Not everything lost leaves a mark. Sometimes, truth walks quietly—waiting for someone sharp enough to hear it breathe.
Rain still fell as the forensic team packed up. The metallic smell lingered like memory. Rae Jin stood by the window, eyes fixed on the hanging rope now sealed in an evidence bag.
Kim Chanwoo closed his notebook. "Victim: Kim Soyeon, twenty-eight. Time of death between nine and ten. No external injuries besides strangulation. Sedatives on the table."He exhaled. "Suicide. Classic."
"No," Rae said simply.Chanwoo raised an eyebrow. "Of course you'd say that.""Because suicides rarely look this neat."
"Neat?""See the crack on the wall near the window? Not symmetrical. Pressure from the inside. The window was opened, then closed and locked again—from outside, using nylon. When police broke in, the rope was already cut to fake the 'locked room.'"
Chanwoo studied him. "You're certain?""Certainty is for religion. I work with patterns."
Yejin, quiet until now, whispered, "So… someone wanted it to look like suicide?""People who want to die," Rae said softly, "don't care if the tea spills."
Chanwoo folded his arms. "Motive?"Rae lifted the Polaroid. "This.""The photo?""The crack in the mirror. Same spot as this wall. Someone who knew this place took it. They wanted us to notice."
"A message, then?""A confession."
Thunder rolled outside.
Chanwoo watched him. "You talk like someone who's lost something."Rae smiled faintly. "You would too—if you'd ever found what you didn't want to find."
A forensic officer entered. "Toxicology's in—high benzodiazepine level. Likely overdose before hanging.""That confirms suicide," Chanwoo said."Or," Rae countered, "that she wasn't conscious when she was hanged."
He pointed at the photos. "No defensive marks, but friction burns on the right finger—she tried to feel what was happening. Too late."
Yejin's voice trembled. "So it's… a locked-room murder?""More like a tragedy composed with surgical precision."
Chanwoo frowned. "Then how did the killer leave without a trace?""Not all traces are visible.""What?"Rae tapped the wall beside the hinge. "There's hollow space here—pipe shaft between floors. If he was small or daring enough, he could've slipped down through it, pulling the door lock with a string. Simple, elegant, almost beautiful."
Chanwoo was silent. "You saw that just by glancing?""I didn't see," Rae murmured. "I listened."
Yejin's voice softened. "Rae… how do you know things like that?""Because once," he said, "I was trapped in a room that wouldn't open."
Chanwoo said nothing, only looked at him longer than he meant to. "Fine, Detective without a badge. I'll listen to your logic.""You won't like it.""I rarely like anyone."
They stood in silence, surrounded by the metallic scent of a truth half-born. Outside, Seoul's rain tapped the glass like a second heartbeat.
Rae whispered to himself,"Human traces aren't always footprints. Sometimes, they're just the breath that lingers after everything else stops breathing."