A photograph. A young woman in her early twenties. Dark hair, almond eyes – pretty.

Two stab wounds on her chest.

A man. Lying on the street, at an intersection between Samseong-ro and Dogok-ro. A slow trail of blood from the bullet wound on his chest.

He was breathing.

Doyoung.

“Seulgi–“

“Prosecutor Kang!”

Seulgi opened her eyes with a start. To her shock and eventual relief, she found herself still staring at the four walls of her office, grey and undisturbed.

It wasn’t like her to be transported to a different realm in broad daylight. That usually happened at the dead of the night, when she was tossing and turning under heavy covers, staring at herself like astral projection was a thing. During the day, she wasn’t a patient with a budding anxiety disorder – she was herself as the world knew her to be.

“I’m so sorry, Prosecutor Kang,” Mark bowed profusely. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

Mark was one of the detectives at the station. He was young, bright-eyed and still wet behind the ears, often rendering him the of the station’s jokes. He was good-natured, though, and took things in his stride, even the long stakeouts and extra shifts. Seulgi didn’t think he was a genius, but she didn’t have a stick so far up her that she needed to make things even more difficult for a rookie cop in his first year.

Doyoung wouldn’t, either. If he were there, he would’ve taken Mark under his wing. They would’ve gotten along like a house on fire.

“Not at all,” Seulgi replied. “He’s ready?”

“Yeah. He’s waiting for you in the interrogation room.”

Seulgi rose to her feet. Her heels clicked against the floor as she exited her office, striding down the long, dimly lit corridor. She stopped at the end of the hallway, in front of a familiar, brown door.

“What did he say his name was?” Seulgi asked, still facing the door.

Mark rifled through the notes on his clipboard, as though his most recent task was somehow jotted at the bottom of his stack. “I believe it’s…” he muttered, still checking his notes. “…Jung Jaehyun.”

Seulgi hadn’t heard that name before. Perhaps, for the better.

“Thanks, Mark. Also,” she added, “run his name through the system, just in case. See if it comes up with anything.”

Mark raised his hand to his head, slicing through the air in a motivated salute. “Roger that, Prosecutor Kang.”

As Mark tactfully made himself scarce, Seulgi continued to stare at the door. It was like she had some kind of laser vision and staring at it would somehow break down the surface. When she was younger, she’d always stare at walls and pretend she could see right through them. Doyoung had always said that her ability to bring down walls was one of her greatest strengths–

Seulgi in a breath and exhaled slowly. She couldn’t dwell. She had to pull herself together, regardless of where the pieces were. It was a moment she’d waited two years for. She wasn’t going to let it slip through her fingers.

With one more steadying breath, she turned the knob and pushed the door open, striding solemnly into the room.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Jung. I’m–“

Seulgi stopped. She wasn’t supposed to, but she did.

When people –the news, the media, just everyone– spoke of serial killers, they’d associate the term with bearded men in unwashed flannels staring at them with crazy eyes. Not a handsome gentleman in his prime with the most dazzling smile spread across his face – and dimples, to boot.

Good dimples. The ones that went from the lower cheekbones to the lips. The ‘marry me’ dimples that would have women fawning from miles away. Jesus Christ.

Seulgi furrowed her brows. She definitely had her day cut out for her.

“Hello, Prosecutor Kang,” he said, his vocal color a deep baritone that sent a sense of relief both calming and terrifying down her spine. His smile widened. “You’re thinking I don’t quite seem the type to be a serial killer, huh?”

Jesus ing Christ.

“Thanks to Ted Bundy, we now know that serial killers aren’t confined to a type.”

Seulgi avoided his eyes as she pulled a chair, but eventually went back to staring at him when she sat down across him.

He was young, but not too young – if she were to hazard a guess, he’d probably be in his early thirties. Her age, possibly. He had sharp, angular features, and a bone structure that would have given the nation’s top models a run for their money. Dimples aside, he had a set of perfectly shaped lips that accentuated his already alluring smile – a smile he had pulled probably because he knew its effect. Especially on women.

But it really was his eyes that did the trick. They were bright, glistening like the waters of the ocean on a sunny day. But they were also dark, hiding an abyss so deep she couldn’t –and wouldn’t– discern the sea floors. Somehow, she could tell that many a soul had fallen for those eyes. In love or dead, she wouldn’t know.

She crossed one leg over the other, looking at him expectantly. “So, Mr. Jung, I hear you’ve come with information on the Gangnam-gu serial murders.”

“I do,” he nodded, eyes shining. “But before I give that to you, I have some questions.”

She nearly laughed. “I’m sorry, Mr. Jung, but I think you don’t understand,” she said sternly. “This is an active murder case–“

“–that has grown cold,” he corrected.

“–but is still active,” Seulgi barreled on. She twitched. So he does know something. “So, please say your piece, or I’ll have you arrested for conspiracy and–“

“Prosecutor Kang.” The man –Jung Jaehyun– leaned forward, staring at her with an air of confidence and self-assurance that had a source Seulgi couldn’t quite pinpoint. “I think you don’t understand. You don’t have anything to charge me for. Saying I have information? Well, so does every lunatic on the internet. You don’t even have a cause to hold me here. So, if you’d like to know what I came here to tell, you have to play ball.”

A lesser prosecutor would’ve let her jaw drop. But not Kang Seulgi. Startled as she was, she’d seen the craziest of crazies when she was at Seoul DPO. She didn’t think one would come walking into Incheon Metropolitan Police on a bright, sunny Tuesday, but she wasn’t unprepared. She was Kang Seulgi.

The side of her lips curled upwards. “Tricky little er, aren’t you?” she chuckled. “I’ll give you three questions, and then my boys can have you.”

He continued to smile, completely undeterred. “More than enough.”

Seulgi flashed back to the criminology classes she took in college. The man was starting to seem like he belonged on her professor’s slide deck of criminal headshots. She wondered if this was how the head prosecutor in ’70s Florida felt when he apprehended and questioned Ted Bundy, or the team in ‘80s Seoul when they nabbed Lee Choonjae.

“So, Prosecutor Kang,” he said, “this case has been cold for a long time. Why are you still pretending that it’s active?”

“Like I said, every case that hasn’t been closed is still considered to be active,” Seulgi replied. The more diplomatic gears in her head were turning. “We can’t close a case when we haven’t caught a killer.”

He nodded. “Let’s say I give you this information – what are you going to do with it?”

“Investigate.”

Jung Jaehyun nodded again. She couldn’t tell if the answer satisfied him, but for some reason, she felt that neither of them really cared.

He looked her squarely in the eyes. There was a dangerous glint in his gaze, and Seulgi already knew whatever came next would be what he thought would be his fatal shot.

“There was a cop who died on the case. Who was he, to you?”

Seulgi froze. She could feel the cold air on her knuckles, one of which had already balled itself into a fist. Jaehyun smirked, casually leaning back against his seat. That’s the answer he was looking for.

She inhaled. “No one.”

“You’re lying.”