The Joint Task Force headquarters was a windowless "war room" buried beneath the National Police Agency. It smelled of stale coffee and ozone. For Captain Han Seo-yoon, it felt more like a cage than a command center.
"Look at the entry wound on victim four," Lieutenant Park pointed to the digital screen. "The carotid artery wasn't just severed; it was clamped first. The killer wanted to control the volume of blood. He wanted the victim to stay conscious long enough to feel the 'smile' being etched."
Seo-yoon stared at the high-definition image. Her military mind calculated the cold efficiency of the act. 1:3 Risk-Reward, she thought unconsciously. High risk to stay that long with a victim, but the reward is total control over the kill.
"There's something else," Park continued, zooming in on the victim's neck. "We found a microscopic trace of a polymer. It's a specialized coating used on high-end surgical sutures. Specifically, the Aethelon-7 series."
Seo-yoon's breath hitched. Her heart did a slow, painful roll in her chest.
"Aethelon-7?" her voice was a flat, military monotone. "That's experimental. Only three hospitals in Seoul have the permit to use it."
"Exactly," Park nodded. "And the leading surgeon who pushed for its implementation is—"
"My husband," Seo-yoon finished.
The silence that followed was a vacuum. The other officers avoided her gaze. In their eyes, she saw pity. To them, her husband was a resource, a brilliant man whose tools had been stolen or mimicked by a monster. They didn't see what she saw: the way Jae-han's hands never shook, even when he was angry.
That evening, Seo-yoon didn't go home immediately. She drove to the SNU Hospital. She moved through the corridors with the stealth of a soldier on a recon mission. She didn't go to his office. She went to the surgical supply log.
As a Captain in military intelligence, her credentials bypassed the night shift nurse's curiosity. She opened the digital log for the Aethelon-7 sutures.
User: Dr. Lee Jae-han.Status: 12 units checked out. 10 units used. 2 units discarded.
Discarded. Jae-han never discarded anything. He was a man of absolute conservation. In high school, he would use a single pencil until it was a tiny nub, sharpening it with a razor blade until it was gone. He didn't believe in waste.
"Looking for a leak in the inventory, jagiya?"
Seo-yoon nearly drew her sidearm. Jae-han was standing in the doorway of the supply room, his white coat stark against the dim hallway. He looked tired, but his eyes were unnervingly bright.
"Jae-han. You startled me."
"You're checking my logs," he said. It wasn't a question. He walked toward her, his footsteps echoing on the linoleum. "The police found the suture traces, didn't they? I told them that polymer was too distinctive, but the board insisted on the 'aesthetic' of the seal."
He stopped inches from her. He didn't look like a killer; he looked like a worried husband.
"Are they suspecting the hospital staff?" he asked, his voice full of gentle concern.
"They're looking at everyone who has access," Seo-yoon said, her eyes searching his. "Two units were discarded, Jae-han. Where are they?"
Jae-han sighed, a sound of genuine frustration. "A nurse dropped them during the thoracic bypass yesterday. Contaminated. I told her to incinerate them, but you know how the night staff can be lazy with the biohazard bins. Should I go check the trash for you, Captain?"
He stepped closer, his hand coming up to cup her face. His thumb brushed over the scar on her eyebrow. "You're looking at me with your 'interrogation eyes,' Seo-yoon-ah. It hurts."
For a moment, she wanted to believe him. The logic was sound. Lazy staff, discarded medical waste—it was a standard "noise" in any high-stakes environment. But then she noticed it.
On the cuff of his white coat, tucked inside the fold where no one would look, was a tiny, translucent thread.
Blue.
The exact color of an Aethelon-7 suture.
And it wasn't tied in a surgical knot. It was tied in a clover hitch—a knot used in the military to secure a load. A knot she had taught him when they were seventeen, sitting on the roof of the school, dreaming of their futures.
"Jae-han," she whispered, her hand moving to her holster, her fingers brushing the cold metal of her weapon. "Did you teach anyone that knot?"
Jae-han followed her gaze to his cuff. He didn't flinch. He didn't move his hand from her face. Instead, his smile widened—just a fraction. It was the "Perfect Entry."
"No," he whispered back, his voice vibrating with a dark, hidden joy. "That was our secret, wasn't it? Our little bond."
He leaned in and kissed her, right there in the sterile light of the supply room. It was a kiss of total possession. He was betting everything on her love—a 10% risk for a 100% gain of her soul.
As his lips met hers, Seo-yoon realized the terrifying truth: He wasn't hiding the evidence from her. He was leaving it for her. Like a trail of breadcrumbs leading into a wolf's den.
He wanted her to find him. He wanted to see if his "witness" would have the courage to pull the trigger, or the devotion to become his accomplice.