The café was nearly empty when they returned. Rain streaked the windows in thin silver threads, blurring the view of the street. Eli spread the Polaroids across the table, including the ones from the mysterious man and a few from his own collection.
Seol-ah traced a fingertip along the latest one, where the petals hung mid-fall above her head. "Why would he give me this? It's not a threat. It's just… me."
Eli's gaze stayed on her before he answered. "Maybe he wants you to see yourself the way he does."
She frowned. "And how's that?"
"Like someone worth following."
The words lingered between them, not quite a compliment and not quite an accusation.
She picked up the Polaroid and turned it over. At first, she thought the back was blank — just the usual off-white border. But then, in the right light, she caught it: faint lines, almost invisible, written in the thinnest strokes of graphite.
Her breath caught. "There's something here."
Eli leaned in as she tilted the photo toward the lamp. Slowly, the letters appeared:
The truth is in the darkroom.
Her mind stumbled over the words. "Darkroom? I don't even—" She stopped. "Wait. I used to have one, didn't I?"
"You did," Eli said carefully. "You rented a small studio two streets over from here."
Her pulse quickened. "Is it still there?"
He hesitated just long enough for her to notice. "Yes. But you haven't been back since the accident."
She set the Polaroid down and met his eyes. "Then we go tonight."
A muscle in his jaw shifted. "Seol-ah—"
"No more waiting," she said, her voice firmer than she felt. "If there's something in that darkroom, I want to see it."
For a long moment, the only sound was the rain tapping against the glass. Then Eli exhaled, slow and deliberate.
"Alright," he said. "But you don't go in first."