Seung-ho ran his palm through Do-yun's hair, slowly, as if soothing him. His fingers caught the soft strands, and he leaned in, inhaling the scent. A slight freshness, reminiscent of early spring, morning air after rain, mixed with the subtle, familiar pheromone. This aroma made Seung-ho feel a strange warmth expanding in his chest.
Do-yun sat quietly, resting his forehead on his shoulder. For the first time in a long while, he allowed himself to lean with such exhaustion.
— You smell like spring, — Seung-ho murmured, almost a whisper, into his hair.
Do-yun wanted to smile, but only pressed closer to him.
A sharp vibrating signal broke the silence. The phone on the table lit up with an unfamiliar number.
Do-yun frowned and reached out. A short message was on the screen: "I want to tell you something. Can we meet?"
He looked at Seung-ho. — This could be important. Seung-ho shook his head. — Or deadly. — Read further.
A moment later, a second message arrived: "I used to work as a waiter at the club. I saw something I shouldn't have. I was scared then... but now I realize I can't stay silent."
Do-yun gripped the phone. His heart beat faster. — He says he saw an abduction. Seung-ho frowned, his hand resting over Do-yun's. — We'll meet. But only on our terms.
The interrogation room was cold and narrow, with walls of gray concrete. The lamp light fell directly onto the man sitting opposite them. His hands were shaking; he nervously fiddled with an old baseball cap.
— You wrote to us, — Seung-ho began, his voice low and firm. — Now explain why.
The man swallowed. — I... I worked as a waiter at the club. A few months ago. The night the Omega disappeared... I saw two men lead her out through the back door. She was semi-conscious. I wanted to yell, but... — he sharply inhaled. — I got scared.
Do-yun leaned forward. — Did you see their faces? — One of them, — he whispered. — It was a man from the management. I didn't know his name then. But later I heard... others called him Lee.
The name struck the silence like a gunshot. Do-yun clenched his fists. Seung-ho only tilted his head, his eyes glinting coldly.
— And why have you kept silent all this time? — he asked sharply. — I was afraid, — the man pressed the cap to his chest, his knuckles white with tension. — But then I started noticing him again. He would come in, talk to the managers, give orders. And always after that, someone would disappear. I couldn't sleep anymore. When I saw that this guy, — he nodded toward Do-yun, — often came into the precinct, I realized he was connected to the police. And if I don't tell you... it will happen again.
He inhaled convulsively, gripping the cap even tighter. — But... it's not just Lee. There were others.
Seung-ho tensed; his gaze sharpened. — What "others"? Be specific. — Temporary staff, — the man lowered his eyes. — They showed up unexpectedly. They'd come to work for a few days—like regular backup. At the bar, in the cloakroom, even in the kitchen. And then they'd vanish just as suddenly. And almost immediately after, one of the guests would go missing. An Omega.
Do-yun frowned. — Did you see their faces? — Yes... some of them, — the waiter nodded. — I'd run into them in the locker room. They always stuck together, didn't talk to the others. And once... — he looked up, fear evident in his eyes, — I overheard their phone conversation.
— What was the conversation about? — Seung-ho leaned slightly forward. — They were talking about some kind of "product." And they called it... Instinct. I remember that word because it bothered me. One of them said: "The Omega himself will come to us soon. We have already sold him the Instinct."
The silence hung heavy, like concrete.
Do-yun barely moved his lips: — Instinct?... The waiter nodded. — I don't know what it is. But after that incident, everything changed. Management forbade any discussion of the disappearances. They told us directly: "Not a word about the guests. Not a hint. If anyone talks—there will be no more work for them here."
He nervously wiped his forehead with his palm. — I was scared. Every day I thought—what if I'm next? I quit as soon as I had the chance. But... — he faltered. — What? — Seung-ho clenched the table with his palm; his voice was cold. — I think they're following me, — the man breathed out. — I found footprints outside my door several times. Too clear, as if they were left on purpose. And a couple of times I saw suspicious people downstairs near my house. They stood and watched until I closed the curtains.
He swallowed; his voice trembled: — I don't know who's next. I don't know what this "Instinct" is. But I don't want to disappear like that, too.
Do-yun felt a chill run down his skin. In every word was the sticky truth they had long been seeking.
— What do you want in return? — he asked quietly. The man clutched the cap as if it were his last anchor. — Protection. I'm ready to tell you everything I know, but only if the police take me into custody. I can't live constantly looking over my shoulder anymore.
Seung-ho silently looked at Do-yun. A silent question was in his gaze: Can we afford this?
Do-yun met his gaze. — We need him alive.
Seung-ho nodded, leaning back in his chair. — Fine. But be warned, — he leaned closer to the man, his voice turning icy, — if even one word turns out to be a lie, no protection will save you.
The waiter nodded convulsively, not daring to look up.
***
The waiter was escorted out under guard. His footsteps echoed in Do-yun's ears for a long time. Instinct. Temporary staff. Director Lee. These words seemed to cut through the thin veil that had hidden the truth until now.
— Do you believe him? — Do-yun asked when they were alone. Seung-ho picked up the cap from the table, a forgotten scrap of fabric, and gently squeezed it in his fingers. — I believe his fear. And fear rarely lies.
The club greeted them with its usual roar. Music pounded right into the chest, the lights flashed so that the guests' faces dissolved into the rhythm. The crowd moved like a single organism, and this organism lived in its chaotic dance.
They walked toward the VIP lounge. It was quieter here, but the atmosphere was thicker. Expensive suits, crystal glasses, cigar smoke, dimmed light. Everything looked respectable, but Do-yun couldn't shake the feeling that fangs were hidden among these smiles.
He sat down next to Seung-ho. Their fingers barely brushed on the armrest of the sofa. A light touch, almost imperceptible to an outside glance. But it held tighter than any embrace.
— Watch closely, — Seung-ho said quietly. — The one who knows more is hiding here.
Do-yun pretended to drink from his glass, but his gaze scanned the room. Some people were exchanging glances, others were talking too quietly. The hunter was somewhere here; he felt it with every cell.
Suddenly, their eyes met. A man in the far corner, leaning on a table, was looking straight at him. The gaze was calm, cold. Not curiosity. Not interest. It was assessment—as if he were choosing his moment.
Do-yun nearly dropped his glass.
Seung-ho noticed the change, his fingers pressing harder on his hand. — Calm down. If he's here, it means he's confident. That's his mistake. — What if it's not? — Do-yun whispered.
Seung-ho leaned in slightly closer, his lips touching his ear so that others couldn't hear: — Then it's a test. And we're part of the game, too.
Do-yun looked back at the room. The man had disappeared. As if he had dissolved into the crowd. But the sensation of being watched remained—sticky, insistent, like a cold hand on his neck.