The café reeked of burnt espresso and cold regret.
Rain drummed steadily against the fogged windows, casting streaks of water down the glass like veins of memory. Yue Lusi stepped inside, her heels clicking with purpose, yet her heart trembled under the weight of what she was about to uncover.
Across the room, a man sat hunched over a chipped porcelain mug. His coat was worn at the collar, his eyes shadowed by years of silence. Inspector Mu. Si Chang had said this was the man—the last thread in the unraveling mystery.
She sat across from him without a word. Slid the photograph across the table like a loaded weapon. Grainy and faded, it showed a group of men in uniform standing before a warehouse marked with one thing: K-PROJECT.
"You were there," she said softly. The quiet in her voice was more dangerous than a scream. "Why?"
Mu's hand hovered near the photo, then withdrew. His jaw clenched. "You don't know what you're getting into."
Her stare sharpened. "If you value them, you'll stop digging," he continued.
"Them?" The word curled on Lusi's tongue. "You mean… Mira and Chuchu."
His silence said enough.
"You're Mira's father, aren't you?" she asked. "You think hiding this truth protects her? Don't you think she deserves to know what killed her Mother—what still haunts this city like a ghost?"
Mu stood so abruptly the chair scraped like a scream. "There are things no one should remember."
And then he turned, coat billowing, heading into the storm outside.
Lusi bolted after him, the chair clattering to the floor behind her. "Wait! You owe me the truth!"
But he was already vanishing into the rain.
She dashed out, the chill hitting her skin like shards of glass. "Mu! Stop!"
And then time folded.
A screech. Headlights. A scream swallowed by metal.
Mu's body flung through the air like a puppet with cut strings, slamming to the pavement in a tangle of limbs. The car—nothing more than a silver blur—didn't stop.
"NO!" she screamed, collapsing beside him, her hands fumbling to cradle his bleeding head.
"Inspector Mu—please, stay with me!"
His eyes fluttered. Blood spilled from his mouth. "She… Mira… she can't…"
"What? What can't she know?!" Her voice was cracking glass.
But his eyes stilled, gazing at something beyond her.
Gone.
"No. No, no—please—" Her sobs were a flood the rain couldn't wash away.
The ambulance came too late.
____________
The hospital lights were cruel. Clinical. Unfeeling.
She sat in soaked clothes, hands stained crimson, the smell of blood and antiseptic curling around her like smoke. When the nurse handed her a blanket, it felt like a shroud.
The surgeon didn't need to speak. But he did.
"I'm sorry. He didn't survive."
Her nod was mechanical.
She left before Mira arrived.
___________
The rain followed her home.
Lusi walked like a ghost among the living, the world reduced to water, light, and silence. In her apartment, she stripped, scrubbed, and watched pink water swirl down the drain.
"I didn't kill him," she whispered.
Again.
And again.
____________
That night, the dreams returned.
Tires. Blood. Secrets choking on a final breath.
She awoke screaming, drenched in sweat, her sheets twisted like restraints.
"I didn't kill him," she whispered, hands shaking. "I didn't…"
But the image burned into her mind: Inspector Mu's eyes—afraid not of death, but of what would live on.
__________
Three days passed.
Then a knock.
"Lusi?" Mira's voice, fragile as a fallen petal. "They said… Appa died near the café. Were you with him?"
Lusi stood frozen behind the door. Her heart hammered.
"…No," she said at last. Just loud enough.
Silence.
Then Mira stare at her a little longer before walking away.
Lusi sank to the floor, choking on guilt.
She had lied.
Because if Mira knew the truth—that her father died running from Yue Lusi's questions, hounded into death by secrets she refused to bury—Mira would never forgive her.
And Lusi would carry that weight alone.
___________
That evening, she lit a candle and placed the photograph of Inspector Mu beside it.
The image was grainy, but the eyes in it were clear: haunted, burdened, unfinished.
"Rest," she whispered. "I'll keep digging… even if it destroys me."
Outside, the storm raged on.
But in Lusi's chest, a darker storm was rising. The truth wasn't dead.
It was waiting.
Watching.
Ready to devour everything.