Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Saint’s steps faltered as he stood in front of Bangkok’s towering police station. He glanced up at the imposing building, its sleek architecture a far cry from the modest station in his small town. His legs felt like steel, rooted to the spot as uncertainty clawed at him.

He still couldn’t quite believe it.

Just days ago, he had been living a quiet life, serving as a normal investigator in Chiang Kham, his hometown. Everything had been routine— until it wasn’t. The abrupt announcement from his team leader, Sung, replayed in his mind.

“After your impressive work catching that psycho who was harassing children,” Sung had said, “the higher-ups have noticed your talent. They’ve decided to transfer you to Bangkok.You really did it this time, Saint!”

At the time, the news had felt surreal, like a dream too big for someone like him.

And now, here he was, staring at the massive station that would mark a new chapter in his life. It felt intimidating and exhilarating all at once. He took a deep breath, steadying himself, before finally stepping forward, the weight of this fresh start pressing on his shoulders.

It was utter chaos.

The station was crowded to the brim. A commotion of voices layered over the constant clatter of keyboards and ringing phones. Police officers rushed in every direction, their faces tense with purpose. In one corner, a suspect banged his fists against the table during a heated interrogation, while in another, a stack of papers toppled to the ground, ignored by the officer too preoccupied with a call.

It felt surreal, almost cinematic, like a scene ripped straight from an action movie.

What the hell?

Saint lingered near the entrance, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of it all. His gaze swept across the crowded room, searching for something, or someone, that would give him direction.

Then he spotted it. A bold sign mounted on the far wall: Investigation Department.

It pulled his attention like a magnet, cutting through the haze of noise and movement around him. His heart thumped with a mix of anxiety and determination as he squared his shoulders and began weaving his way through the chaos toward it.

The place felt much quieter compared to the chaos outside. It was calm, with only a few whispers from people chatting. The area was split into four sections, each labeled with a letter.

This must be where each team is located , Saint thought, marveling at the sleek, organized layout. His hometown station seemed like a distant relic in comparison to this polished hub of activity.

“Hey there.”

The voice broke his thoughts, and he turned to see a tall man approaching. His sharp eyes scrutinized Saint with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?”

Saint felt a flicker of unease but quickly composed himself, clasping his hands in greeting. “Hello, sir. I’m Saint. I was transferred here from Chiang Kham.”

The man's expression changed as he recognized him, and he smiled warmly.

“Oh, Chiang Kham! You’re the one who saved 14 kids from that crazy motherfucker, right?”

Saint smiled awkwardly, not used to the attention. “Yes, that’s me.”

The man placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’m Top. I’m with Team A. Great to meet you, Saint!”

Saint took a moment to size up Top. He was exceptionally tall, even compared to Saint. His hair was neatly styled, and he wore a casual blue t-shirt and jeans.

“Come on, let’s get you to the head of the department,” Top offered, leading Saint to a door in a corner.

They arrived at an office where an older man with gray-streaked hair adjusted his glasses as he looked up.

“Oh! I believe you are Saint. I’m Pakorn Thaveepat, the head of the Investigation Department, but you can call me Pong.” Mr. Pong extended his hand for a shake.

“We’re really pleased to have you on our investigation team to help save people and catch criminals. Your brave actions in Chiang Kham have been widely talked about in our station. Very impressive!”

Saint murmured a polite thank-you, feeling both flattered and overwhelmed by the attention. Shaking Mr. Pong’s hand respectfully. 

Pong gestured for Saint to follow him to one of the sections labeled “B.” At a gray, rectangular table sat four men, their conversation halting the moment Saint approached.

“Alright,” Mr. Pong said, breaking the silence, “let me introduce you to Team B.”

“This is Cable, our tech expert in the department,” Mr. Jeng said, pointing to a man focused on his phone, who didn’t bother to introduce himself.

“Next is Knot. He can be a bit too outgoing, but his strength is impressive.” Saint noticed Knot smiling and waving at him.

“And these two are Chadjen and Ken. They are great thinkers and observers, and they’ve solved many cases in our department.”

Saint’s gaze swept across the table, unease growing with each introduction. Despite their calm demeanor, something about their sharp eyes made him feel slightly out of place.

“And finally,” Mr. Pong said, pausing for emphasis, “the team leader.”

The door clicked open at that exact moment, the sound reverberating through the quiet space.

“Here he is,”

Footsteps approached steadily, each step hammering against Saint’s chest like a drum. He turned toward the sound, his breath catching as the figure entered the room.

“The team leader, Shin Naruebet.”

Saint froze, his world grinding to a halt.

That name. It couldn’t be.

But as the man came into view, any doubt evaporated.

“Saint?”

Chapter Text

Saint was rooted to the spot, his mind struggling to process what he was seeing.

Shin.

The boy he hadn’t seen since middle school now stood before him, looking impossibly different- sharp, composed, and undeniably intimidating.

“This is your team leader, Shin Naruebet. You’ll be working together from now on,” Mr. Pong announced, his voice cutting through the tense silence between them.

Saint’s eyes flicked to Shin’s face, searching for any sign of recognition. He found it, but not the kind he’d hoped for. Shin’s jaw clenched visibly, his hands curling into tight fists at his sides.

“Shin, this is Saint. He’s new here and will be part of your team,” Mr. Pong continued.

Shin’s lips curved into a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He stepped forward, extending his hand with an air of forced politeness. “Hi, Saint. I’m Shin, your team leader.”

Saint hesitated for a moment, his hand trembling slightly as he reached out to shake Shin’s.

The touch was brief, and as soon as their hands parted, Shin discreetly wiped his palm on his pants. The gesture was subtle, but it wasn’t lost on Saint. His chest tightened, a sharp pang of hurt twisting through him.

Before either could say anything, the door burst open with a loud thud.

“Mr. Pong!”

A man rushed into the room, his face pale and his breathing labored.

Shin immediately straightened, his attention snapping to the newcomer.

“There’s been a report,” the man gasped. “A woman has been killed.”

The tension in the room shifted instantly.

Shin turned to Saint, his gaze cold and calculating. “Welcome to Bangkok, Officer Saint. Looks like your first case starts now.”

The sound of cameras clicking filled the air as journalists tried to get closer to the scene, but officers held them back behind the barricades.

Saint followed the team into the crime scene, still lacking an official police ID and sticking close to Mr. Pong.

The view made Saint feel sick.

The victim lay in the center of the taped-off area. Her clothing was harshly torn, blood pooling around her from several wounds. Bruises covered her face and arms, a clear indication of the violence she had endured.

They got closer, medical examiners worked swiftly around the body, documenting the scene with photographs and gathering evidence.

Saint’s gaze flickered to Shin. He stood motionless, his face unreadable, as if this scene was nothing more than another day at work. There was no flinch, no sign of the turmoil that Saint himself felt bubbling inside.

“Mr. Pong”

A man in a white protective suit stepped toward them, his mask and gloves giving him an almost ghostly presence.

“Mr. First,” Pong greeted with a nod. “What do we have so far?”

“The victim suffered extensive physical abuse,” Mr. First began. “Her body is covered in bruises, and there are strangulation marks around her neck. We can’t confirm yet if strangulation was the cause of death, but it’s likely.”

“We’ll transport the body for further examination after collecting all available evidence,” he added.

Saint, despite his sickness, was unable to resist his curiosity, he stepped closer to the yellow tape. His eyes scanned the body, noting the torn clothing and deep bruising. The purple marks around the victim’s neck suggested a possible cause of death, and the state of her clothing hinted at a potential assault before her murder.

“Police officer huh?” A voice came beside him. Saint looked just to find Shin standing, looking coldly at the lifeless body in front of them.

Saint froze, he didn’t know what to say.

“That’s surprising.” Shin smirked, “given that you were a gangster the last time I saw you.”

"Shin, I—" Saint started, but Shin quickly cut him off.

"Don’t," he said sharply, his tone icy. "I don’t want to hear whatever excuse or crap you have. Let’s just pretend we don’t even know each other."

Saint clenched his jaw, the words forming in his mind dissolving into nothing. He stood there in silence, unsure of how to bridge the growing chasm between them.

“Let’s gather all the evidence and go back. Make sure to send the forensic report as soon as possible Mr. First.” Shin said as he walked away without sparing Saint another glance, fully focused on the task at hand.

‘A case on my first day, with my ex best friend. Perfect’

The team went back to the station, enough evidence was collected and now they had to analyze what happened.

“Suthida Wongchai,” Ken said, pointing to the picture tacked to the board. “Nineteen years old, a college student majoring in economics.”

“The forensic report estimates the time of death was last night at approximately 11 p.m. The body was discovered this afternoon at 2:04 p.m.”

“That means the killer likely held her somewhere before disposing of her body,” Shin interjected, his arms crossed as he leaned back in his chair, his eyes focused on the whiteboard.

Ken nodded, adding, “She was reported missing four days ago. Her mother mentioned she was supposed to return home after a night project with her friends but never made it back.”

“What’s the confirmed cause of death?” Saint asked, pulling everyone’s attention as he didn’t spat a word since they came back.

Ken flipped the papers of the file on his hands, “According to the autopsy, the victim suffered sexual abuse. In addition to three fractured upper ribs which caused a hemothorax, resulting in severe internal bleeding. While there were signs of attempted strangulation, it wasn’t the direct cause of death. The rib fractures punctured the intercostal vessels and caused lacerations to the pulmonary artery, leading to fatal blood loss.”

The room fell silent for a moment as the gruesome details sank in.

“Cable,” Shin called, snapping the latter’s attention toward him. “I need you to analyze the victim’s phone. Check the call history, messages, GPS logs—everything. I want a complete report ready by tomorrow morning.”

“On it.” Cable nodded before going through his laptop. 

“Chadjen, Ken,” Shin continued, turning toward them. “Visit the victim’s family. Find out where she was last seen, the places she frequented, and if there were any recent changes in her behavior or encounters with suspicious individuals.”

Chadjen and Ken gave brief nods before heading out the door, leaving the section quieter.

Shin finally stood, adjusting his jacket. “Knot, you’re with me.” He glanced over at Saint, who had been silently observing the flurry of orders.

“What about me?”

Shin scoffed, an almost amused smirk playing on his lips. “You? Relax. Not like you’ve contributed anything useful so far.” Without waiting for a reply, Shin turned and strode toward the exit, Knot following close behind.

Saint leaned back in his chair, staring at the whiteboard and the scattered notes. He let out a long sigh, his frustration simmering beneath the surface.

