The apartment still held something it shouldn't.
Not blood.
That had been cleaned.
Something quieter.
Absence.
Seo Hae-in stepped past the tape without hesitation.
The officer at the door started to speak—
then stopped.
Something about her made interruption feel… inappropriate.
Inside, the air didn't move.
The bed sat at the center of the room.
Too neat.
Too still.
Crimes like this weren't supposed to look like this.
They were supposed to be—
chaotic.
Broken.
Desperate.
This felt arranged.
"Ms. Seo."
A detective stood near the window.
Watching her.
"You got your extension," he said. "That doesn't mean this changes anything."
She didn't respond.
Her gaze moved slowly across the room.
Corners.
Walls.
Edges.
No struggle.
No disruption.
No evidence of panic.
Wrong.
"They found him here," the detective continued. "Same story. No clothes. No sign of forced entry."
She stepped closer to the bed.
"Any signs of resistance?" she asked.
"No."
"None?"
"None."
That didn't fit.
A child doesn't stay still.
Unless—
Her eyes sharpened.
"Toxicology?" she asked.
"Pending."
Of course.
She moved closer.
Slowly.
Then stopped.
Something about the space felt—
off.
Not visually.
Structurally.
Her gaze dropped to the edge of the mattress.
She didn't touch it.
Didn't need to.
"He didn't wake up here," she said.
The detective frowned.
"What?"
She straightened.
"He remembers going to bed," she said.
Her voice was calm.
Controlled.
"But this room…"
Her eyes scanned it again.
"…doesn't reflect a waking event."
Silence.
"Then what are you saying?" the detective asked.
She looked at the bed one last time.
At the stillness.
At the precision.
At the absence of chaos.
And then—
"He was placed here."
The words settled heavily into the room.
"Someone didn't just commit a crime," she continued.
"They constructed one."
Her gaze darkened.
"And they used him to do it."
Outside—
sirens passed.
Distant.
Unrelated.
But inside the room—
something had already changed.
Because now—
this wasn't just a case.
It was a design.