Han Sihun hated hospitals.

  He hated the scent of disinfectant clinging to his coat. He hated the fluorescent lighting that buzzed overhead like mosquitoes. But most of all, he hated the way corpses were always brought in cold, silent, and misunderstood.

  They were the only things that didn’t lie. Unlike the living.

  He stood in the examination room, tex gloves already snapped onto his hands. The new body on the table was a student—male, mid-twenties, found colpsed in a public restroom, pupils dited, no signs of trauma. Everyone assumed drugs.

  Sihun didn’t believe in assumptions.

  He leaned over the corpse, examining the details others would’ve ignored. Fingernails with slight tearing—signs of brief panic. Slight bruising around the nose. He looked deeper. A faint needle mark, barely visible behind the ear.

  “Someone knew what they were doing,” he murmured.

  Behind him, an assistant scribbled notes nervously. “Do you think it’s another case like that professor?”

  Sihun didn’t answer. He pulled off his gloves, walked to the sink, and scrubbed his hands with surgical soap.

  “The pattern’s too clean,” he said. “No mess. No loose ends. No overkill.”

  The assistant swallowed. “Like a professional?”

  “No.” He stared into the mirror above the sink, thinking of a certain girl’s smile. “Like someone enjoying it.”

  ---

  That evening, he found himself walking past the campus greenhouse. It was te. The air was damp, the sky painted with indigo and ash. Most of the building was dark—except for the warm glow spilling out of the greenhouse.

  He should’ve walked away.

  But instead, he stepped closer.

  Inside, he saw her.

  Yoon Serin stood in the center of the greenhouse, her hair down, wearing a long cream cardigan over her uniform skirt. She was trimming roses with gloved fingers, her posture rexed, her expression almost dreamy. A pale pink flower sat delicately in her hair.

  He watched her for a moment before tapping on the gss.

  She turned.

  Her eyes lit up—not in surprise, but something eerily close to amusement.

  The door creaked open. “Dr. Han,” she greeted softly. “Are you lost?”

  “I thought this part of campus closed after nine.”

  “It does. I have a key.” She smiled. “My mother is friends with the botany professor.”

  He stepped inside. The scent of soil and roses hit him instantly. “You garden at night?”

  “It’s quiet. No people.”

  His gaze didn’t leave her. “You like that, don’t you?”

  “I like peace.”

  “Or control?” he offered.

  She didn’t flinch. “Is there a difference?”

  He smirked, impressed despite himself. “You’re not like most students.”

  “I get that a lot.”

  He walked closer, casually examining the rose she was trimming.

  “Pretty,” he said.

  Serin looked up at him, her voice soft. “Did you come here for the flowers… or for me?”

  He paused, meeting her gaze.

  “I came because I don’t believe in coincidences,” he said. “Two deaths. Both unexpected. Both with no signs of struggle. And both somehow connected to you.”

  She tilted her head. “Are you accusing me?”

  “I’m just curious.”

  “That’s dangerous,” she whispered. “Curiosity is how cats die.”

  He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “Good thing I’m not a cat.”

  She held his gaze, and for a long moment, there was only silence. The hum of the greenhouse lights. The slow, rhythmic snip of scissors in her hand.

  Then she smiled sweetly. “You should go home, Dr. Han. Or I might start thinking you’re obsessed with me.”

  “I think I already am.”

  That made her ugh, and for the first time, it sounded real—low, dark, and uncontained.

  Sihun turned to leave, but before he stepped out, he gnced over his shoulder.

  “You smell like roses and something else,” he said. “Something metallic.”

  Serin’s fingers paused over a thorn.

  “Blood?” she asked, still smiling.

  “No,” he replied. “Steel. Like a bde.”

  The door clicked shut behind him.

  And Serin, alone with the roses, whispered to herself, “I think I like you, Dr. Han.”