Tracks in the Night

The underground air smelled of iron and damp concrete.

Detective Han Jiwon leaned against a cold pillar in the dimly lit corridor of Seongdong Station, her gaze scanning the steady stream of commuters spilling onto the platform. The late-night trains rumbled in and out, their metallic groans echoing off tiled walls.

She checked her watch. 11:47 p.m. The call had said “tomorrow,” and tomorrow was almost gone. Her instincts told her it would happen here, now.

Beside her, Kang Minjae adjusted his earpiece, his expression unreadable as always. “You realize,” he murmured, “if we’re wrong, we’re wasting time while someone dies elsewhere.”

Jiwon’s lips pressed into a thin line. “And if we’re right, we save a life.”

The PA system crackled overhead: “Train arriving, Line 2, bound for Jamsil.”

The crowd surged. Jiwon’s eyes darted from face to face. Students with headphones, office workers half-asleep, couples whispering into each other’s ears. Normal. Ordinary. But ordinary was a mask killers wore best.

Then she saw her.

A young woman in a pale blue coat, clutching her phone to her ear. Her eyes darted nervously around the station. Something about the way she hugged her bag to her chest made Jiwon’s pulse quicken.

“Target,” Jiwon muttered. “Blue coat, platform east side.”

Minjae followed her gaze. “You’re sure?”

“No. But she looks like prey.”

Jiwon pushed through the crowd, her boots pounding against the tiles. The woman in the blue coat stepped closer to the edge of the platform, glancing over her shoulder as though someone were following.

“Police!” Jiwon shouted, flashing her badge. “Step away from the edge!”

The woman startled, her phone slipping from her hand. She bent to grab it—

And the lights flickered.

The entire station plunged into darkness for two heartbeats. Screams erupted in the crowd. When the lights snapped back, the woman was gone.

Jiwon’s stomach dropped. “No—no, no, no.”

Minjae sprinted to the platform’s edge, scanning the tracks. “No body. She didn’t fall.”

Jiwon shoved her way through panicked commuters, scanning the exits. Emergency stairwell doors stood ajar, swaying from the rush of air.

“He used the blackout,” she hissed.

They barreled up the stairs, emerging into a service corridor that smelled of oil and rust. The echo of footsteps faded into the distance.

“Split up!” Jiwon barked.

Minjae went left; Jiwon sprinted right, her flashlight beam cutting through the dark. The narrow corridor seemed endless, lined with pipes that hissed and groaned. She ran until her lungs burned, following the faintest whisper of movement ahead.

Then she found it.

A trail of blood. Small, sharp droplets splattered across the concrete floor, leading deeper into the maintenance tunnels.

Her hand tightened around her gun. “Damn it.”

---

By the time backup arrived, the tunnel was empty. The blood trail ended abruptly at a rusted service door, pried open with deliberate care. Beyond it, the city’s drainage system stretched like a maze into darkness.

The killer was gone. The victim—gone.

Captain Park Hyunwoo arrived, his face a storm cloud. “Explain to me,” he growled, “how you were standing in the same station and still let him take someone.”

Jiwon bristled. “He planned it. The blackout wasn’t random. He knew exactly where and when to strike.”

“Which means,” Park snapped, “he’s watching us. He anticipated you.”

Minjae held up a bloodied piece of fabric, sealed in an evidence bag. Pale blue cloth. “She fought back,” he said. “At least a little.”

Jiwon’s chest clenched. Another victim in the killer’s hands. Another failure clawing at her.

But then Minjae handed her something else—a small USB drive found wedged in the service door.

Jiwon turned it over in her palm, her throat dry. “He left us this.”

Park frowned. “A calling card?”

Minjae’s voice was low. “Or a trap.”

---

Back at the precinct, the tech team crowded around the computer as the USB loaded. Static filled the screen, then resolved into grainy footage.

The missing woman—terrified, bound to a chair in a dimly lit room. Her pale blue coat still on her shoulders, her face streaked with tears.

Her voice shook as she spoke, clearly reading something forced into her hands.

“The dead remember. The living lie. He is among you. And you will never stop him.”

Jiwon’s nails dug into the desk as she leaned forward, every word slicing through her.

Then the feed cut to black.

The room was silent. Only the hum of the computer remained, heavy and suffocating.

Finally, Park exhaled, slow and furious. “This bastard wants an audience.”

“No,” Jiwon said quietly, her voice trembling with restrained rage. “He wants me.”

Her gaze fixed on the black screen, the reflection of her own face staring back.

And in her mind, she heard the words again:

He is among you.

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