Seojun shook the notebook and instantly regretted it. Dust exploded everywhere, making him cough like crazy. The thing was absolutely disgusting—so gross that even someone with serious germophobia would think twice about touching it, even with gloves on. He pointed his phone’s flashlight at the cover, trying to make out what used to be a title under all that grime.
Okay, think. The factory was barely secured, just a metal bar anyone could lift. Maybe kids had peeked in through the entrance.
Seojun latched onto the excuse, willfully ignoring how solid that bar had looked when Dennis had moved it.
The Polaroid spat out its photo with a familiar mechanical whirr. Dennis caught it mid-air before it hit the ground. Everyone leaned in, watching as the blurry image slowly sharpened into focus. He gave it a quick shake. Pointless, sure, but some habits die hard.
Finding a hair or some plastic in packaged food would be bad enough. But drugs? That was something else entirely. Seojun felt his eye widen as the full weight of it sank in.
Luciel made her way over to the guy who’d collapsed on the ground, his head hanging low and hands braced behind it like he was fighting to stay upright. When she was about five steps away, she started digging through her coffin-shaped bag.
So, there they were, Seojun’s truck rumbling onto a pretty deserted-looking road, tailing the van up ahead. Brown and Luciel were in that one. The sky overhead was a vast, clear blue. A cool morning breeze rustled through the reeds, and every so often, the sweet chirping of birds would sneak past the truck’s windows.
Kira headed down the stairs first, leaving Johan smiling quietly to himself. She paused, fingers hovering over the railing. It looked grimy enough to leave black smudges on her palms, so she opted for the wall instead, placing one hand carefully against it as she cautiously stepped down.
“Does she really have wings? Did you ever see them?”
“Are you kidding?” Kira shot him a look that questioned his sanity. She leaned back against the grimy wall, rolling the cigarette between her fingers. “It’s just bullshit crazies say when they’ve lost touch with reality.”
Where is all this screaming coming from?
Johan held his breath, eyes closing as he focused. A distant voice echoed through the walls—muffled, distorted, but definitely pissed off. He couldn’t catch the words, just the anger buzzing faintly through the house.
For a wild, heart-skipping second, the impulse seized him: lunge, jam the thermos to her lips, force the contents down her throat.
Then, just as quickly, the thought vanished.
The idea of “rotting together as ghost soulmates” didn’t land as romantic. It hit Seojun like a physical blow, a chilling confession that stole the feeling from his tongue. His mind seized, every synapse screaming the same frantic message: Pretend you didn’t hear that. Pretend this isn’t happening.
Seojun wanted to kick himself. Hard. Like, really hard. What the hell was he thinking, just handing the knife over to Camry like that? He mentally slapped himself a few times for good measure. He deserved it. Probably deserved a few more slaps upside the head too.