Su Ryeon keeps the lily, plops it on her sparse desk, vowing to catch Logan before it rots. 

 

Days pass, and no sign of him. No robberies, no crimes, no news. She handles other cases to fill the time. Socializing over barbeque and soju with colleagues, gun range sessions, walks, only heighten the anticipation. She feeds the neighborhood cat and sweats her worries in crossfit. She agrees to a blind date, but regrets it before the main course arrives. She yearns for someone who can be more than just a presence – someone who challenges and laughs with her. 

 

The lily starts withering. 

 

She could ask for advice from her captain, but she can’t reveal everything. Yoon Chul is also out of the question, if what Logan insinuated has an ounce of truth. If his aim was to isolate her, it worked. 

 

–

 

She only has the hint to go on, but October 15th is meaningless. And six months away.

 

As she fills out reports, a tall figure emerges from the holding cells. Draped in a red tweed suit dress, framed by austere shoulders and oversized vintage gold buttons she’s dripping of opulence. The woman’s pallor is unsettling, skin so unnaturally pale it borders on otherworldly. Long black hair, a glossy cascade almost too perfect, frames her face. Her blood-red lips complete the ensemble, making Su Ryeon glance down at her own, pastel dress suit. That woman looks like a stylish grim reaper, and eerily familiar. 

 

“Can I see your visiting pass?” She asks in an attempt to enforce protocol while stalling enough to place her. 

 

The woman doesn't stop; she flips her hair, dismissing the request. 

 

"Halt," Su Ryeon reiterates, making the woman scoff as she pivots on her heels.

 

"I don't have time for this," she declares. 

 

Su Ryeon, not one to back down, stands her ground. Without flinching, the woman reaches into her elegant handbag to produce a card, gold letters in stark black background. 

 

Cheon Seo Jin

Defence Attorney

Cheon and Associates

 

The Cheon Law Firm. The name is associated with criminal defense. A family of lawyers that keeps bad people out of prison. And she must be the princess in the dark castle. 

 

“I’m here to see my clients, the men you wrongly arrested for the Pala Di Oro case.”

 

“Nothing wrong about their arrest.” How come she’s defending petty criminals? The Cheon firm is known to take on wealthy clients and celebrities. “Why are you representing them?”

 

“Why are you dressed like barbie fairytopia?” Ms Cheon counters. “Pro bono.”

 

A high-paid, sought-after attorney defending without pay?

“How… magnanimous of you.” Su Ryeon raises an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Same reason you put Mr Ju in prison. It's my job. And unlike you, I excel at it.”

 

Su Ryeon blinks at the mention of her ex husband. 

 

“Did you advise your clients over the deal? All they have to do is reveal who gave the order, and they’re free.”

 

“Don’t tell me how to do my job. They rejected your deal, I'll see you in court.” She scans her. “Wear something better.”

 

“They’ll go to jail to protect him?”

 

Seo Jin sneers. “You know so little.”

 

—

 

With calmness and reverence, Su Ryeon dons the dobok, her fingers delicately navigating the knots of the heavy black attire. Each movement carries a sense of ritual, as if preparing for a sacred act. Her hair, usually flowing freely, is pulled back into a tight knot, exposing the determined lines of her face. Barefoot on the dojo's wooden floor, she controls her breath in preparation. In the small hours of the night, the gym's usual echoes of grunts and pants have yielded to a stretchy silence, broken only by the soft rustle of her attire.

 

With the last long exhale, she starts slamming the wooden sword on the target forcefully, each strike a release of pent-up energy. In a particularly heavy swing, her wooden sword splinters, breaking off in mid-air. The crack disrupts the serene atmosphere, leaving the broken remnants on the ground. Su Ryeon stands there, chest heaving, staring at the fractured weapon as if it holds the answers. 

 

“Imagining my face as the target?” Logan quips as he enters the room, examining the broken remnants. “Trying to finish what your coworker couldn't?”

 

“Is that why you are hiding?” she counters. “Embarrassed to be seen like that?”

 

“I would be touched by your concern, if you hadn’t tricked me to arrest”. He responds, looking visibly tired. “I was busy.”

 

“Busy with what?” No robberies have occurred. 

 

He smirks. “You were right, women love scars.”

 

She takes the stick but he grabs it, pulling her closer suddenly. 

 

“If this is another one of your traps, I’ve had enough.”

 

It’s the first time she sees him so cross. 

 

“No trap. Last time you were in my turf and couldn't defend yourself. Let's have a fair match, right now. Or are you backing out?”

 

He slides off his shirt and her eyes dart to his toned arms in the tank top. She can’t help but look, a momentary lapse in her focus. She averts her eyes with effort as he puts on the dobok, the black contrasting against his pale skin. 