It’s going to be a long day.

Chapter Text

Shin entered his house silently as he didn’t want to wake his sleeping sister, and collapsed onto the sofa, his exhaustion overwhelming him. The day had been long, filled with questioning neighbors and witnesses about the victim. His body ached, but his mind wouldn’t rest.

He leaned against the armrest of the couch, his thoughts drifted to the one person he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about since the case began.

Saint.

He hadn’t changed. Shin thought. The first time he saw Saint was when he was a boy, so pure and simple. He was a gentle boy. 

His mind wandered back to his middle school days, to the time when life was simpler. Shin had been a quiet, lonely boy, new to the school in Chiang Kham after his family moved from Bangkok. He would sit alone during breaks, waiting for the bell to save him from the solitude.

Then came Saint.

Shin could still picture that day vividly. Saint had approached him with a radiant smile, his energy warm and inviting.

“Hey, what’s your name?” the boy had asked, plopping down beside him.

“Shin,” he had replied, hesitant but curious.

“That’s a good name!” Saint had laughed. “I’m Saint. Want to be my friend?”

From that moment on, the two became inseparable. Saint’s vibrant personality brought light to Shin’s quiet world. They were best friends, partners in everything—until high school.

High school changed the game. Saint’s natural charm attracted a crowd, and he started hanging out with a group of guys who were drawn to his energy. At first, Shin didn’t think much of it. He knew Saint was great at making friends and assumed it was just another social circle.

But as time passed, Shin began to feel something new—jealousy. Seeing Saint laugh and have fun with others, in a way that used to be just for him, stung. He tried to brush it off, convincing himself it was selfish to want Saint all to himself. After all, they were best friends, and that bond wouldn’t fade.

Shin pushed through those feelings until he started hearing whispers about the group Saint was with. They weren’t just a bunch of troublemakers; they were tied to a dangerous drug ring. At first, Shin couldn’t believe it. Saint was too smart and kind-hearted to get mixed up in something so risky.

But the signs became impossible to ignore. Saint was gone longer, his excuses were vague, and there was a strange distance in his attitude that Shin couldn’t understand.

Shin confronted him repeatedly, urging him to stay away from those boys, warning him about the path he was treading. But Saint brushed him off each time, insisting they weren’t as bad as Shin thought.

Then came the day that would change everything.

Shin still remembers it like it was yesterday.

He remembered running to the hospital, his chest heaving, fear gripping him like a vice. Freezing when he saw Saint, pale and attached to countless machines. 

He remembered what the doctor said then, that it was close and Saint had barely made it out alive. That he was drugged with a dangerous drug that, if it was not treated at time, would have made Saint paralyzed. 

Until now, these words still made Shin shudder.

He remembered how it was in the hospital, sitting beside Saint as the machines kept him alive. Shin would sit beside him, holding his cold hand like his life depended on it. 

It was all hard for him. How he would just sit helplessly, seeing Saint’s pale face. How his chest would rise and fall all thanks to the ventilator attached in his throat. 

And then after three weeks, that day came.

The day when Saint finally woke up, choking at the long pipe in his throat. Shin couldn’t express his happiness then when Saint actually recognized him. 

“Shin…” 

Saint’s hoarse voice still lingered in his mind. How he sounded so weak and fragile. Looking so small at that moment.

“I’m here, Saint.” He would hold his hand, tears slipping from his red-rimmed tears. “I won’t leave.” 

And the journey of healing started. 

Shin was with Saint at every moment. Grounded him every time it felt too hard for him. 

And with days, Saint finally became better. 

The weeks of recovery brought them closer, or so Shin had thought. But the moment Saint healed, he returned to the same dangerous crowd, dragging himself deeper into the abyss.

Frustrated and desperate, Shin decided to take matters into his own hands. He confronted the boys directly, threatening to expose their organization if they didn’t leave Saint alone.

But little did he know that this was his stupidest mistake ever.

It backfired in the worst way imaginable.

Just two days later, Shin ended up in the hospital, from being beaten. 

Two days later, Shin found himself in a hospital bed, his ribs cracked, his body battered. He waited for Saint to visit, to show some sign of care.

But Saint never came. 

Shin waited, waited for Saint to step through the hospital door. He called him countless times, but his phone was off.

His phone buzzed, breaking the silence. A message from an anonymous number.

“Your friend was the one who sent the men to beat you up”

Shin froze, his mind racing to comprehend the words. Moments later, another message arrived, this time with an attachment.

Open attached video 

And then his world all crumbled.

Shin’s blood froze in his veins. Saint’s slurred voice filled the room, each word a hammer driving nails into his heart.

“Let’s just get rid of him,” Saint said. “He’s not even my friend. Just send some boys to beat him so he knows his place.”

The video ended, leaving Shin paralyzed. His hands trembled as he stared at the screen, his mind rejecting what he had just seen.

Suddenly everything felt too much for him. 

Shin couldn’t believe it. 

That’s impossible. Shin denied. This can’t be real. 

But the evidence was in front of him.

A wave of anger surged through him, overpowering the pain in his ribs. He grabbed his phone and hurled it against the wall, watching as it shattered into pieces.

That night, something inside Shin broke. The boy who had once been his best friend, his anchor, had betrayed him in the worst way possible.

From that day forward, Shin built walls around his heart, vowing never to let anyone close enough to hurt him again.

But today, seeing Saint again, those walls trembled. The past he thought he had buried resurfaced, raw and unforgiving.

What should I do?

“Cable, you got the report?” Shin asked as he entered the team’s section briskly, heading straight to his desk.

“On your desk,” Cable replied without looking up from his laptop. “Her search history is clean, nothing suspicious. Messages too. Everything seems normal.”

Shin grabbed the file and flipped it open, his sharp eyes scanning the contents. “What about you, Chadjen and Ken?”

“We asked around the neighborhood,” Chadjen replied. “The neighbors said the victim was a nice girl, never caused any trouble. They didn’t notice anything unusual before her disappearance.”

Shin’s jaw tightened, frustration evident on his face. Two days in, and they were still chasing shadows. His gaze swept over his team, suddenly noticing a glaring absence.

“Where is Saint?” 

“He hasn’t shown up yet,” Ken said casually.

As if on cue, the door burst open, and Saint stumbled into the room, barely managing to stay upright.

“Speaking of the devil,” Ken chuckled.

Saint straightened himself awkwardly. “Um, hi.”

“Late on your second day?.” 

Shin’s tone was icy as his eyes fixed on Saint.

Saint shifted nervously under Shin’s intense gaze.

“Mr. Saint,” Shin said, standing from his chair. “Do you realize we’re in the middle of a difficult case?”

Saint swallowed hard, instinctively taking a step back as Shin strode toward him.

“A girl has been murdered,” Shin continued, his voice cold and cutting. “And you’re playing around? Do you know what happens to officers like you, Mr. Saint?”

Saint froze, the weight of Shin’s words pressing down on him.

“They get fired.” Shin stopped mere centimeters away from Saint, his sharp tone driving the point home. “Do you want to get fired, Saint?”

Saint’s cheeks flushed red as he quickly stepped back. “No, sir. I apologize. It won’t happen again.”

Shin stared at him for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a curt nod, he turned and went back to his desk.

Saint let out a shaky breath and slumped into his chair. It’s not like you even gave me anything to do , he thought bitterly, glancing at the whiteboard cluttered with notes.

A sudden ring shattered the heavy silence in the room, drawing everyone's attention. Knot hurried to answer the phone, his movements tense.

“Yes, this is the Investigating Department,” 

The seconds stretched unbearably as everyone watched him. Knot’s face slowly drained of color, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the receiver tightly.

He lowered the phone, his expression grim and shaken, and turned to Shin.

“Team Leader,” Knot said, his voice trembling. “Another woman has been killed.”

Chapter Text

“Another murder, another life taken,” the reporter on the TV announced grimly. “And it’s not the first. The life of a simple 19-year-old girl has been violently taken, leaving her family devastated. However, only two days after this horrifying crime, a second victim, a high school student, was brutally killed in the dead of night. Meanwhile, the police are still scrambling for clues to-”

The voice of the reporter was abruptly silenced as Shin switched off the TV, his grip on the remote tightening.

Frustration churned in his chest, a familiar, suffocating weight. He despised this feeling—this gnawing sense of helplessness, of time slipping through his fingers while the lives of innocent people hung in the balance.

“Ken, you got the forensic report?”

Ken flipped open the file in front of him. “Same as the first case. Both victims were sexually assaulted, severely beaten, and strangled.”

“The official cause of death for the victim is asphyxiation due to strangulation,” Ken added, his tone heavy.

“Chadjen?” Shin pressed.

Chadjen leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. “The two victims have no connection. They didn’t know each other, their families are unrelated, and they moved in completely different circles. Even their disappearance timelines don’t overlap. The first victim vanished four days before her murder, the second, ten days prior.”

Shin rubbed his temple, exhaling slowly as the tension in his shoulders grew. He scanned the room, his eyes landing on Saint, who sat quietly at his desk, seemingly lost in thought.

“What about you, Saint?” Shin’s voice cut through the air. “What do you think?

Saint’s head jerked up, startled. His ears slightly red as all eyes turned to him.

“Um, well,” Saint cleared his throat. “I’ve been comparing the injuries on both victims, and I’ve come to one possible conclusion.”

“And that is?” Shin prompted.

“What if we’re dealing with a serial killer?” 

The room fell silent, everyone absorbing his words.

“ A serial killer?” Shin said, his tone incredulous, “And what makes you think that?” 

Saint hesitated but pushed forward. “The injuries on both victims are too similar to ignore. The timing of the murders is close. They were both assaulted, brutally beaten, and strangled. It’s consistent with the pattern of a serial killer.”

Shin scoffed, his skepticism sharp. “Did you not hear Ken? There’s no connection between the victims. No evidence ties them together. Even the time of their disappearances is inconsistent. We don’t jump to conclusions, Saint. We base our theories on hard evidence, not assumptions. Do you know what chaos that would cause for us? All because of your little conclusion? ”

Saint lowered his gaze, wishing he hadn’t spoken.

Shin’s tone turned harsher. “How did you even manage to save those children in Chiang Kham with this kind of thinking? Honestly, I doubt you’ll last here if this is how you approach things.”

He stayed quiet, focusing on the papers in front of him, but his thoughts churned bitterly.

Oh believe me, I doubt it too.

The sound of water dripping from the rusted pipes echoed through the suffocating silence of the dark room.

