Yoon Serin hummed softly as she stirred her tea.

  Chamomile. Calming. Sweet.

  But it didn’t taste as good as she remembered.

  Maybe it was because the air was too still.

  Or maybe because Lee Ahrin was no longer around to chatter at her like a brainless parrot.

  Serin had no regrets.

  In fact, she’d smiled so widely at Ahrin’s funeral that her cheeks had started to hurt.

  But today, her smile was smaller. Not because of guilt.

  But because of him.

  Han Sihun.

  ---

  She’d noticed the man watching her near the back of the memorial.

  Dressed all in bck, hands in pockets, face unreadable.

  His eyes didn’t look at Ahrin’s photo.

  They looked at her.

  She knew who he was.

  The forensic pathologist with a perfect record.

  Genius-level IQ. Quiet. Respected. Dangerous.

  And now… curious.

  “Tch,” she muttered, biting into a cookie. “Men with brains are always more annoying.”

  She'd rather deal with creeps and idiots... people who were easy to manipute, distract, or dispose of.

  But Sihun?

  His eyes were different.

  Cold, sharp, patient.

  Like a man who already suspected her, but wasn’t ready to say it out loud yet.

  And worse—like a man who wanted to be proven right.

  ---

  That night, Serin stood in front of her bathroom mirror, brushing her hair.

  The light flickered softly above her.

  “I think he likes me,” she said to her reflection.

  She blinked. Tilted her head.

  The reflection smiled first.

  ---

  She didn’t sleep that night.

  Instead, she y in bed, eyes open, heart silent.

  She didn’t have nightmares. She didn’t dream.

  But in the quiet, she imagined it—

  Han Sihun, standing over her.

  Not in fear. Not as prey.

  But curious. Entranced. Wanting to see what made her tick.

  She thought about how his lips would taste if she kissed him.

  And how his heart would feel if she held it, still beating, in her hands.

  She didn’t know which fantasy thrilled her more.

  ---

  When morning came, she dressed sweetly.

  White blouse. Peach skirt. Glossed lips.

  Innocence incarnate.

  She walked to the university café, just like always.

  Except this time, she stopped.

  Han Sihun was there. Sitting in a corner, sipping coffee. Pretending not to see her.

  She walked straight up to him and sat down.

  “Detective,” she said pyfully, “Oh wait. You’re not a cop, are you? Just a man who pys with corpses.”

  He looked up slowly.

  Those eyes didn’t flinch.

  “Miss Yoon,” he said. “You have the strangest aura. Like someone dipped an angel in formaldehyde.”

  She ughed. Loud, bright, genuine.

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  They looked at each other.

  The corpse-smeller.

  The blood-blooming flower.

  Neither flinching.

  Neither blinking.

  Just smiling.