 

“Just so you know, cryptic messages are my thing.” She couldn’t call to invite him here, so an anonymous card with an address did the trick. 

 

“Your thing is saddling other people with your crimes and walking free.”

 

“I see, we’re in the trash-talking stage of the match.” He grabs the sword, making a test move. “Don’t worry detective, they won’t serve time in jail.” he adds mysteriously

 

“What the hell do you mean?” They have them locked up. 

 

He ignores the question. 

 

“Are you going to play fair or kick me when I'm down?” he asks. 

 

“Your face has been kicked already. I'll be gentle.”

 

She goes for a handshake. He pulls her hand until they’re face to face. 

 

“Not the context I wanted to hear these words from you.” A blush creeps on her cheeks.

 

They assume the positions and bow. 

 

They circle each other. Uncharacteristically, he doesn’t make the first move. But the tension in his body is unmistakable. 

 

Su Ryeon lunges forward, a quick hit aiming for his chest. Swift as a serpent, he sidesteps, seamlessly evading the attacks. He retaliates with a series of quick jabs. 

 

“Ms Cheon came by. Striking beauty, right?” her tone is casual, the implication isn't. 

 

“If you like being terrified.”

 

“So you know her personally?” she smirks. 

 

Logan flinches, but recovers quickly. 

 

“All I said was she’s pretty.”

 

This shouldn't sting, but it does. She pivots, launching a series of kicks towards him. He deflects most, swaying with practiced finesse. 

 

“Come on, I’m not that stupid to admit anything, even here.” He counters with a strike on her arm. “Speaking of, why Hwa Rang Do? I would have guessed fencing for you.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Precision, agility. Plus the faces are covered so that you don’t see the hurt you’re inflicting.”

 

“Are you calling me ruthless?” she strikes. “I learned it early, from my father. So every time I need a release, I come here. The owner has kept my old uniform from when I was little.”

 

He mellows a tiny bit. 

 

“How was little Su Ryeon? Were you playing cops and robbers back then?”
 

“No, that came in university. I spent all my childhood painting in the attic.”

 

“Ugh. Don’t be cute when I’m mad at you.”

 

“Noted. But it wasn't cute, I practically never left the house until my dad dragged me to this dojo and forced me to socialize. I expected ugly fighting but what I saw were people dancing in the air with elegance and skill.”

 

“It's called The Way of the Flowering Knights for a reason. I started when I was little too. We could have played together. I’d win.”

 

“You were a toddler then, so I’d destroy you.”

 

“Little me would love that. I was homeschooled until highschool, I didn’t talk to girls until then.”

 

“That explains your rant about first love.”

 

“Rant?”

 

“How would you describe it? The whole first love is for children and it’s not real, told in the face of a man who after many relationships married his first love.” Although, in retrospect, that lends some credibility to Logan's point. “You were so passionate about it.”

 

“So you were behind the glass all along!”

 

She takes advantage of his surprise to kick. 

 

“I didn’t know you’d put on such a show.”

 

“You should have expected it. I wouldn’t stay there and take it. I’m not the easy target you thought.”

 

“Never claimed you were easy.” she pants. “I just thought you saved your mind games for me. I haven’t seen Yoon Chul go off on a suspect like that.” She sits with that realization. “You were baiting him.”

 

“And he took the bait.” He smirks. “How is he? Still crying about being ditched?”

 

“How did you know his wife left him?”

 

“How did you not know?” he taunts. It gets to her. They’ve been friends for fifteen years and Su Ryeon didn’t see it. She’s been so focused on the case, she hasn’t talked to Yoon Hee for months. 

 

“What’s wrong, detective? Losing your touch?” He scores another point. 

 

She huffs, redoing her uniform. 

 

“What have you been doing for the past weeks, your little board must be full of evidence. Should I be quaking in my boots?” He asks. 

 

Powered by her anger, she executes a spinning hook kick, but he blocks it with a forceful sweep of his arm. “Do you have a board?”

 

“Of you?”

 

“Of your next targets. Have you been planning this thing for ages or is it for fun?”

 

“Fun?” he looks confused. 

 

“Yes. You have more money that you could ever spend, unlimited access to the world’s art, a family that supports you, every blessing one would dream. You’ve become numb. Is stealing the only way for you to feel something?” his face falls. “Is that why you pursue me?” she adds in a whisper.

 

His eyes widen, a mix of disbelief and hurt. 

“That's what I am to you? A hedonistic brat?” He looks at her like he doesn’t know her. He shakes his head. "Convenient -paint me as the villain, so when you hurt me, it's justified."

 

That stops her. Staring into his eyes, she speaks. 