Peeta sat on the cold, damp floor, her knees pulled tightly to her chest. The metal bars enclosing her acted as an unyielding reminder of her captivity, separating her from any chance of escape.

It all happened so fast for her. 

The last thing she remembered was walking home from college, exhaustion weighing her down after a long day of assignments. The streets had been eerily quiet, blanketed by a dense darkness that seemed to swallow every trace of light.

Then came the hand, rough and sudden, clamping over her mouth.

She had fought, kicked, screamed into the suffocating palm, but it had been futile. The figure behind her was immovable, like a wall of solid steel.

“You’re gonna be a beautiful addition to my collection.” 

That was the last thing she heard before it all went black. 

Now, here she was, trapped in what felt like a stone capsule, its only opening barred with cold, unrelenting metal.

Peeta screamed, pleaded for help until her voice was hoarse. But the only response was silence, deep and mocking.

Through the bars, she spotted another girl, curled up in a cage across from hers. Hope flickered faintly in Peeta’s chest.

“Hey!” she called, her voice cracking. “Wake up!”

The girl stirred, groaning softly as she slowly sat up.

“Where… where am I?” the girl mumbled, blinking groggily.

“I don’t know,” Peeta admitted, her voice trembling. “But we’ve been kidnapped.”

The girl’s face crumpled, tears spilling as she began to shake uncontrollably.

“Don’t cry,” Peeta urged gently, forcing herself to sound steady. “What’s your name?”

“E-Evejira,” the girl stammered between gasps.

“Evejira,. That’s a beautiful name,” Peeta said, trying to calm her. “Can I call you Eve?”

The girl nodded, her body visibly shaking.

But before she could say more, the grating screech of metal scraped through the room, freezing them both in place.

Peeta’s heart hammered as the thick metal door creaked open, revealing a figure. The person stepped inside, wearing all black with a hoodie over his head and a mask covering his face.

Sounds of footsteps echoed through the room, each step planting fear in both of the girls. 

“Well, well, my beautiful pieces of art,” the man said, his voice eerily cheerful as he ran gloved fingers along the bars.

Eve broke into sobs, begging through her tears. “Please let me go. I just want to go home. Please…”

The man stopped abruptly, tilting his head as if her words had offended him.

“Noise,” he said, his voice low and cold. “Noise is something I despise.”

He crouched in front of Eve’s cage, his gloved fingers curling around the bars. “And you, my dear, are giving me a headache.”

Eve’s sobs grew louder, her fear spilling over into incoherent pleas.

The man sighed, pulling a key from his pocket. “Alright,” he said, unlocking the cage. “I’ll take you home.”

Eve’s sobs turned into a gasp of hope. She began crawling toward him as the lock clicked open.

But her relief was short-lived.

The man’s boot slammed into her chest, sending her sprawling backward with a sickening thud.

He reached into the cage, grabbing a fistful of Eve’s hair and dragging her out like a rag doll. Eve’s screams filled the room, desperate and raw.

“You want to go home? Sure let’s get you home.” He said before pushing his hand into the pocket of his hoodie, picking out a syringe. He injected the syringe in Eve’s neck, and soon enough, Eve went all lump in the ground.

Peeta couldn’t believe the scene in front of her, her eyes widening. She used all her strength to just not scream her lungs out. She backed out when the man suddenly stood up, walking towards her cage.

He crouched down in front of her cage, looking at her through the metal bars. “I’m impressed, you didn’t scream or cry like the other.”

She couldn’t muster a response, every muscle in her body locked in terror.

“Don’t worry,” The man said. “Soon enough I’ll be able to inspect you. Just like I’m gonna do to her now.” the man smiled, his yellow teeth gleamed through the darkness as he grinned.

With that, he stood, dragging Eve’s lifeless body toward the door. “We don’t want you to see what happens next, do we?” he said over his shoulder, chuckling.

The door slammed shut, plunging the room back into silence.

Peeta finally exhaled, the sound of her ragged breathing filling the void. Tears slipped down her face as she buried her head in her hands.

God, please. Save me.

Chapter Text

The blinding flashes of cameras cut through the thick fog of Saint’s exhaustion, each burst of light intensifying the pounding headache he’d carried since the night before. Just a day after the second murder, Saint hadn’t managed a moment of sleep before his phone had rung, summoning him to yet another crime scene.

And now, here he was, standing in front of a horrific sight. The victim, a young girl who couldn’t have been more than seventeen, lay sprawled on the ground. Her clothes were torn, and her body was covered in bluish marks.

Nearby, Shin stood stiffly with his arms crossed, addressing Mr. First, the same forensic officer from the last two cases, who was crouched beside the body.

“What have you got, Mr. First?” Shin asked, his tone clipped, frustration barely concealed.

Mr. First sighed heavily as he rose to his feet.

“We’re really not sure yet,” Mr. First admitted with a weary sigh. “We need to move the body to the lab for an autopsy. Only then will we have more concrete information.”

Shin nodded grimly, his jaw tightening, but Saint wasn’t listening. The conversation around him blurred into meaningless noise. Saint looked at the victim. He didn’t himself walk towards the yellow strap, his eyes wandering all over the body.

Something is definitely wrong, he thought, he kept looking, his eyes scanning the lifeless girl in front of him. 

And then he saw it. 

His eyes froze, piercing at what he saw. He quickly moved under the yellow strap, his feet dragging him beside the body. 

“Saint!” Shin’s sharp voice cut through the air. “What are you doing? Get back here!”

Saint didn’t answer. His focus remained locked on the girl’s exposed neck. Crouching down, he scanned the bruised skin. Something that was covered by the victim’s hair caught his attention 

Grabbing a small wooden stick lying nearby, he carefully brushed the strands aside, revealing what was behind them. His breath caught in his throat.

Suddenly overcome with urgency, Saint stood and rushed back to the car he had arrived in, ignoring the stunned silence of his teammates. He yanked the door open and rummaged through his bag, his hands fumbling until he pulled out a stack of photographs.

And then he felt the blood in his veins freeze. 

The first picture was for the first victim, she had a thick black dot on her wrist. While the second victim had two dots on her ankle. 

And now the third victim had four dots on her neck, arranged in the same style as the two others. It was a pattern, and he was sure of it.

Saint’s heart raced as the realization dawned. It wasn’t random. It was a pattern. Each victim bore an increasing number of dots, escalating with every murder.

His grip tightened on the photographs as he spun on his heels, sprinting back toward his team. His chest heaved with urgency as he stopped in front of Shin, holding out the pictures.

“Team leader,” Saint called, “I’m sure now that we are dealing with a serial killer.”

The entire team stood in the sterile, chilling morgue, their breaths forming small clouds in the frigid air. Mr. First’s voice echoed off the tiled walls as he stood before the three bodies, each covered with crisp, white sheets.

“Looks like Mr. Saint’s theory is right,” Mr. First announced, his tone grim.

“And how is that?” Shin asked, his eyes narrowing as he studied the still forms.

“Looking at the marked dots,” Mr. First began, gesturing toward the bodies, “it seems as if they were carved by a—”

“A needle.” Saint interrupted, his arms crossed, his expression tight.

Mr. First raised a brow, mildly surprised. “That is correct.”

Shin’s gaze shifted to Saint, standing rigid beside him. He noticed how tense the younger man’s posture was, the way his jaw clenched and his shoulders squared. Shin knew Saint all too well, this was how he acted when something deeply troubled him.

“But,” Chadjen said, his voice steady, “there’s something wrong.”

“The first victim had one dot, and the second had two,” Chadjen explained. “The next victim was supposed to have three dots. But this one has four. The pattern doesn’t make sense.”

“That is not the only strange thing.” Mr. First added. “Come look here.” 

“That’s not the only anomaly,” Mr. First interjected, leading them toward the body of the third victim. His gloved hand hovered over her neck, pointing to faint puncture marks. “If you look closely, there’s an additional needle scar beside the dots. These weren’t carved; they’re injection marks.”

“That explains the drugs we found in her system,” he continued. “Unlike the previous two victims, this one was sedated, probably before she was killed.”

“Sedated?” Shin frowned.

“Yes,” Mr. First confirmed, his expression grim. “A rare drug, one that’s difficult to obtain. I can’t even begin to imagine how he managed to get his hands on something like this.”

“This feels... wrong,” Saint muttered, his voice almost to himself. “Three victims in one week. The escalation is alarming. This killer—he’s either venting his rage or feeding off the power he feels by controlling his victims.”

“So, in short, we’re dealing with a total psychopath?” Ken quipped, his voice tinged with forced sarcasm. “Great.”

The team filed out of the morgue, their faces etched with tension. As they stepped into the dimly lit corridor, Chadjen spoke up.

“What’s the next step?” he asked, breaking the heavy silence.

Saint turned toward Shin, their gazes locking. “He must’ve sourced this drug from somewhere. That’s our first lead. We need to track down whoever supplied it to him.”

Shin considered Saint’s words, the lines on his forehead deepening as he weighed their options. Finally, he nodded. “We’ll go with Saint’s plan for now. Let’s head back to the station.”

The group began to move, their footsteps echoing down the hallway. Shin lingered, his mind preoccupied, until he felt a firm grip on his wrist. He turned sharply, his expression hardening when he saw Saint standing behind him.

“Shin,” Saint started hesitantly, his voice quieter than usual. “I wanted to say that—”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Shin snapped, yanking his wrist free. “What the hell do you want from me, Saint?”

Saint flinched at the outburst, the sharpness of Shin’s words cutting deeper than he’d expected.

“I just wanted to say… I’m sorry for-”

“For what?” Shin interrupted, his glare piercing through the dim light. “For abandoning me for eight years? For sending those men to beat the shit out of me?”

“What do you mean?” Saint’s voice wavered, his confusion evident. “I didn’t-”

“Don’t you dare deny it!” Shin pushed Saint roughly, his hands trembling with anger. “What? Do you think an apology is enough to erase everything? That we can just go back to what we were?”

Saint stumbled back a step but didn’t retaliate, his arms dropping to his sides as he stared at Shin.

“I was always there for you, Saint,” Shin continued, his voice breaking under the weight of unspoken pain. “When you were on the brink of death in that hospital, I stayed by your side. But when I was the one lying in a hospital bed, beaten within an inch of my life, you didn’t come, you didn’t even call! Not once!”

Saint opened his mouth to respond, but Shin’s words didn’t stop, his pain flowing out like a flood that had been held back for too long.

“And then, to find out it was you,” Shin whispered, his voice cracking. “You sent those men to hurt me. All because I cared about you? Because I tried to protect you?” 

