Seo-yeon kept her head down for the rest of the morning, pretending her entire world had not cracked open the moment Kang Jae-hyun walked into the building.
Pretending her fingers weren't cold.
Pretending her heart didn't recognize a face it had no right to remember.
She told herself it was nothing.
A coincidence.
A man she had seen once long ago.
But her memory didn't feel like coincidence.
It felt like fate reaching back for her collar.
The rain continued outside.
Not heavy enough to make headlines yet.
Just steady enough to feel like an omen.
At noon, Director Ma called for a meeting.
He stood with his arms crossed, face sour as always.
"We have an external investigator joining us."
Murmurs.
Director Ma looked disgusted by the idea of outsiders.
"This is a sensitive issue. The public cannot know we failed to predict rainfall."
He pointed at the front.
"Investigator Kang. Speak."
Jae-hyun stepped forward.
His suit jacket was still damp at the shoulders, but he moved like someone who didn't feel cold.
He didn't smile.
He didn't waste words.
"I'm investigating a pattern," he said. "Anomalies that look like weather—but behave like intent."
Someone laughed nervously.
"Weather can't have intent," a young analyst said.
Jae-hyun's eyes sharpened.
"My sister died in a summer blizzard," he replied.
Silence hit the room like a slammed door.
Seo-yeon's stomach dropped.
Her throat tightened.
A memory flashed—
Snow.
Screams.
Ji-eun's hand slipping away from life.
Seo-yeon pressed her nails into her palm beneath the desk.
Don't feel.
Director Ma coughed awkwardly. "We're sorry for your loss."
Jae-hyun didn't acknowledge the sympathy.
He scanned the staff. Slowly. Like counting lies.
Then his gaze landed on Seo-yeon again.
He stared a second longer than necessary.
Seo-yeon focused on her notepad, pretending she hadn't noticed.
Director Ma snapped, "Intern Han! You'll assist Investigator Kang."
Seo-yeon's head lifted before she could stop herself.
"Me?"
Director Ma glared. "Who else? You're the intern. You're cheap and replaceable."
Some people chuckled—small, ugly laughter.
Seo-yeon didn't.
Not because it hurt.
But because if she felt humiliation—
The rain would turn violent.
She rose and bowed slightly. "Yes, Director."
Jae-hyun watched her walk to the front.
Up close, he noticed her hands.
Too controlled.
Too careful.
Like someone trying not to shake a glass filled to the edge.
"Han Seo-yeon," he said, reading her badge. "How long have you worked here?"
"Three months," she replied.
"Do you always keep your voice that steady?"
Seo-yeon blinked. "Is it… strange?"
"It's trained," he said.
That should not have made her feel anything.
But it did.
A tiny spark of irritation.
He didn't know her.
He had no right.
Seo-yeon smiled politely. "Maybe I just don't like making mistakes."
Jae-hyun's gaze flicked to the window.
The rain intensified suddenly.
Seo-yeon's smile stiffened.
Jae-hyun looked back at her.
"You said you don't like mistakes," he murmured. "Then tell me why the weather behaves like it reacts to you."
Seo-yeon's breath caught.
The office air felt too thin.
She forced herself to laugh—quietly, gently. Not dramatic.
"That's impossible."
Jae-hyun stepped closer. Just one step.
Not threatening.
Not flirty.
But close enough that Seo-yeon could smell rain on him, and something else—like iron and grief.
He lowered his voice.
"Impossible weather killed my sister."
Seo-yeon couldn't meet his eyes.
Because five years ago…
A boy had laughed at a festival.
And she had wished she'd see him again.
Now that boy stood in front of her, grief carved into his face.
And she was the reason grief existed.
Director Ma clapped sharply. "Enough. Work."
Seo-yeon turned toward the data desk, gripping a folder too tightly.
Jae-hyun followed.
As they walked side by side, Seo-yeon's heartbeat accelerated.
And the rain outside began to fall harder.
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