The scent of bleach and some sort of disinfectant hung in the air. A dreary and suffocating cold atmosphere surrounded the halls. His heart was in his throat as he walked robotically behind the man in the white lab coat, praying that it was a lie. It was impossible, wasn’t it? Yoora, his beautiful Yoora, couldn’t be dead. Joonie, he was too young to die.

The beige painted doors opened and he stepped into the room. Two body bags lay on the metal tables. The mass concealed in the farthest one was obviously much larger than the one closest to the door. Swallowing thickly he stood between the two platforms. His hands were shaking, which had nothing to do with the numbing chill in the air. Nervously he clenched his hands, trying to cease their trembling. his lips, which suddenly felt dry and chapped, he gave the doctor the okay to the bag.

His heart dropped to the pit of his stomach, a startled gasp pushed passed his lips and tears welled up in his eyes. The healthy glow of her cheeks was replaced by a pasty grey. Her lips were a light shade of blue and the hallows of her eyes were sunken in. His stomach churned.

It wasn’t a lie.

He snapped his attention to the other bag and, without waiting for the doctor, he took the zipper. Forcefully he yanked it down. A sob caught in his throat as he gazed upon the tiny face of the three year old boy. His skin sickeningly pale and cold to the touch as he smoothed out the boys dark locks. Tears streaming down his cheeks, hot in his eyes but turning ice cold as they rolled down to his chin.

“Joon-ah…” he whimpered and turned back to Yoora. A heart-wrenching sob heaved through his body as he fell to his knees.

With a heavy sigh Inguk shouldered his bag. The day after his first meeting with the elusive artist Aerin, better known by her pseudonym Rein, he stopped by her studio to drop off the payment. However, instead of just pushing the money through the mail slot and leaving, he tried to give it to her in person. First he knocked on the steel door then took the rickety wooden stairs up to the apartment on the roof. The plump woman that answered the door obviously wasn’t who he was looking for, but he asked if she had seen Aerin that day. The woman informed him that Aerin was always down there, except occasionally during the night when she would go home.

“She’s down there all day, every day,” she informed him before stepping back into her apartment.

Inguk pursed his lips, trudging down the stairs. With a frustrated groan he tried the door again and when there was still no answer he gave in. Slipping the envelope with the check through the hole at the bottom of the sliding metal door.

Today, three days after that, Inguk arrived at work to find a packet. It was an exhibition contract, plus a list of commission requests for one ‘Han Rein’. Running his hands through his wavy locks, he strode to the director’s office with the manila envelope with the papers tucked under his arm. A couple of quick taps against the dark oak doors, followed by ‘come in’ and he stepped into the nearly bare office of the gallery director; soon to be former director.

“Yes Inguk-ssi?” a balding man asked, placing a stack of papers in a box.

“Sir, I was wondering if you could explain the details of the exhibition and the commissions,” he said, holding the package out for the other to take.

Sitting down, motioning for Inguk to do the same, the man pulled the papers free and started going over the details. The show needed a theme, which would be discussed with the artist. The show was set to be displayed in three months and twenty new paintings needed to be finished for the display.

“How soon do we need to decide on the theme?” Inguk asked, taking the packet back.

“As soon as possible. It would be best to get Rein-ssi to sign the contract first, then decide on the theme later so that the new director can start planning for the event and making other preparations.” Inguk nodded his understanding and then stood, bowing before he left.

He shoved the envelope into his satchel, making a brisk trail to his car. He tossed the bag into the passenger seat as he hopped into the driver’s side and started the car. Hands firmly set on the wheel he set his jaw and narrowed his eyes, a look of determination in his eyes.

“I won’t give up today. I’ll make her deal with me face to face,” he reassured himself and, with a nod, sped off.

Inguk slowed his red 2012 Suzuki Grand Vitara as he approached a mass of people. The sound of sirens rang noisily, slicing through the normal commotion the city provided. With a raised eyebrow he parked, almost an entire block away from his destination. He grabbed his bag before moving to weave his way through the crowd of people. The horrified gasps and murmurs left him with an unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach. He looked up to see smoke coming from the direction he needed to go. A wave of panic crashed through him as he pushed through the throng of bodies, stopping at the line of people being blocked by a row of police officers.

Inguk could only stare on in horror as smoke billowed out from the apartment above the studio. Flickering through the smoke told the tale of flames dancing out of sight. His dark eyes darted to each face, searching for a familiar one. He spotted the woman who lived in the apartment, tears streaming down her face as she spoke to one of the police officers. Inguk pushed through the people to get c