Shin’s chest heaved as he fought to keep his emotions in check. His eyes glistened with unshed tears, the raw vulnerability in them something Saint hadn’t seen before.

“Let’s just… let’s act like we don’t know each other, okay?” Shin said finally, his voice quieter now, as if the outburst had drained him of his strength. “Then we can work together.”

Saint stood frozen, his throat tight, unable to form a response as Shin turned on his heel. The older man’s tall figure disappeared into the shadows of the empty street, leaving Saint standing alone in the dim light.

Saint’s heart clenched painfully as he replayed Shin’s words in his mind. He didn’t know what Shin meant by everything he had said, but one thing was clear, there was a misunderstanding.

And Saint vowed he would fix it. No matter what it took.

The team came back to the station, they all sat around the grey table, its surface cluttered with case files, photographs, and hastily scrawled notes.

Knot took the lead, standing by the evidence board. He pinned a photograph of the first victim with a red pushpin. “The first victim, Suthida Wongchai,” he began, his voice steady but somber. “Nineteen years old, an economics college student. She disappeared four days before her body was discovered.”

He grabbed the next photo and pinned it beside the first. “Natthaya Siripong. Seventeen years old, a high school student. She went missing ten days before her murder.”

Finally, he pinned the third photograph, pausing for a moment before speaking. “Evejira Rattanakul. Also seventeen, a high school student. She disappeared just a day before she was killed.”

The team studied the board intently as Knot stepped back, his hands resting on his hips. “The victims have no apparent connections. Their ages differ, their routines don’t overlap, and even their disappearance periods vary. But the killer marked each one.”

“The murderer doesn’t seem to have a specific type,” Shin added, leaning forward with his hands braced on the table. “Each victim’s profile is different—age, location, background. It’s almost like he’s choosing randomly. But the marks… they’re deliberate. As if he’s leaving a signature, a claim to his work.”

“And the third victim?” Shin continued. “She’s different. Drugged before being killed. It’s like he’s changing his methods.”

Ken sighed, rubbing his temples. “Three victims in a week. We need to stop this before he strikes again.”

Shin straightened, his sharp gaze sweeping across the room. “Here’s the plan.”

“Knot and Chadjen,” Shin began, “start combing through recent missing person reports. Look for any patterns, and see if you can predict his next move. If we can anticipate his target, we can prevent another murder.”

Both men nodded, their determination evident.

“Cable,” Shin continued, turning to the tech expert, “go through the victims’ devices—phones, laptops, anything we’ve collected. Trace their movements, their interactions, and see if there’s a common place they all visited.”

“Got it,” Cable said, already jotting down notes.

“Ken and I will follow up with Mr. Pong,” Shin said, slipping on his jacket. “We’ll dig deeper into the victims’ backgrounds and talk to anyone who might know something useful.”

Chadjen raised his hand. “What about the drug we found in the third victim? You said we needed to trace the supplier.”

Shin paused, his brow furrowed as he reorganized his thoughts.

“I’ll handle it,” Saint said, breaking the silence. All eyes turned to him as he raised his hand slightly. “I’ll go to the Drug Control Department. Maybe they have something that can help us.”

Shin regarded him for a moment, then nodded. “Alright. Let’s move.”

The team dispersed, their chairs scraping against the floor as they rose. Each carried the weight of the mission ahead, their footsteps echoing in the now-empty section. The grey table sat vacant, the lights in their area clicking off one by one.

The station fell quiet, but the hunt was far from over.

Saint’s footsteps echoed through the corridor, the heavy silence already weighing on his chest. 

He hadn’t liked the thought of being involved with drugs, not after high school.

This whole thing, the murders, drugs, Shin, was all so hard for him.

Shin. 

What did he mean by that?  Saint wondered. He vividly remembers his high school days, it felt all like a blur to him.

Yes sure, he remembers being involved with a group of boys, who had dragged him to the way of the abyss. He remembers when one of them, Pop to be exact, had convinced him once to try it. 

But that was his biggest mistake. 

He then couldn’t stop himself, he couldn’t stop trying. And he was about to drown in  the addiction of it if it wasn’t for Shin.

But instead of thanking him, he hurt him. And he wanted to apologize for it, to express his regrets, even if it didn’t mean they go back to what they were.

But him sending men to beat Shin? He was sure, even with his poor memory, that he couldn’t have done this. 

He needed to clear that to Shin, but the case was a priority now, it’s his first case here and he really doesn’t want to mess it up.

“Hello, I'm looking for Mr. Jo.” Saint asked an old man sitting at his desk. 

“And you are?” The man’s voice was grumpy.

“I’m Saint, from the Investigation Department.” He raised his ID card. “I’ve asked to meet Mr. Jo and I was told to come today.”

“Just go in.” The old man waved his hand. “You’ll find him inside.”

Saint thanked the old man and went through the door behind him.  He looked around him, trying to see a Mr. Jo between the many men.

“Mr. Jo.” He spotted the officer, who was a normal-height man, with a light beard and brown hair.

The man turned to him, inspecting him for a few before smiling, “You are Saint, am I right?”

Saint nodded as he smiled, walking towards him.

“I’m glad to meet you Saint!” Mr. Jo shaked Saint’s hand. “How’s the case going?”

“We’re still going for it.” Saint replied, “I believe you got the toxication report from Mr. First?”

“Yes I did.” Mr. Jo nodded, “This drug is a rare one. People who have it are careful when they are selling.”

“But to our luck, we caught one of them who is selling this specific type of drug. We had locked him and tried to make him speak about how he got it, but he won’t ever answer.”

Saint nodded, “Do you have him now? I want to try talking to him.”

“Really?” Mr. Jo was amused, “That’s really good of you but we’ve been trying with him forever, but he’s like a rock, he won’t ever talk.”

“I appreciate your concern Mr. Jo. But I would like to try to talk to him, I’m in the middle of a serious case and I don’t have much time to lose.”

Mr. Jo looked at him, his look calculating before he clapped his hands together. “Okay! Let’s see your skills, Investigator Saint.”

***

Mr. Jo saw Saint entering the interrogation room from the cameras, his steps slow as he walked to the chair across from the man who sat with his hands cuffed in front of him resting on the table. 

Saint took the seat opposite him, his movements slow and purposeful. He rested his arms on the table and began, his voice steady but sharp.

“I believe your name is Nate, right?” Saint’s voice sounded through the other room that Mr. Jo was in.

The man didn’t respond, his head tilted downward while his brown bangs covered his face, restricting Saint from seeing his eyes.

“You are another one huh?” Nate said, his voice dripping with disdain. “I guess your thick minds won’t just get it. Yes I had the drug but I don’t know where it came from. So why don’t you save us both some time and leave me the fuck alone?”

Saint’s lips curved into a faint smile. “You don’t know? Or you don’t want us to know?”

“See,” Saint stood up, washing a hand down his face. “I know your type, Nate. And  I’ve seen what this kind of life does to people.”

Nate stiffened, though he kept his head down.

“I’ve had my own history with drugs, which lets me know that you’re part of an organization,” Saint continued. “And I know how they operate. But let me tell you something: the moment you were caught, you became a liability. They’ve already written you off.”

Saint leaned forward now, his voice dropping. “Do you think they’ll stand by you? Help you? No. They’ll let you rot in jail, forgotten. Meanwhile, your trial is looming, and if you stick to this loyalty act, you’ll spend the rest of your life locked away. Or worse.”

For the first time, Nate’s hands tightened into fists, the muscles in his jaw clenching.

Saint smirked inwardly, sensing he was close. He let the silence hang for a moment, the tension in the room palpable.

“So, here’s the deal,” Saint said finally, sitting back on his chair. “You have two choices. Keep quiet and get thrown in jail for your whole life, or talk to me. Give me the information I need, and I’ll make sure to reduce your sentence. It’s your call.”

The room was silent save for the faint hum of the overhead light. Nate’s breathing grew heavier as he processed Saint’s words.

Then, slowly, he lifted his head, his eyes locking onto Saint’s.

“I’ll tell you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'll tell you everything."

In the surveillance room, Mr. Jo blinked, stunned. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

Saint leaned back in his chair, his calm demeanor never wavering. “Good choice. Let’s get started, shall we?”

Chapter Text

Shin stepped out of the last house on his list, his shoulders slumping as exhaustion weighed down his every move. His legs ached, and a pounding headache throbbed at his temples, each pulse reminding him how long this day had been.

The vibration of his phone startled him, drawing his attention. He fished it out of his pocket, squinting at the screen to see messages from Chadjen and Knot. They had wrapped up their part and were heading back to the station.

“Team leader.”

Shin turned to see Ken approaching, his expression mirroring the weariness Shin felt.

“Did you find anything?” Shin asked, though he already suspected the answer.

Ken shook his head, a grim look settling on his face. “Nope. Everyone says the same thing. Dead ends all around.”

Shin exhaled heavily, glancing at the messages on his phone. “Chadjen and Knot are heading back. Let’s regroup at the station and see what they’ve managed to collect.”

“What about Saint?” Ken asked, falling into step beside Shin as they started walking.

Shin froze mid-step, a realization hitting him. Shit, I forgot about him.

“Did he call you?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“No,” Ken replied, concern creeping into his voice. “But I heard he was with Mr. Jo earlier. Maybe we should call him.”

Shin nodded and pulled up Saint’s contact, dialing his number. The phone rang once, twice, then cut off. He stared at the screen. Phone’s off .

“He’s not answering,” Shin muttered, a hint of worry slipping into his tone.

“Try Mr. Jo,” Ken suggested.

Shin quickly scrolled through his contacts, finding Mr. Jo’s number. Pressing the call button, he raised the phone to his ear, pacing as it rang.

“Shin!” Mr. Jo’s cheerful voice answered. “Glad you called! What’s up?”

“Mr. Jo, Saint came to see you earlier, right?”

“Oh, yes, he did! That boy’s something else, let me tell you. We’ve been trying to crack this guy for days, and Saint? He just sits down, talks to him, and—boom! We’ve got intel on a whole drug operation.”

Shin blinked, momentarily stunned. Saint? Even through Mr. Jo’s overly enthusiastic personality, he was a tough person to please or impress.

“Where is he now?” Shin asked, urgency creeping into his voice.

“He left a while ago,” Mr. Jo replied. “The guy spilled everything, he’s part of an organization supplying that drug you found. Gave us the location of a place they frequent. It’s a night casino. I think Saint’s already on his way there.”

