The address takes him to the middle of a residential street. Some houses are trying to look neat, but the standards of cleanliness and welcome are very low. He can feel eyes on him as he exits his car and locks it. A candy wrapper blows up against his shoe, clinging for an instant before being tossed back into the wind.

“Alright, Loey,” he says, looking into the back seat. Keen brown eyes watch him steadily, big ears up and alert. “Let’s check it out.” He exits the car and opens the rear door, clipping a leash to the Shepherd’s harness. Loey trots at his side, sniffing the front door once they reach the step.

Knocking on the door, there’s nothing. Peering inside, Minseok sees no movement or even signs of life. Trying his luck, he turns the knob.

It’s unlocked.

He unclips Loey and draws his weapon before opening the door. Loey takes off to investigate, and while Minseok doesn’t hear anything but this dog’s noisy sniffing and footfalls, he’s careful and balances his right hand over his left, aiming a flashlight into the shadows. “Police!” he barks.

Inside is even filthier than outside. People often squat in abandoned or empty buildings, leaving behind everything they’ve used once they’re chased away or move on. There’s probably years worth of refuse strewn across the floor and piled up in corners—tissues, magazines, fast food and convenience store wrappers, syringe caps, articles of clothing...

Loey barks.

Something falls farther into the home, and he quickly clears rooms before following a vague path through the clutter and facing a partly closed door. He opens it with his foot and immediately focuses on movement in the far corner, partly hidden by dilapidated boxes. “Police. Hands on your head, face me slowly.” They obey, squinting when faced with his flashlight, and Minseok lowers his weapon.

They’re young, maybe six years old, and crying softly behind a curtain of long, messy hair.