Yoon Jae-hyun was bleeding. Again. Not metaphorically—he was literally grabbing his arm as blood oozed through his fingers. In front of him stood a shadow, motionless and silent, like it had been waiting for this moment all along. Jae-hyun couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Just as the shadow reached for something behind its back—
He jolted awake.
His apartment was dark. Damp. Quiet, except for the fan spinning lazily overhead. Sweat soaked through his shirt, and his breathing came in sharp gasps. He rubbed his eyes, groaned, and glanced at the wall clock.
8:42 a.m.
"Perfect," he muttered, voice dry. "New personal record for waking up late."
Still, he didn't rush. Jae-hyun was not a man who panicked. He moved like someone who knew being late wasn't the worst thing in the world—because worse things had already happened. He brushed his teeth with one hand while checking messages on his phone with the other. Showered. Made a sandwich. Sat at the table and took a slow bite while watching the news anchor talk about yet another corporate scandal. Half-listening, he rolled his eyes and muttered, "Bet you ten bucks it's tied to someone I'll have to investigate next week."
When he finally stepped out of his apartment, the hallway was quiet except for the soft sound of slapping tile. A teenager came walking toward him, wrapped in a taekwondo uniform, red belt tied loose, knuckles bloodied like he'd punched a brick wall and then asked it for round two.
"You should be in school, nerd," Jae-hyun called out casually.
The kid didn't even break stride. He walked right past him, stopped at the next-door apartment, and shot back, "And you should be at a real job, you bum."
Jae-hyun blinked. "Wow. That's the mouth on today's youth, huh?"
The teen smirked. "And you're a grown-ass man arguing with a teenager. Get help."
He had a point. Jae-hyun scratched his jaw. "Anyway, how's your brother?"
"Probably beating up old men in the neighborhood again."
"Tell him to stop punching senior citizens."
"Tell yourself to stop being poor," the teen said before slamming his door shut.
Jae-hyun stood there for a second, then chuckled. "Little punk."
He made his way down to the parking garage, slid into the driver's seat of his car—a clean black Genesis that looked way too classy for someone constantly late—and started the engine. The stereo turned on automatically, playing soft jazz. He wrinkled his nose and switched it to rock.
Halfway through a red light, his phone rang.
Kang So-hee.
He picked up, expecting something annoying. What he got was worse.
By the time she finished the first sentence, he'd already flipped a hard U-turn and stomped the gas. His cool was gone. Focus kicked in. Jazz wouldn't cut it now—he turned the music off completely.
As he sped through intersections, a fleet of police cruisers zipped past him, sirens howling. Without missing a beat, he slipped into their formation. One of the officers looked over and motioned for him to roll down his window. Jae-hyun held up his badge like it was a fast-pass to hell.
The officer radioed something, nodded, then sped ahead. Jae-hyun stayed in formation, weaving through traffic like he'd done this more times than he should admit.
Fifteen minutes later, they arrived at an abandoned office building out in Mapo-gu. It looked like the kind of place where shady deals happened and horror films opened. Crime scene tape already wrapped the entrance like a Christmas present nobody wanted. Reporters hovered like vultures.
Jae-hyun parked, got out, and adjusted his tie. It wasn't straight, but he didn't care.
An officer guarding the entrance caught sight of him and snapped to attention. "Prosecutor Yoon, sir."
Jae-hyun nodded. "Is Prosecutor Kang inside?"
"Yes, sir. First floor, behind the stairwell."
The inside of the building was exactly as depressing as the outside. Broken glass, flickering lights, and the smell of old mold mixed with something metallic. Blood. Lots of it.
A white tarp covered a body at the center of the lobby. Jae-hyun didn't need to look to know it had been personal. The splatter said enough.
Kang So-hee stood near the body, arms crossed, talking to two detectives. Her coat fluttered behind her like she was in an action movie she didn't ask to star in.
"About time," she said when she saw him.
"Yeah, sorry. I was busy losing arguments with teenagers."
She rolled her eyes. "Your priorities are inspiring."
"What do we know?" he asked, already walking toward the body.
"Victim's one of ours," she said. "Informant. Was giving us intel on Park Jong-seo's warehouses."
Jae-hyun's face hardened. "The guy we talked about last night?"
"Yup. Word is he got burned. This is Park's calling card—blunt force trauma, overkill, no cameras."
Jae-hyun crouched beside the tarp and pulled it back.
The man's face was almost unrecognizable. Beaten into mush. Kang wasn't exaggerating—this was a message. And maybe a bit of stress relief for whoever swung the last punch.
"This place is under renovation," she added. "No security, no witnesses. Just blood and concrete."
He stood up, brushing off dust from his pants. "Wonderful. Just how I like my crime scenes."
She handed him an envelope. "This came in the mail for you. No name, no return address. Just this."
On the back was a wax seal. A black crow, wings spread wide, feathers jagged like blades.
Jae-hyun froze.
Kang watched him. "You recognize it?"
"Yeah," he said quietly. "It's from someone I owe a drink... or a fist to the face. Depending on the day."
Kang raised a brow. "Old friend?"
He looked at the seal one more time and tucked the envelope in his coat. "Something like that."
Outside, the sky darkened. Thunder rumbled somewhere in the distance.
Jae-hyun walked toward the exit, already planning his next move.
But something about that crow… something about this day… told him things were about to get a lot more complicated than a late morning and a mouthy teenager.
And he wasn't wrong.