Shin clenched his jaw, a knot of unease tightening in his chest. He got the location from Mr. Jo, thanked him, and hung up.

“What’s going on?” Ken asked, having heard enough of the conversation to piece things together.

“I’ll go check on Saint. You head back to the station and check in with the others. I’ll catch up later.”

Ken hesitated, sensing the tension in Shin’s voice, but eventually nodded. “Be careful.”

Shin nodded and took off, his steps brisk and purposeful.

As he walked, a nagging sensation crawled under his skin, an unease he couldn’t shake. Something about this didn’t sit right.

Saint and drugs... this shouldn’t mix. Not again.

His pace quickened as the thought lingered, each step ringing in the quiet streets like an alarm. Soon, his brisk walk turned into a jog, then a run. The uneasiness grew sharper, clawing at his chest like a warning he couldn’t ignore.

I can’t let him walk that way again.

The night had firmly taken hold by the time Saint reached his destination. The casino was alive with flickering neon lights and the constant hum of chatter, laughter, and clinking glasses. The air was heavy with the scent of alcohol and cigarette smoke, making Saint’s stomach churn. He hated places like this—chaotic, crowded, and far too loud for his liking.

His eyes scanned the room as he perched on one of the barstools, his posture stiff. He wanted to call Shin, to share the lead he'd uncovered, but the darkened screen of his dead phone mocked him. Great timing, he thought bitterly, sliding the useless device back into his pocket.

As he sat there, feigning a casual demeanor, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. A manicured hand rested on his thigh, and he flinched instinctively.

"Hey, cutie," a sultry voice purred. Saint turned his head to see a woman dressed in a form-fitting red dress, her lips painted a matching shade. Her eyes sparkled with a dangerous mix of amusement and mischief. "You wanna dance?"

Saint’s throat tightened. He cleared it awkwardly,. "uh... I’m sorry, but I’m really not interested."

The woman leaned in closer, the scent of her overpowering perfume washing over him as she tightened her grip on his thigh. “Oh, come on,” she coaxed, her voice dripping with honeyed insistence. “It’s fun. I bet this is your first time here, huh?”

Saint opened his mouth to refuse again, but then a thought sparked in his mind. This could be an opportunity. Maybe she knew something. Maybe she could lead him to Nate’s people.

His lips curved into a faint smile as he carefully placed a hand over hers, gently loosening her grip. "Sure," he said, his tone suddenly smooth, "let's go."

Her red-painted lips parted into a triumphant grin. "That’s more like it," she said, pulling him off the stool and leading him toward the pulsating crowd on the dance floor.

But before they reached the writhing mass of bodies, Saint gently tugged her hand, redirecting their path toward a dimly lit corridor away from prying eyes. She followed willingly, her curiosity piqued.

Once they were cloaked in the shadowy corner, Saint leaned in slightly, his voice low. "You know," he began, his hand lightly resting on her waist, "I could use a dose right now, but I haven’t seen Nate around lately."

The woman arched a perfectly shaped brow, her lips curling into a sly smile. "All this play just to score?" she teased. "You could’ve asked me directly, darling."

Her demeanor shifted slightly, her movements more purposeful as she motioned for him to follow her. "Come on," she said, her voice carrying a hint of amusement. "Let’s see what we can do about that."

Saint followed her through the smoky haze of the casino, his pulse quickening. She led him to a plush booth tucked in the far corner, where a man lounged lazily, flanked by two women who were laughing and draping themselves over him. The man’s sharp suit and expensive watch screamed money and arrogance.

Saint slowed as they approached, his steps faltering when he saw the man’s face. His breath caught in his throat, and he froze in place. He knew that face. It was etched deep into his memory, a ghost from his past.

“Pop?” The name slipped from his lips, laden with shock and disbelief.

The man’s head snapped up at the sound of his name. His eyes—sharp, calculating, and edged with surprise—narrowed as he scanned Saint’s face. Recognition dawned, and a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Well, well,” Pop drawled, leaning back in his seat as if he owned the world. “Saint. Long time, no see.”

***

Saint felt his stomach twist. The air around him seemed heavier, the distant hum of the casino fading into a muffled drone. Whatever he had walked into, it was bigger and darker than he had anticipated.

“So, Saint,” Pop’s voice sliced through the haze of tension. His tone was casual, but there was an undertone of calculation. “How long has it been? What… seven years? More? How’ve you been?”

“I’m fine, Pop,” Saint replied, his tone clipped, his posture stiff.

Pop leaned back in his chair, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. His sharp eyes caught Saint’s tension, and a faint smirk curled his lips. “Oh, relax, will you? I’m not gonna eat you.”

Saint studied him, noting the faint lines around Pop’s eyes and the way his expression softened ever so slightly. Despite his reputation, Pop looked almost… sincere. Almost. Saint’s shoulders eased a fraction, but his mind stayed sharp, every muscle on alert.

Pop took a sip of his drink, savoring it. “So, what do you do now? Got yourself a steady job?” His words dripped with mock curiosity, but Saint saw the genuine flicker of interest in his gaze.

“I’m a police officer.”

Pop choked on his drink, sputtering and breaking into laughter. He set the glass down hastily, coughing as he wiped his mouth. “You? A police officer?” He laughed again, the sound rich and amused. “The biggest high school thug in Chiang Kham turned cop? Oh, that’s rich. I’m impressed.”

Saint didn’t flinch at the jab, but his lips twitched in annoyance. “And you, Pop? What brings you to Bangkok? Got yourself an honest job?” His tone turned cutting, arms crossed as he leaned back in his chair.

Pop’s smirk widened as he met Saint’s gaze. “I’m a businessman now,” he said smoothly, gesturing broadly with his drink. “Came here three years ago. Worked my way up, part-time jobs here and there, until I scraped enough together to start my own gig. Hard work pays off, Saint.”

Saint’s laughter broke free before he could stop it. The sound was sharp, almost bitter.

“What’s so funny?” Pop’s smirk faded, his eyes hardening into sharp slits.

Saint leaned forward, his voice low. “Do you think I’d buy that? Please. I knew you, Pop. Back in the day, you were the most hooked on drugs out of all of us. There’s no way you went cold turkey and played it straight. So spare me the fairy tale. I know you’re still tangled up with them.”

Pop’s grin froze, the air between them thickening. His grip on the glass tightened, and Saint’s every instinct screamed danger.

“But don’t worry,” Saint said, easing back, his tone almost casual. “I’m not here to bust you. Your little side hustle? None of my business. I’m here for something else.”

Pop cocked a brow. “Oh? And what might that be?”

“You’ve seen the news,” Saint began, his gaze steady. “A string of murders. The killer’s been using a rare drug to sedate their victims before killing them.”

Pop’s face didn’t betray much, but his eyes flickered, just for a moment. It was enough for Saint to press on.

“That drug is rare. Only one organization sells it. Yours.”

Pop let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “And you think the killer came through me?”

Saint reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded scrap of paper, the name of the drug written on it. He slid it across the table. “I need a name.”

Pop stared at the note for a long moment, then picked it up, tapping it against the edge of his glass. “And why, exactly, would I help you?”

Saint locked eyes with him, unflinching. “Because I know that you will.”

Pop sat silently, the glass of whisky still in his hand.

For a moment, Pop didn’t respond. He studied Saint, his expression unreadable. Then, with a sigh, he set the paper down and leaned back. “Fine. I’ll help. But…”

There it was. The “but.”

Pop reached for the whiskey bottle, pouring a generous amount into a fresh glass. “You must be thirsty, have a drink.”

Saint’s eyes flicked to the glass, then back to Pop. He knew better. Knew the games Pop played. That whiskey wasn’t just whiskey. There was something in it—there always was. 

Refusing would end the conversation, but drinking it meant walking into a trap.

Pop’s smirk widened, sensing Saint’s hesitation. “What’s the matter? Don’t tell me the legendary Saint quitted drinking. You know the drill Saint, you want the name, you gotta drink.”

Saint swallowed hard, his hand trembling slightly as he reached for the glass. He didn’t have a choice. Not really. Lives were at stake, and the clock was ticking.

“Cheers,” Pop said, raising his glass.

Saint ignored the gesture and threw back the drink in one gulp. The liquid burned its way down his throat, and he coughed violently, struggling to keep it down. Pop’s laughter echoed around him, a cruel, mocking sound.

“What happened to you, Saint?” Pop asked, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “You used to be the life of the party back then. Guess time really does change people.”

Saint set the glass down with a sharp clink, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His vision swam slightly, but he forced himself to stay upright, glaring at Pop.

“Do we have a deal now?” Saint’s voice was rough, the sluggishness in his body creeping into his words.

“Of course,” Pop replied smoothly, pouring another glass of the liquid. “But why don’t we make this moment a bit more entertaining?”

“You’re not gonna stop, will you?”

Pop smirked. “It’s just a drink, Saint. Nothing you haven’t handled before.”

Saint was hesitant, but his hand went again for the glass, shaking more violently than before as whatever he drank started spreading through his blood.

Just as the rim of the glass brushed against his mouth, a firm hand seized his wrist, stopping him cold.

Saint looked, his sight a bit blurry. 

“What the fuck, Saint?”

Saint knew that voice very well, and gradually he started seeing more clearly, his eyes shaping the figure that was hovering him. 

“Shin?”

Chapter Text

Shin bent over, hands on his knees, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. The glaring neon lights of the casino loomed ahead, their gaudy brightness cutting through the dark of night. His heart pounded, not just from the run but from dread clawing at his chest.

He shoved open the doors and was instantly hit by the suffocating mix of sweat, alcohol, and desperation. The crowd was a sea of bodies—dancing, shouting, and stumbling—none of them the one he was looking for. Shin’s eyes darted around, scanning the chaos.

The bar. Maybe he’s there.

Shin pushed his way through the throng, ignoring the irritated grumbles of drunken patrons. His gaze swept over the line of barstools, one by one. No Saint. His stomach sank further, panic sharpening the edges of his thoughts.

Saint, please don’t let it be what I think it is.

He shoved through another cluster of people, weaving through the chaotic maze of the casino, when his eyes finally landed on a familiar figure.

Saint. 

Relief was fleeting. From behind, Shin could see Saint’s rigid posture, his shoulders tense and unmoving as if he were bracing himself. Shin moved closer, ducking into the shadows, his ears straining to pick up their conversation.

“What’s the matter? Don’t tell me the legendary Saint quitted drinking.” This voice. It  was maddeningly familiar, dredging up memories Shin didn’t want to revisit. 

“You know the drill Saint, you want the name, you gotta drink.”

