The office was unusually quiet.
Kang Jae-hyun sat behind his desk, hands folded, eyes fixed on the skyline outside the glass wall. Sunlight bounced off skyscrapers, but he didn't see it. His mind replayed fragments of a night he had barely processed—the warmth of her hand, the strange trust in her gaze, the way she had vanished before he even woke.
Something was off.
He pressed a button on his desk. Lee, his investigator, appeared on the screen immediately. Sharp, efficient, always steady.
"Sir," Lee greeted. "Updates on the hotel footage."
Jae-hyun didn't answer right away. He didn't need words. His expression alone spoke volumes: sharp eyes, jaw tight, fingers tapping lightly on the table.
Finally, he spoke, low and deliberate. "Go on."
"The CCTV has been restored," Lee said. "We tracked the exit. Only her back is visible. Identity remains unclear. However… she traveled to a distant town. And we have reason to believe she may have a child."
Jae-hyun's chest tightened. The world outside seemed to shrink, to fade. A girl. One night. One fleeting encounter. And now traces of a life he wasn't part of.
"Anything else?" His voice was calm, but the underlying edge made it dangerous.
Lee shook his head. "Not yet. Investigation is ongoing. Every lead monitored, sir."
Jae-hyun leaned back. "Keep it that way. No gaps."
Lee's image disappeared. The office felt emptier than ever. The skyline glimmered, indifferent, while his mind raced, pulling fragments together like puzzle pieces. Hotel exit, fleeting figure, town far away, a child possibly involved. And that hand—her small hand, fragile yet unafraid, pressing against his chest.
He leaned forward, eyes narrowing. His lips pressed into a thin line. A single thought crystallized: Mi-ra. Seo Mi-ra. The one who had appeared that morning at the hotel. She had tried to manipulate the situation, maybe even cover tracks. But she had left traces.
He rose from his chair, moving with sharp precision. Every step was deliberate, controlled. He didn't pace. He measured.
Ye-rin, sitting across the office, sensed it. The air shifted. He hadn't spoken, but she could feel his presence, his focus, the dangerous calm that always preceded a storm.
"…Ye-rin," he said finally. His voice was even, but carried authority that made her pulse spike.
"Yes, sir?" She swallowed, gripping the edge of her desk.
"Arrange a meeting with Seo Mi-ra. Tomorrow. Alone. Discreet. No assistants. No interruptions."
Her fingers froze mid-gesture. "…Sir… Mi-ra?"
"Yes. Alone. Ensure she comes directly. I need answers."
Ye-rin nodded quickly, bowing slightly. "…Understood."
He didn't elaborate. There was no room for discussion. She could feel the weight of his gaze, sharp and measured. Her heartbeat quickened—not fear, exactly, but the tight, twisting panic that comes with standing too close to a storm you cannot escape.
Later, Ye-rin worked quietly, every movement deliberate. She opened the schedule, tapped messages, drafted emails, but her mind replayed that night at the hotel: Mi-ra's smirk, her fake sweetness, the way she had entered the room as if she owned it. Every detail now mattered. Every clue could tip the scales.
Jae-hyun remained behind his desk, reviewing the investigator's notes. Every frame of the CCTV, every subtle motion, every anomaly had been recorded. He didn't speak. He didn't need to. The office buzzed faintly around them, printers whirring, phones ringing, people moving, oblivious.
Yet he noticed. Everything.
The woman had left without a trace. But she couldn't escape forever.
"…Five years," he muttered under his breath, almost to himself. "Five years, and now you appear again…"
Ye-rin glanced up. His eyes weren't on her. They were distant, calculating, and somehow aware of more than he should be. The tension in the room made her fingers tighten on her pen.
Her phone buzzed lightly. A reminder. But she ignored it. She couldn't let herself think about it now. Not while he was watching, silent and sharp.
Finally, he stood, moving to the glass wall. The city stretched out below, glittering, indifferent. But he felt the threads tightening. Every detail mattered. Every shadow. Every trace left behind.
"I want a full report on Mi-ra," he said suddenly, turning slightly. "Her history. Connections. Anything from that night."
"Yes, sir." Ye-rin nodded, already mentally organizing files, recalling every detail she could remember from Mi-ra's sudden, manipulative appearance that morning.
"And… make sure she comes tomorrow. Alone. Don't let anyone interfere. I need the answers before noon."
"Yes, sir."
Jae-hyun paused, hands flat on the glass. He didn't notice Ye-rin hesitating. He didn't notice the tight twist in her chest, the way she silently prayed no one would recognize her fear.
"Tomorrow," he murmured under his breath. "…No more mistakes."
The hours dragged in sharp, jagged beats.
Ye-rin arranged the meeting carefully. Every word in the invitation was precise, measured, unremarkable. No one would guess it carried the weight of Jae-hyun's suspicion, the sharp edge of discovery.
Meanwhile, he reviewed the hotel footage again. One frame in particular lingered in his mind: a glimpse of her coat, the way she moved, deliberate yet hesitant. Even from behind, even in shadows, something about her had caught him. Not her face. Not her features. But the way she existed in space. The quiet strength in every step.
He replayed it over and over. The investigator had confirmed the town she had gone to. Far enough away to disappear. Close enough to trace. And now, Mi-ra. The connection had to be made.
Late afternoon, Ye-rin paused at her desk, rubbing her temples. She could feel the storm waiting tomorrow. She could feel his focus already on her, on the woman he didn't even know yet, on the traces of a night long forgotten by the world but not by him.
And somewhere in that mix, she felt the subtle, terrifying pulse of possibility. He would discover truths. He would ask questions. He would push boundaries.
Her chest tightened. Her mind raced.
Mi-ra. One step closer to discovery. One step closer to danger.