"Every truth leaves a scar."
---
The match burned slowly.
Then — flick — it dropped into an ashtray. The photo curled and blackened.
Inside the car, the figure didn't blink.
Just stared through the rain-smeared windshield at the flower shop across the street.
Their phone buzzed.
UNKNOWN: She still doesn't know.
UNKNOWN: You have to move faster.
The figure smiled again.
A voice — smooth, practiced — whispered:
"Don't worry. I'm not here to scare her…"
"…I'm here to finish what he started."
---
Inside the shop, Yena felt a cold prickle run down her neck.
Like she was being watched.
Haejin noticed.
"What is it?" he asked.
She shook her head. "Nothing. Just... a feeling."
They stood too close for strangers.
Too far for lovers.
But something had shifted between them — something fragile and burning.
---
That night, Seojun found Yena staring out the back door again, eyes distant.
"You're in deep," he said softly.
She turned. "In what?"
"Whatever this is with Haejin."
She didn't answer.
Seojun stepped closer. "Just don't let it drown you, Yena. You've already lost too much."
His voice cracked slightly. He didn't hide it.
---
Elsewhere, Dayeon stood outside a luxury building, wrapped in a red coat that didn't belong to her.
Inside her purse was a phone with deleted messages, a small camellia pin, and a keycard she swore she'd never use again.
She hesitated.
Then walked in.
---
At a downtown rooftop bar, Junho sipped something gold and bitter, eyes locked on a laptop screen filled with surveillance footage.
Yena. Haejin. The flower shop. Even Seri.
He leaned back, smirking.
"She's starting to remember," he muttered.
"Let's see how long she lasts."
---
And back at the shop — just past 2 a.m. — Yena couldn't sleep.
She padded down the narrow stairs barefoot, wrapped in a blanket.
To her surprise, Haejin was still there.
Alone. Leaning against the fridge, a flower petal turning in his fingers.
"You should go home," she whispered.
He looked up.
"Can't sleep," he said.
Neither could she.
Silence hung between them again — but this time, it didn't hurt.
"What do you think happened to him?" she asked.
Haejin looked at her, really looked at her.
"I used to think he crashed on purpose," he admitted.
"Now… I think someone made it look that way."
Her heart thudded.
He stepped forward.
Slow.
Dangerous.
Soft.
"I don't want to lose anyone else."
His hand brushed her cheek. She leaned into it.
And in that moment, under the hum of the camellia fridge and the ghost of a boy they both used to love…
They kissed.
But it wasn't heat this time.
It was ache.
It was grief.
It was two broken people trying not to fall apart again.
---
A photo is slid onto a mahogany desk.
Three faces.
One flower.
A bloodstained petal tucked into the corner.
A voice — low and cold — says:
"She's getting too close."