What? Name? Drink? What the hell is going on?

“Cheers”

Shin’s breath hitched as he watched Saint reach for a glass, his hand trembling. He leaned in, downing the contents in one agonizing gulp. Saint’s violent coughing echoed, cutting through Shin’s thoughts like a blade.

Shin’s focus sharpened as he shifted slightly to see the man Saint was talking to. His heart dropped.

What the actual fuck? Shin’s eyes widened, across from Saint, was Pop, one of Saint’s friends in highschool. 

“What the hell is he doing here?” Shin was furious. What was he supposed to do now?

And most important, why did Pop force Saint to drink? It’s not like Saint didn’t know how to drink. 

Then it all struck him. 

Pop was addicted to drugs, and probably still does. He probably likes to drink with something spiked in his glass. Pop wasn’t just making Saint drink; he was spiking it. The bottle on the table wasn’t just liquor—it was laced with something.

Saint was being drugged.

Shit, shit shit shit. What should I do now?

His thoughts got cut shortly as Pop’s laugh echoed in his ears.

“What happened to you, Saint?” Pop asked, disappointment evident on his face. “You used to be the life of the party back then. Guess time really does change people.”

“Do we have a deal now?” Shin could hear the sluggishness in Saint’s voice, how his body swayed lightly. 

“Of course,” Pop replied, pouring another glass of whatever was in the bottle. “But why don’t we make this moment a bit more entertaining?”

Shin clenched his fists, holding himself from doing anything rash. 

“You’re not gonna stop, will you?”

“It’s just a drink, Saint. Nothing you haven’t handled before.”

Okay that’s it. Shin launched forward as saw Saint taking the glass again. Snatching the glass from Saint’s hand as he was about to drink it. 

“What the fuck, Saint?” He placed the glass harshly on the glass table. 

Saint’s head jerked up, his glassy eyes struggling to focus on Shin’s face. “Shin?” he croaked, confusion evident in his tone.

Pop leaned back in his chair, his smirk faltering but only slightly. “What a surprise, I met two of my old friends. How are you, Shin?

“Shut it,” Shin snapped, his gaze never leaving Saint’s wavering form. “What the hell did you do to him?”

“Oh it’s nothin g,” Pop shrugged, “Just a little treat, since you know, he liked treats before.” 

“You motherfucker!” Shin hurried to Pop’s side, punching him hard on the face. “I swear to god, Pop, if you get an inch near Saint, it’ll be your last day. And I’ll make sure of it.”

Pop smirked in front of him, wiping the blood off his lips, but Shin could see a flicker of fear in his eyes. “You still didn’t change, Shin. Still the protective friend.”

Shin didn’t reply, quickly running to Saint who was about to nose dive the floor, holding him tightly by the shoulders. 

“Come on, let's get you up.” He muttered as he hoisted Saint up, throwing Saint’s arm across his neck, holding it, while his other hand went to Saint’s waist. 

“You know,” Pop’s voice stopped him mid-step. “I’m still surprised you’re still friends with him. Even after what he did to you.”

Shin locked eyes with Pop for a few seconds. Before turning his face back and walking outside the casino with a slumped Saint beside him.

***

Shin stumbled slightly as he tried not to trip with Saint in his arms. He dragged both of them outside the casino, Saint’s body leaning heavily against his.

He walked until he found a bench nearby, easing Saint onto it before collapsing beside him, catching his breath.

“You’re so fucking heavy, dammit,” Shin muttered between breaths, glancing at Saint, who remained silent, his head drooping forward.

“Let’s see what we have here.” Shin scooted closer, their knees brushing.

Saint’s face was pale, his cheeks and nose flushed a feverish red. His lips quivered, and staggered, labored breaths escaped him.

“You look like crap,” Shin muttered, his voice steady despite the concern etched into his expression. “We need to get that shit out of your system.”

Shin grimaced but wasted no time. He slipped two fingers into Saint’s mouth, pressing deep enough to trigger his gag reflex. Saint’s body jerked violently, choking around Shin’s fingers.

Quickly, Shin withdrew his hand, leaning Saint sideways over the edge of the bench as his body heaved.

“Just let it all out,” Shin said, gently patting his back. He held Saint steady with one hand and kept a firm grip on his forehead, ensuring he didn’t fall.

Saint retched and vomited, his body convulsing as he purged whatever toxin was in his system. When he finally stopped, his body went limp, and Shin had to catch him to keep him from collapsing onto the ground.

Carefully, Shin shifted Saint back against the bench, brushing aside the damp bangs sticking to his clammy forehead.

“You okay?” Shin asked softly, his voice tinged with worry as his gaze searched Saint’s pale, sweaty face.

Shin watched Saint intently, waiting for some kind of response. His concern deepened when Saint barely moved, his head lolling slightly to the side.

"Saint, come on. Talk to me," Shin urged, shaking his shoulder lightly.

Saint groaned, his eyes fluttering open slightly before closing again. His lips moved faintly, but no sound came out.

"Great," Shin muttered under his breath, glancing around the empty street. He dug into his pocket, pulling out his phone. The screen illuminated the worry etched on his face.

The line connected, and Ken’s voice crackled through the receiver.

"Team leader? What’s going on? Did you find Saint?"

“I did.” Shin replied as his eyes went to the limp figure in front of him. “Tell Cable to send me the location of Saint’s house, check his profile or whatever, make it fast.” 

Shin sat beside Saint again as he ended the call, moving the latter’s head to rest against his shoulder. 

“What till you wake up. I’m gonna beat the shit out of you.”

Shortly, Shin’s phone vibrated. He looked to see that Cable sent him Saint’s location.

“Let’s get you home now, shall we?”

Shin grunted as he fumbled with the keys in one hand, trying to open the door to Saint’s house while balancing the unconscious man on his back. After a few frustrating attempts, the lock finally clicked open. Pushing the door wide, Shin stepped into the dark, cramped space, kicking the door shut behind him with his foot.

Shin’s eyes quickly adjusted to the dim room. His gaze landed on a worn, navy-blue couch, its fraying edges and sagging cushions suggested it had been through years of neglect. It barely looked like it could hold one person comfortably, even someone skinny like Saint.

Carefully, Shin maneuvered toward it, his arms straining as he lowered Saint onto the couch. Saint slumped heavily against the cushions, his head lolling to the side, strands of sweat-soaked hair sticking to his forehead.

“Damn it, Saint,” Shin muttered under his breath, leaning over to check his friend. He pressed a hand against Saint’s forehead, hissing quietly at the warmth radiating from his skin. “Great. You’re running a fever now.”

Straightening up, Shin let out an exasperated sigh and quickly yanked off his own shoes, kicking them into the corner. He left Saint slouched on the couch as he turned toward the small kitchen, its silhouette barely visible from the pale streetlight streaming through the curtains.

The kitchen was modest, with a battered stovetop and a chipped ceramic sink. Shin opened a few cabinets, searching for something—anything—that could help. Finally, he found a half-clean towel and ran it under cold water. Wringing it out, he grabbed a glass from another cabinet and filled it with water before returning to the living room.

“How the fuck are you living in this hellhole?,” Shin murmured, crouching beside the couch. He placed the damp towel on Saint’s forehead, brushing aside his bangs in the process. The slight touch made Saint stir, his face scrunching as a weak groan escaped his lips.

“Hey,” Shin said softly, tapping Saint’s cheek lightly. “You still with me?”

 Saint’s eyelids fluttered open slightly, his hazy eyes meeting Shin’s for a moment before closing again. His lips moved faintly, but no words came out.

“Of course,” Shin muttered, setting the glass of water on the low wooden table nearby. “Still stubborn even when you’re half-dead.”

He adjusted the towel and sat back on his heels, watching Saint’s shallow breaths. The quiet of the room pressed down on him, amplifying every sound—the rustle of fabric as Saint shifted slightly, the ticking of a clock somewhere in the background.

A faint, acrid smell teased Shin’s nose, pulling his attention away from Saint for a moment. He sniffed the air again, the distinct scent of cigarettes hitting him.

“You smoke now?” Shin muttered, half amused, glancing over at Saint’s slumped figure. Back in high school, Saint had always been adamantly against smoking. He’d called it a slow death, railing against how it ate away at its users. Shin had laughed back then, pointing out the irony, Saint had been neck-deep in trouble far worse than weed or cigarettes.

But there were no cigarette packs in sight. The air held no haze, and no ashtray cluttered the table. Shin furrowed his brow, following the trail of the smell until he reached the kitchen. The odor grew stronger as he neared the vent above the sink.

“What the hell?” Shin muttered, craning his neck to inspect it. He pressed his nose closer, confirming the source. The smell wasn’t from Saint’s apartment—it was seeping in through the vent, carried from somewhere else.

Then came the unmistakable sound of muffled laughter, high-pitched and raucous. It filtered through the walls, followed by a burst of shrill, incoherent shouting.

“Oh, hell no. Those motherfuckers,” Shin growled, pinching the bridge of his nose. The neighbors. Of course.

He crossed his arms, contemplating storming over there and giving them a piece of his mind. His patience was already stretched thin, and the idea of confronting them felt almost cathartic. But just as he took a step toward the door, a weak, hoarse voice stopped him in his tracks.

“Shin…”

Shin turned on his heel, his eyes locking onto Saint. He was still slumped on the couch, his head leaning against the backrest, the cold towel slipping slightly down his forehead. His eyes fluttered, barely open, and his lips moved faintly, whispering something Shin couldn’t quite catch.

“Saint?” Shin stepped closer, wetting the towel again before draping it over Saint’s forehead. “What is it?”

“I tried,” Saint’s voice was barely audible, a broken rasp. His head tilted slightly toward Shin, his glazed eyes unfocused. “To go there.” 

Shin blinked, taken aback. “Huh, go where?” 

Saint’s breath hitched, his words slurring together. “That day… hospital. I tried to see you.”

Shin frowned, realization slowly twisting in his chest. That day.

Saint’s head lolled to the side, his voice dropping into a mumble. “But they wouldn’t let me. They wouldn’t let me see you.”

Shin stiffened. His mind raced, trying to piece together Saint’s fragmented words. What the hell happened to him?

Saint’s eyes fluttered closed, his breathing shallow and uneven. For a moment, Shin thought he’d fallen unconscious again, but then Saint whispered, almost too quietly to hear, “I really missed you.”

A heavy silence hung in the air, broken only by the faint hum of the vent. Shin stared at Saint, his hands curling into fists at his sides. His heart felt like it was being squeezed, a dull ache spreading through his chest.