 

“I don’t see how we can go on without hurting each other.”

 

Logan, sensing an opening, lunges forward. She anticipates his move, executing a flawless spin kick. But he surprises her, ducking under the arc of her leg and countering with a sweeping low kick that knocks her off balance. She falls down and he hovers over her, locking her in. 

 

She shuts her eyes and bites down, expecting the final hit he needs to win. 

 

“You’re wrong. To hurt someone is a choice” He lets the sword slip from his hand, proving his point. “You got it all backwards and it’s killing me that I can’t make you see it.”

 

Leaning in, he sweeps a strand of her hair, the back of his knuckles brushing her cheek. She holds her breath. In his position of control he could easily harm her, but he chooses to be tender. 

She closes her eyes, overwhelmed. When she opens them he’s gone. 

 

—

 

“You know so little.” Seo Jin’s voice echoes in her head. 

 

What is she missing? She eyes Yoon Chul’s empty desk -suspended for excessive force- then at her pile of photos. Logan alone in various museums, some with his family. His parents, a scary-looking grandmother, cousins and nieces. However, only one photo shows a genuine connection – Logan with his uncle Hong, who warmly squeezes his shoulder. The rest of the pictures seem oddly composed, as if the individuals were never in the same place at the same time. Logan’s eyes are distant, the spark she’s used to when they’re together, absent. 

 

“Wealth, supportive family…”

 

“You got it all backwards.” Logan said. 

 

“Family, always.”

 

That’s what she must be wrong about. She grabs the stack of pictures, sifting through them for a clue. One catches her eye, Logan's parents, along with associates and a tall man with the darkest hair she’d ever seen. Or rather, she’s recently seen it. Notes say he is Mr Cheon Dong Hwa. Quick database search reveals one daughter, Cheon Seo Jin.

 

Logan's family lawyer is representing the other suspects.

 

She opens her drawer and grabs the red string. 

 

—

 

She gears up for a long night. 

 

The board of investigation is a puzzle she must fix. She reviews the pieces: all the paintings he stole, eight so far in the span of six months. She checks their value, from 2 billion won upwards to -she squints- 50 billion. No lead here.

 

Nor in the galleries. National, privately owned, old and new. She takes another gulp of coffee, the bitterness hitting her tongue. 

 

Everyone is out, the night shift eerily quiet. A rookie, Seok Hoon, enters and deposits a stack of papers on her desk. 

 

“The additional evidence you requested.” He watches her board, intrigued. 

 

“Thank you. Did you pass your assessment?”

 

They first crossed paths when she arrested him for bullying. He was a troubled teenager, grappling with abuse at home. Pleading with her not to mar his chances for university with a criminal record, she took him to the station. Instead of imprisonment, she imposed community service at an orphanage. Initially very reluctant, he emerged transformed. The following year, he applied to the police academy to work with the woman who changed his life.

 

“I did. Thanks to your pointers. One day we’ll be working on cases together.”

 

“Let’s hope it won’t still be this one,” she grumbles. 

 

“Let me help you with the photos, you’re pinning them in chronological order of the date of theft right?” They fill the board in companionable silence. 

 

He rubs something on the edge of a photograph of the Lady of the Sea. 

 

“What is it?”

 

“Sorry, I thought it was ink from the printer. But it looks like” he squints, “a stamp.” He points to something in the frame of one painting she hadn’t noticed before. It’s barely visible, but she can read it. 

 

Property of Jae family. 

 

“But it was stolen from a museum, not a collector,” Seok Hoon remarks. 

 

She opens the file of the painting in her computer, and indeed it was nicked from the Samdong Museum. But, before that-

 

“It was donated by the Jae family, from their personal collection,” she remarks. 

 

“Is this significant?”

 

A tingling sensation hits her gut. She catches a glimpse of the strings pulling the marionette. 

 

Her eyes snap.

 

“Get me the previous owners of all the art he stole,” she orders hurriedly. Her heart starts beating faster. 

 

“Park family, the Lims of Seoul, Kangs, Yoon. There are more. All very wealthy, but again so is everyone that deals in art.”

 

“Wealth, okay.” She paces. “Something else in common?”

 

He clicks some more. “Went to the same three universities.” She shakes her head. “Four of them in the same finance course in London?”

 

The trail is warming up, if only she can see the beginning.

 

“Professions?” she asks.

 

“Tech industry, commerce, politics…” Too wide to be a lead. 

 

“Affiliations with a certain museum?”

 

“No. Many.”

 

What is the link?

 

“When did they make their donation?”
 

“Hmnnn, okay.” He mumbles some numbers. “Huh. 2006. All of them.”

