, hissing in pain as her shoulder was pushed against the cold floor. Tile? Concrete? She couldn’t see too well in the dark, and her touch perception was far from reliable at the moment. It definitely took a couple more minutes before she was able to push herself up into a sitting position, and once she was seated she realized that her arms were no longer bound.

Immediately, one hand went to cup the side of her neck, and she gasped at the pain that brought about. “Holy . . .” She gingerly touched the tips of her fingers to the sore spot of her neck. It felt hot to the touch, and was definitely raised in a sort of bump, like after a mosquito bite. A mosquito on what? Steroids? The bump was large, and while she could still bend her neck in that direction, it hurt.

A flash of anger sparked through her then, and she forced herself to stand up. She was off balance at first, almost falling right back down, but she happened to be right next to one of the walls of the room; she rested a hand against it to steady herself. There was a single door into and out of the room, and silently praying to gods of every religion, Somin slowly made her way to the door and tried the handle.

It wasn’t locked.

Somin almost cried of relief, and then the room outside, which was too bright to see at first, came into focus. It was seemingly a normal living room—no. No, it wasn’t a normal living room, Somin realized quickly, a wave of dizziness making her sway unsteadily.

She was in a penthouse.

There was a large, luxurious couch in front of a TV that was probably wider than Somin was tall, and behind the couch there was a long kitchen island with bar stools set up. Rather than a wall, there were floor to ceiling windows spanning the entire room.

Somin staggered backward, the dimly lit room she had been in suddenly seeming more comforting in the face of this harshly bright, unknown territory.

Before she could move back into the room, a figure emerged from the hallway beside the bar setup. “I wouldn’t move too quickly if I were you,” he said, and Somin went still. He came to a stop next to the island and leaned against it. One hand was in the pocket of his suit, and the other hand was holding a champagne glass. “Lee should’ve considered your weight when he administered the tranquilizers—you’ll feel pretty ed up for a few more hours at the least.”

Somin swallowed automatically out of nervousness, and it reminded her of her thirst. He seemed to notice. “Water?” He walked behind the bar, and setting his own champagne glass down, took another one out from a cupboard and poured a glass of what seemed like water. He held it out to Somin, inviting her to approach the bar.

She didn’t want to move—the fear felt suffocating, paralyzing—but her thirst had escalated at the sight of water right in front of her, and she felt like there was a sheet of sandpaper stuck down . Hesitantly, Somin let her hand leave the doorframe she had been gripping and tried to take a step forward . . . only to almost trip, and her hands flew out to grab the doorframe again.

With a small sigh, he walked around the island toward Somin, and when he finally reached her, he held out his hand. “At least try for the sofa,” he said, smiling.

Somin repressed her instinct to recoil, and instead, with her eyes wide, she reluctantly accepted his hand and let him lead her to the sofa. She sat down, and the sofa was just so soft that she felt herself sink into it, and the carpet under her feet was—

There was carpet under her feet.

She was supposed to be wearing shoes.

Her heart thumping, she glanced down and realized that not only did she not have any shoes on, but also she was no longer in the same dress she was wearing earlier—instead, she was in a pair of white silk pajamas that seemed a few sizes too big for her; the sleeves completely covered her hands, and her toes only barely peeked out from the bottom of the pants.

She snapped her head around to look at the man, and he seemed amused. “Did you really think I’d let you into my home in the filthy state you were in? Let a man have some self-respect.” He offered the glass of water to her and waited until she managed to grasp it with her trembling hands before he let go.

Somin downed the entire glass in almost one gulp, and immediately she felt some of the itch in diminish. This time when he reached his hand toward her, she did recoil, and then she froze, her eyes darting to gauge his reaction. He only laughed. “You’ll need more water than that,” he said lightly, and taking the glass, he walked back to fill it with more water.

To say Somin was surprised would be a gross understatement.

After she drank the entirety of the next glass, which was normal-sized rather than a narrow champagne glass, he pulled forward an ottoman that was near the coffee table and took a seat right in front of Somin.

“So, now that you’re more cognitively present, why don’t we introduce ourselves?”

There was a silent pause as Somin thought through her choices of action, and the man sighed. “I thought the tradition was ladies first, or am I mistaken?”

Almost instinctively, whether by the glint in his eye or the way he smiled while saying it, Somin knew that a situation in which he was mistaken would end badly for her.

“S-Somin.” She coughed lightly to clear , but the water had definitely helped. “Somin . . . Jeon.”

“That wasn’t too hard, but for future reference, I hate repeating myself.”

She nodded. For Somin, his calmness was more terrifying than her vague memory of his impatience.

“My turn. I’m Taehyung Kim.” He paused. “Have you heard that name before?”

Somin certainly had, but it was a fairly common name. She didn’t dare say yes, but she also didn’t think no was the right answer. And by god, as his gaze pierced into her, did she want to avoid giving the wrong answer.

He—Taehyung—laughed. “Of course you have. But probably not about me . . . now, tell me, does the name J.Seph ring any bells?”

Somin froze.

“Judging by the rather unpleasant expression on your face, I assume that it does.”

She started to shake her head. There was no way, this had to be a nightmare, because if this was the same J.Seph that Matthew dealt with in his work—

“And logically, I’m going to assume that your knowledge comes from Matthew . . . am I wrong in thinking he’s your boyfriend?” He clapped his hands together, almost as if he were delighted by the fact. “What luck,” he said, leaning forward and in the process bringing himself very close to Somin. Somehow, she managed not to move, despite the way her heart was hammering in her chest and every fiber in her body was telling her to run, to hell with the consequences.

Instead, she stammered out, “No—he—please don’t—”

“Somin, you have to relax,” said Taehyung, his voice still eerily smooth. He reached out and took one of Somin’s hands, and it took all of her willpower not to yank it away from him, though she probably wouldn’t have had the strength to anyway. “You’ll see each other again, I swear. And I don’t make such statements lightly.”

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