“What the hell happened to you, Saint?” Shin murmured, more to himself than to his friend. He wanted answers, but he wasn’t sure if he was ready to hear them.

Sighing deeply, Shin leaned back on his heels, adjusting the towel on Saint’s forehead. He’d let Saint rest for now. Whatever memories were haunting him would have to wait—at least until Saint was strong enough to explain them.

Chapter Text

The world felt hazy as Saint stirred, his senses slowly creeping back to life. A dull ache throbbed in his temples, and his throat felt dry, like he’d swallowed sand. He blinked a few times, his vision adjusting to the soft morning light filtering through the blinds.

What the hell happened? He felt like shit. Like he was hit by a fucking truck. 

Then he noticed it, a strange smell dancing in the air. Warm, savory, and entirely unexpected.

Cooking?

Saint furrowed his brow, trying to sit up on his small bed. His body protested, muscles sore and sluggish from the night before. His memories were scattered, the last thing he remembered was leaving Mr. Jo’s place. But to where exactly, he didn’t remember.

He rubbed his eyes, sniffing again. It wasn’t just cooking—it was something specific. Soup? Porridge? And… coffee?

Confused and slightly wary, Saint swung his legs over the edge of the bed. His feet hit the cool floor, and he shivered slightly as he stood. His knees wobbled, but he managed to steady himself, brushing off the lingering dizziness.

That’s when he noticed his clothes.

His brows knitted together as he looked down at the plain, oversized black t-shirt and loose black sweatpants he was now wearing. These weren’t his clothes from last night. These were his—yes—but from his wardrobe.

The small apartment felt strangely alive. The clatter of utensils and the occasional sizzling sound came from the kitchen. Slowly, Saint shuffled toward the noise, leaning against the wall for support as he peeked inside.

The sound of clattering utensils pulled him from his thoughts, and Saint followed the noise, leaning on the wall for support as he shuffled toward the kitchen.

There was a person standing—Shin.

Shin stood at the stove, his back turned, stirring a small pot with a spoon. His other hand held the handle steady, his movements surprisingly fluid, like he actually knew what he was doing.

Saint’s gaze flicked to Shin’s clothes—specifically, the plain gray t-shirt Shin was wearing. Recognition dawned immediately. That’s mine.

For a moment, Saint just stared, a mix of disbelief and confusion swirling in his mind. Why the hell is he here?

“What the hell are you doing here?” Saint croaked, his voice raspy and rough.

Shin didn’t turn around immediately. Instead, he kept stirring, his tone casual as he replied, “Good morning to you too, sunshine.”

Saint scowled. “I’m serious. What are you doing in my house?”

Shin finally turned, leaning slightly against the counter as he raised an eyebrow. “Making sure you don’t die, for starters.” He gestured toward the pot. “Also, breakfast. You’re welcome.”

Saint’s eyes narrowed, his fingers gripping the doorframe for balance. “And my clothes? Why are you wearing my shirt?”

Shin glanced down at himself, his eyes cold, then shrugged. “Oh, yeah. Borrowed it. My own shirt got messed up last night dragging your sorry ass back here, so I washed it. Hope you don’t mind.”

Saint’s glare deepened as he looked down at his own clothes again. “Wait a second… Did you—”

“Yeah, I changed your clothes too,” Shin interrupted, his tone matter-of-fact. “You reeked of sweat, booze, and God knows what else. It was either that or leave you to stew in your own filth.”

Saint’s face burned, though whether it was from embarrassment or anger, he couldn’t tell. “You had no right to—”

“Oh, give me a break,” Shin cut him off, his tone sending shivers. “I didn’t exactly enjoy it, okay? You were half-dead with your burning fever, making me stay all night to take care of you before you were toast. I did what needed to be done. You’re welcome for that too, by the way.”

Saint was stunned, he didn’t know if he should be happy or worried that Shin, the person who hated him with all his guts, was cooking porridge for him. 

“So ungrateful,” Shin muttered, turning his attention back to the pot. He grabbed a bowl from the counter and ladled the porridge into it, the steam rising in soft curls. “Now sit your ass down and eat. You need it.”

Saint hesitated, the stubborn part of him wanting to argue further, but his stomach had other plans. A low grumble cut through the tension, and Shin smirked slightly.

“Thought so,” Shin muttered, placing the bowl on the small table and pulling out a chair.

Saint shuffled over reluctantly, easing into the chair as Shin slid the bowl in front of him. He stared at the porridge, its warm, creamy scent somehow soothing and unsettling at the same time. He took a cautious bite, feeling Shin’s eyes on him like a hawk.

“You’re staring,” Saint muttered, avoiding his gaze.

“Making sure you don’t collapse into the bowl,” Shin replied flatly, arms crossed as he leaned against the counter.

Saint let out a dry chuckle, but his mind was racing. The silence hung heavy until he broke it, his voice quieter than he intended.

“So,” Saint began, “What happened?”

Shin tilted his head, his eyes narrowing. “You tell me. You don’t remember?”

“I…” Saint hesitated, rubbing his temples. “I remember leaving Mr. Jo’s place. Heading to the casino where I met Pop, and he said he had a lead… and...” He trailed off, his fingers tightening around the spoon.

“And? Tell me, what did you do?” Shin prompted, his tone sharp.

Saint exhaled heavily, his gaze fixed on the table. “I knew, okay?”

Shin blinked. “You knew what? That the drink Pop gave you was spiked? That you were stupid enough to drink it?”

Saint looked up, meeting Shin’s glare with his own defiance. “I needed the lead, alright? Pop wasn’t gonna give it to me unless I played along.”

“You’re unbelievable,” Shin muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Do you have any idea how stupid and dangerous that was?”

“I didn’t have a choice!” Saint snapped, his voice rising. “You think I liked it? You think I wanted this?” He gestured at himself, his hands trembling slightly. “But I needed the name, Shin. I needed to know who to go after.”

Shin stared at him, his expression a mix of anger and disbelief. “So that’s it? You’re willing to destroy yourself for some lead?”

Saint’s lips pressed into a thin line. He didn’t respond, but his silence spoke volumes.

Shin shook his head, his voice harsh. “You think you’re being noble or something? You think that’ll make me forget what you did to me? Well, flash news, it’s not. You’re just being reckless.”

Saint’s gaze dropped to the porridge, his appetite gone. “So why are you here?”

Shin stared at him with silence.

“Why are you here, taking care of me, Shin? Why do you bother being here, cooking for me?” 

“Because you’re no good to anyone if you’re dead!” Shin snapped.

“You think I’m doing this for your sorry ass? Oh believe me, I still hate you from the bottom of my heart. What I’m doing here is my role and job as your team leader, and I would do it for any other member of the team. So please don’t flatter yourself.”

The room fell silent, the only sound the faint clink of the spoon against the bowl as Saint stirred the porridge absentmindedly, his throat tight as if thorns were stuck deep in it. 

“What you did was unforgivable, Saint. The one who I trusted and valued much, sent men to beat the shit out of me. And didn’t even visit or check. It’s unforgivable.”

Saint’s eyes widened at Shin’s words. “What do you mean by that?”

Shin laughed at the latter. “You’re just gonna keep denying it forever?”

But before Saint could answer, a sharp ring cut through the air, snapping both of them out of the moment.

Shin pulled his phone from his pocket, glancing at the screen before answering. “Yes, Chadjen?” His face hardened as he listened, the silence on his end growing heavier by the second.

“Understood. Keep them out and secure the area. I’m on my way,” Shin said before hanging up, his movements swift and deliberate as he stood from his chair.

“What happened?” Saint asked, the sudden urgency making his chest tighten.

“Another body was found,” Shin said grimly, moving toward Saint’s wardrobe and pulling out his clothes from last night. “Three dots on the knee. Chadjen says it matches the others. This one... it completes the pattern.”

Saint pushed himself to stand, his body still weak but his resolve stronger. “Give me a minute. I’ll get changed, and we’ll—”

“Stop.” Shin’s hand landed firmly on Saint’s shoulder, halting him in his tracks.

Saint blinked up at him, confused. “What?”

“You’re not going,” Shin said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“Why the hell not?”

“Are you seriously asking me that?” Shin raised an eyebrow, his hand moving to Saint’s forehead. His fingers lingered just long enough to confirm what he already knew. “You’re still running a fever. You can barely stand without wobbling. You need to rest.”

“You must be kidding,” Saint’s frustration boiled over. “I can’t rest with people dying out there!”

“You will do as I say,” Shin snapped, his voice dropping into something darker, more commanding. “I’m your team leader, and you’re going to listen to me for once in your life. Stay here and recover. That’s an order. You’re no good to anyone walking around passing out at any moment”

Saint looked at the latter with utter shook., his eyes following him as he headed to the door.

The last thing he heard was the click of the latch and the sound of Shin’s footsteps echoing down the hallway, fading into the silence.

As Shin walked his way out of Saint's apartment, his phone buzzed indicating a message sent.

Here’s information about your guy. Remember to save my number, Shin. - Pop ^^”

Well… fuck.

Shin exhaled slightly with his hands on his hips. He looked at the man sprawled on the bed in front of him, passed out and breathing heavily.

“Your fever is increasing.” Shin’s lips pressed into a thin line as he placed his palm on Saint’s forehead. “Your clothes also need to be changed.”

He went to the small, old, brown wardrobe across the bed. He opened it and got a black t-shirt and sweatpants.

“Come on, let’s get you changed.”

He lifted Saint to lean on the bed’s headboard. His hands going to the t-shirt’s rim and pulling it across Saint’s torso.

Shin's hands stopped suddenly. “What the hell?”

His eyes were locked at Saint’s stomach, hands frozen with the shirt hanging in his hand.

“What the fuck, Saint?!” 

Shin’s breath hitched as his eyes lingered on the long, jagged scar running across Saint’s abdomen. It was old but deep, the kind that told stories no one wanted to hear. His fingers hovered inches above it, as though touching it might reveal the truth of how it got there.

“What the hell happened to you?” Shin muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible in the quiet room.

Was it after they got separated? Did Pop’s people do something to him while he was gone?  

Then he remembered. 

“But they wouldn’t let me. They wouldn’t let me see you.”

Was it from a mission in Chaing Kham? Or was he held by that drug ring? Was he tortured? 

Saint groaned softly, his head lolling to the side but showing no sign of waking. His fever had him completely out of it, beads of sweat clinging to his pale skin. Shin exhaled sharply, shaking off the initial shock and forcing himself to focus. Whatever questions he had would have to wait.

