Whispers in the Rain

The flashing red-and-blue lights painted the hospital’s façade in broken color, a distorted reminder of law and order against the night’s decay. Officers sealed off the perimeter with yellow tape, their radios crackling through the downpour.

Detective Han Jiwon stood at the edge of the cordon, staring up at the abandoned hospital. She had been in hundreds of crime scenes before, but the weight of this one clung to her chest like a vise.

She turned the evidence bag over in her hand—the scrap of paper that read “He is among you.” Her reflection flickered against the plastic, blurred by raindrops.

A familiar gravelly voice cut through the storm. “Han Jiwon.”

She pivoted to find Captain Park Hyunwoo, his gray hair plastered against his forehead, rain streaking his trench coat. His presence was commanding, a man who had seen too much and trusted too little.

“You were first on scene?” he asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“And what did you find?”

Jiwon hesitated. The initials on the wall burned in her memory, but she kept her voice clinical. “Victim identified as Hwang Seojin. Cause of death strangulation. The killer left a message again—written in her blood.”

Captain Park’s eyes narrowed. “Same as the others.”

“Worse,” Jiwon said. “This one feels… deliberate. Calculated. And there’s this.” She handed him the bagged note.

He studied it, jaw tightening. “He is among you.” His gaze lifted to her. “The press will eat this alive. You realize what this implies, right?”

Jiwon’s lips thinned. “That someone in authority could be involved.”

“Or,” Park said, voice low and clipped, “it’s a deliberate ploy to tear this department apart. We cannot afford paranoia. Not with Councilman Choi Taesung already breathing down our necks.”

The name cut through Jiwon like a knife. Taesung—the charismatic politician who had built his career on promises of “safety and reform.” His influence reached deep into law enforcement. Too deep.

“Sir,” Jiwon said carefully, “three victims in two months. All killed the same way. All with messages. If Taesung’s worried about appearances, maybe he should stop shielding the wrong people.”

Park’s eyes hardened. “Careful, Jiwon. You don’t want to start a war you can’t win.”

Before she could reply, a voice called from the hospital entrance. Seo Harin, the journalist, stood under her umbrella, her press badge catching the lamplight. Her sharp eyes locked on Jiwon like a predator finding prey.

“Detective Han,” she said smoothly, “care to comment on why another victim has been found in an abandoned building just three kilometers from your precinct?”

Jiwon’s stomach coiled. The last thing she needed was Harin stirring the pot. The woman had made a name for herself digging into corruption and police failures. She was relentless, ambitious, and dangerously close to truths best left buried.

“No comment,” Jiwon said curtly, moving past her.

Harin’s smirk widened. “The people have a right to know, Detective. Three bodies with cryptic messages? The city is already whispering about a serial killer. Unless… there’s something else you’re hiding?”

Jiwon stopped in her tracks. For a second, the thunder overhead drowned out everything else. She turned slowly, her eyes cold.

“If you want to play detective, Harin, apply to the academy. Otherwise, stay out of my way.”

The journalist’s smirk faltered, but only slightly. “Funny,” she said softly, “I heard your brother’s case was never solved. Maybe you’re not the right person to be leading this investigation.”

The words struck like a blade. Jiwon’s fists clenched at her sides, but she forced her face into neutrality. She refused to give Harin the satisfaction of seeing the wound she had cut open.

“Goodnight, Ms. Seo,” Jiwon said, walking away.

---

Inside the precinct an hour later, the storm had softened to a steady drizzle. Jiwon sat at her desk, the case files spread before her like a broken puzzle. Three victims. Three messages. They see us. Shadows don’t sleep. The dead remember.

And now, He is among you.

She traced the words with her finger, her mind spinning. Each message grew bolder, more direct. What was the killer trying to say?

A file photo of her brother, Han Jihoon, stared back at her from the corner of her desk. Five years since his unsolved death. Same look in his eyes as Seojin’s—wide, startled, unfinished. She closed her eyes, her chest tightening with the memory.

“Jiwon.”

She looked up. Minjae stood in the doorway, his white shirt still damp from the rain, a folder under his arm. His expression was calm, but his eyes betrayed concern.

“You didn’t tell Park about the initials on the wall.”

Her stomach dropped. “You saw them?”

“I always see everything,” he said quietly, laying the folder on her desk. “But I didn’t mention it either.”

“Why not?”

“Because if we’re right… if those initials were meant for you, then this is bigger than the department. Bigger than any of us. And if we say it out loud, Park will pull you off the case.”

Jiwon exhaled sharply, leaning back in her chair. She hated that he was right. But silence was a dangerous gamble.

“What’s in the file?” she asked.

He opened it. Photos of Seojin’s autopsy, along with a strange detail: a faint mark burned into her shoulder blade. A symbol—half a circle intersected by a line.

“She had this scar,” Minjae said. “Not from the killer. It’s old. Years old. Same marking was found on victim number two. Different locations on the body, but identical symbol.”

Jiwon’s pulse quickened. “You’re telling me the victims were connected before they died?”

Minjae nodded slowly. “It’s starting to look that way.”

The room felt colder. Jiwon rubbed her temples, fighting the exhaustion pulling at her. Three victims, tied together by an old scar. Messages written in blood. A note claiming the killer was among them.

And initials scratched into the wall—her brother’s initials.

Her phone buzzed. An unknown number. She hesitated before answering.

A distorted voice crackled through. “Detective Han.”

Her breath caught. “Who is this?”

A pause. Then, softly:

“Listen closely. He’s already watching you.”

The line went dead.

Jiwon stared at her phone, the hum of the precinct fading around her. Outside, the rain began again, harder this time, like a warning.

And for the first time since her brother’s death, she felt it in her bones.

This case wasn’t just about finding a killer.

The killer had already found her.

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