 

“Almost 18 years ago. That’s specific. Let's cross-reference their names on the internet and newspapers around 2006. See if there’s news connecting the families at this time point.”

 

They sift through the media archive. The families have many connections, as these wealthy families run in the same circles, same functions and events. She zooms in the picture of the patriarchs of the Jae and the Kim family, smiling icily at some premiere. This should be in a lifestyle magazine, not in Korea’s National Paper. She clicks exit angrily, but just before the window disappears, a name catches her eye. 

 

Lilac. 

 

She clicks maniacally, and the window comes back. 

 

Lilac Art Foundation. An endowment for arts by Korea’s 12 leading families. Date of installment 2006. Members: Jae, Kim, Kang… 

 

All the families that had donated the paintings Logan stole. All but three. The pattern unfolds before her eyes.

 

“That’s who he’ll target next!”

 

—

 

The museum's grandeur stretches before Su Ryeon. She wishes she had more time to appreciate the composition of pieces, ample lighting and Chinese architecture. Instead, she's focused on plans and points of entry. 

 

A sea of people fill the small gallery, making her job harder. 

 

A dozen officers in plain clothes stride on the floors, taking in every suspicious activity. Su Ryeon hovers over the beehive of screens in the control room, her gaze shifting between the feeds, holding her breath. No other choice but to catch him in the act. 

 

She figured out that the donated paintings from the three remaining families of the Lilac foundation were the next targets. Out of those, one painting, the Nom De Terre, was poised for transfer to the Seoul National Gallery on this very day – a premiere event, a crowded affair, precisely fitting Logan's modus operandi.

 

“Show yourself”, she dares. 

 

Something tugs in the corner of her eye. On the bottom right screen, the rare antiquities room, a shadow disappears so quickly, she could have imagined it. But the camera loses its signal, the screen turning blue. 

 

“He’s here!” she cries in the intercom. “Team A, antiquities room. Team B, block his exit. Priority One: Catch the suspect in the act” she fastens her vest and runs through the door to the scene of the crime. “Go, go, go!”

 

She speeds through and she hears the grunts of a fight and a body being slammed to the ground. pushing the people from her way, she comes face to face with the tall build of a man who-

 

“What the hell are you doing to me?”

 

-is not Logan. Nor stealing the chinese vase, which stands very much intact before her eyes. 

 

Every officer gathers in the room, questioning witnesses. Every officer, she starts running to the main room. By the time they all realize it was all a distraction, the Nom De Terre is gone. 

 

—

 

She doesn’t wait for the next time he slips from her fingers. Arresting his colleagues didn’t deter him; now she will bring the fight to his door. She can’t reveal she figured out his next targets yet, or the whole thing will go up in flames.

 

That’s why she struts in formal police regalia, leading a dozen heavily armed cops into the gaudy reception pavilion. 

 

When Logan spots her, panic transforms his face. His mouth falls and he clunches the silver utensils in his fists. She strides to the table, full of decorative flowers and festive ribbons. All talk ceases as she approaches. Mr and Mrs Lee exchange hurried glances and their guests put the champagne glasses down. She stops at his side and takes the pair of handcuffs off her uniform, holding them to his face. 

 

“You can’t do this now.” Logan mutters and the tinge of fear in his voice makes her grin. She eyes him up and down, while the rest murmur frantically. Some have taken their phones out, no doubt live streaming the spectacle. 

 

“Son, what is the meaning of this?” his father asks, repressing his anger at the spectacle. 

 

Her smile is in place as she turns to the couple. “Congratulations on your golden anniversary Mr and Mrs Lee. How proud are you to have raised such an exemplary family. Your reputation is spotless. But I’m afraid,” she pulls out a pair of handcuffs to audible gasps, “One of you is guilty.”

 

Logan is ready to get out of his skin, when she turns to his right. 

 

“Mr Hong, you’re under arrest for money laundering and embezzlement”

 

The table erupts in protests. Woo Sik Hong, Logan's uncle and mentor, turns pale. It wasn’t an accident she chose this ceremony to ruin with her presence. The luxurious anniversary of the golden couple, a dedication to their family and the legacy of the name. As she puts handcuffs on the scrawny wrists of the beloved man, Logan is frozen, but his glare throws flaming daggers at her. 

 

For being looked at as innocent and small all her life, being seen as a threat is… strangely satisfying. 

 

Logan grabs her elbow and she fixes him an icy stare. 

 

“It’s not him you’re after.”

 

“True. How many people will pay for your crimes?”

 

“He’s innocent!” 

 

She leans to his touch and whispers. “But you're not,” she shrugs off his hold. “And unless you stop, I’ll punish everyone close to you, one by one.”

 

She turns around, walking away with a triumphant smile.