He pulled the black t-shirt down over Saint’s head, careful not to jostle him too much, and slid his arms through the sleeves. Every movement was deliberate, almost mechanical, but his mind raced with fragmented thoughts.

Once the shirt was on, Shin moved to change Saint’s pants, his hands steady but his chest tightening with every passing second. He had seen wounds before—he himself had multiple scars—but this felt different. Shin was sure Saint never had this scar while he was friends with him.

After finishing, Shin grabbed a towel and dampened it with cold water from the small sink in the corner. He returned to the bed, gently dabbing Saint’s forehead and cheeks, trying to cool him down. The fever wasn’t breaking, and that only added to Shin’s growing unease.

Sitting beside the bed, Shin sat beside the sleeping man on the bedside, staring at Saint’s face as his chest rose and fell in shallow breaths.

“What the hell happened while I was gone?” Shin whispered, his tone a mix of frustration and worry.

Memories of their shared past flickered in his mind—high school, the fights, the betrayal.

During the years away from Saint, Shin had always thought he was just a reckless asshole, the type who took risks without caring who got hurt. But now, seeing the scar, feeling the heat radiating off Saint’s fevered body, he couldn’t shake the sense that there was more to the story.

Something’s wrong. Shin thought. I need to know what it is.

Chapter Text

“Ken,” Shin called sharply as he entered the team’s section, his tone clipped and brisk. “What do we have?”

“Team Leader.” Ken immediately straightened in his seat, his fingers halting over the keyboard. “Still nothing. I’ve got no leads so far.”

Shin exhaled heavily, rubbing his temples before taking a seat. “What about the information I sent? The one from Pop?”

“Cable’s working on it,” Ken replied. “But he hasn’t checked in yet.”

“Call him,” Shin ordered, his tone hardening. “We need a lead before the end of the—”

“Team Leader!”

The door slammed open, cutting Shin off mid-sentence. Cable stumbled into the room, his chest heaving, his face flushed with adrenaline. Everyone turned toward him, startled by his dramatic entrance.

“I figured it out!” Cable gasped, holding up his laptop triumphantly. “I found the murderer!”

For a moment, the room fell into stunned silence. Then the tension snapped as Shin shot to his feet, his eyes narrowing with sharp focus.

“Are you sure?” Shin demanded, his voice low but charged.

Cable nodded, his breathing still uneven. “I cross-referenced the data you got from Pop with the victim patterns and traffic camera footage from the last scene. It’s him. No doubt about it.”

The team exchanged glances as Shin grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair, his movements quick and precise.

“Good work, Cable,” Shin said, his voice steady but cold with purpose. He glanced around the room, his eyes meeting each member of the team.

“Now let’s catch that motherfucker, shall we?”

The metallic groan of the door tore through the suffocating silence, the sound scraping against Peeta’s nerves like a jagged blade. Her pulse thundered in her ears as dim light spilled into the room, illuminating the cramped, confining space she’s in. Every breath she took felt shallow and suffocating.

So it’s not a dream.

Every fiber of her being screamed to disappear, to shrink into the hard stone behind her, but there was no escape. Her legs trembled, body coiled tight like a spring ready to snap.

Her eyes darted toward the shadowy figure stepping into the room. Fear gripped her chest like a vise as she watched him approach. He moved with deliberate calm, the muted thud of his boots echoing off the cold stone walls. In his hand was a small tray, the faint clink of glass and metal causing her stomach to twist with dread.

He stopped in front of the capsule, his long legs displayed through the bars in front of her. Without a word, he crouched slowly, his movements eerily smooth and mechanical. The dim light overhead cast long, distorted shadows across his face, obscuring his features but leaving his eyes visible—sharp, cold, and devoid of warmth. They pinned her in place, stripping her of any courage she might have had left.

His hand reached for the lock on the metal bars, the faint click of the mechanism echoing like a death knell in Peeta’s ears. He didn’t rush. There was no urgency in him, no acknowledgment of the terror radiating from her like a palpable force.

The narrow gap in the bars shifted open just enough for him to push the tray inside. The screech of metal against the floor made her flinch, her fingers curling into tight fists as she fought the urge to scream. A piece of dry bread and a glass of water sat on the tray, plain and unappealing, yet her stomach twisted with hunger.

She didn’t move. She couldn’t. Her back pressed harder against the cold wall as if she could melt into it and vanish.

He didn’t leave right away. Instead, he lingered, his eyes raking over her in an unnervingly detached way, like he was studying a fragile, broken thing. His lips curved slightly—not into a smile, but into something far worse.

“You’re quieter today,” he said, his voice low and laced with a chilling calm. “Good. I prefer it that way.”

The words cut through her like ice, each syllable a reminder of how powerless she was. He tilted his head slightly, as though amused by her trembling form, then stood. The air seemed to grow colder as his towering figure loomed over her for one agonizing moment longer before he turned, his boots crunching softly against the ground.

This was her chance.

Peeta’s body reacted before her mind could fully comprehend. She lunged forward, shoving the tray aside and forcing herself through the narrow opening of the capsule. Her breath hitched as her shoulder scraped painfully against the bars, but she didn’t stop.

“What do you think you’re doing?” His voice was a low, venomous growl, dripping with quiet fury.

She didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Every ounce of focus was on the faint light at the huge metal door beyond him. She bolted past him, her bare feet slapping against the cold ground.

A hand snatched at her wrist, cold and unrelenting. She let out a strangled cry and twisted violently, her body writhing as she tore herself free.

“Foolish girl,” he hissed, his voice sharper now, echoing behind her like a predator toying with its prey.

The heavy thud of his boots followed, closing the gap between them far too quickly. She didn’t dare look back, didn’t dare slow down, even as her legs screamed in protest and her vision blurred with tears.

He was faster. She felt his shadow overtake her, his hand gripping the back of her hair, and pain surged through her veins like fire. She screamed loudly, the iron grip on her hair tightening as dragged her back.

“You are a strong one.” He threw her on the ground, his smile widening. “It’s making me like you more.”

Peeta cried as her body slammed onto the harsh ground. Crawling away as the man kept walking slowly towards her.

Then she sensed it.

Her hand touched a small pit of sand as the man kept coming at her.

“Since you tried to run,” his voice was thick and filled with darkness, “we should punish you”

Peeta gripped a handful of sand, hiding it behind her body as he crouched in front of her.

“Don’t you think?”

“Fuck you.”

Quickly, she sprayed the sand across his face, it falling on his eyes. 

“You bitch-” The man groaned as his hands went to his eyes immediately, falling back a little.

Peeta used this as the last chance she could ever get, and pushed the man from her way, a bit too harshly, before standing and running limply to the huge metal door in front of her 

Peeta slammed her shoulder into it, the metal groaning under the force. The door gave way, sunlight spilling into the suffocating darkness, blinding her for a split second.

She kept running, just running to nowhere.

Pure air finally hit her lungs, and her legs carried her a few more staggering steps before they gave out. She collapsed onto the soft, uneven ground, her body trembling violently.

She could see multiple figures in front of her, some coming towards her. But she couldn’t just care anymore.

The moonlight was warm. The breeze was real.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Peeta allowed herself a single, shuddering breath of freedom before everything faded into black.

Saint’s nerves were frayed, his thoughts a tangled mess that refused to settle.

Time felt like an enemy—crawling by, dragging its jagged nails against his sanity. Every slow tick of the clock only fueled his frustration.

He wanted to leave. No, he needed to leave. Lives were at stake, and every second wasted felt like another nail in his coffin of guilt.

But Shin’s words, sharp and commanding, echoed in his mind, rooting him in place.

"I’m your team leader, and you’re going to listen to me for once in your life. Stay here and recover. That’s an order. You’re no good to anyone walking around passing out at any moment."

It wasn’t the command itself that made him hesitate. It was the weight behind Shin’s words, the raw frustration and disappointment.

"What you did was unforgivable, Saint. The one who I trusted and valued most sent men to beat the shit out of me. And didn’t even visit or check. It’s unforgivable."

Saint’s chest tightened. What the hell was Shin talking about?

The truth gnawed at him, a persistent itch he couldn’t scratch. His memories of high school were hazy at best, fractured and incomplete. He remembered faces, moments, but nothing concrete—nothing that could explain the accusations Shin had thrown at him.

He wanted to explain himself, to clear the air. But how could he do that when he didn’t even understand what he was supposed to be apologizing for?

And then it hit him. There was only one person who might have the answers, someone who had been a constant shadow in his past.

Saint grabbed his keys and sweater, slipping into his shoes before yanking the door open and stepping into the hallway. The sound of the door slamming shut behind him echoed like a gunshot.

Shin would be furious when he found out Saint had left. But it didn’t matter.

This wasn’t about Shin. This was about the truth.

Saint’s jaw tightened as he descended the stairs, his resolve hardening with each step.

He knew only one person could tell him the truth. The whole truth.

***

Saint approached the familiar corner of the bustling night casino, his steps heavy and purposeful. The ambient noise of laughter, clinking glasses, and a soft jazz tune faded into the background as his focus narrowed on one man.

No matter how many times he came here, a knot of unease tightened in his chest, coiling and twisting like an unwelcome guest. The garish neon lights overhead seemed to dim, casting long, uneven shadows across the room.

He stopped in front of the same spot he’d visited the last time, where Pop lounged like a king in his throne, surrounded by an entourage of women and sycophants.

“Well, well,” Pop drawled, his smirk spreading as his sharp eyes met Saint’s. “If it isn’t my favorite visitor. How are you doing, Saint?”

Saint’s jaw tightened. “Every time I come here, you’re always in this same damn spot, doing the same thing. Doesn’t this place ever get old to you?”

Pop chuckled, his laugh low and mocking. “What can I say? The casino life suits me. Besides, it’s not like I’ve got much else to do. So, to what do I owe this pleasure, officer Saint?”

“I need answers. About highschool. I want the whole truth, Pop. Everything.”

Pop raised an eyebrow, understanding what Saint meant. “The whole truth?” he repeated, as if rolling the words over in his mouth, savoring their taste. He leaned back in his chair, his fingers toying with the rim of his glass.

With a casual flick of his wrist, Pop waved the women surrounding him away. “Go on, ladies. Give us some privacy, will you?”

The women obeyed without question, their laughter and chatter fading into the hum of the casino. Pop took a slow sip of his drink before setting it down on the table, his smirk widening.

“Take a seat, Saint.” Pop offered. “It’s gonna be a long night.”