12: (RIVER'S END)
The gunshot rang out like a thunderclap, deafening in the confined space.
Seungbae barely had time to register the heat of Sangwoo's breath before the blade sliced.
Not deep. Not fatal.
A shallow cut along his neck—a warning.
Sangwoo was already moving, twisting away from Hyunwoo's lunge, his knife flashing.
Hyunwoo fired again.
The bullet missed, but barely.
Sangwoo laughed. Feral. Wild. He shoved Seungbae forward, using him as a shield, forcing Hyunwoo to hesitate—just for a second.
A second was all Sangwoo needed.
He bolted.
Seungbae hit the ground, pain flaring in his ribs. He gasped, pushing himself up. His vision blurred, but he could hear it—footsteps pounding toward the exit.
Hyunwoo ran after him.
Seungbae turned to Yoonbum.
The younger man was frozen, trembling, eyes flickering between the open door and Seungbae.
Seungbae reached out. "Bum, come on—"
Yoonbum flinched.
Seungbae's stomach dropped.
Because for a moment—just a moment—he saw it in Yoonbum's eyes.
Hesitation.
And then—
Yoonbum scrambled toward the door.
Seungbae's heart slammed against his ribs. "Yoonbum!"
But Yoonbum was already running—chasing after Sangwoo.
Seungbae's body moved before his mind did, forcing himself up, his legs burning as he sprinted after them.
Hyunwoo's voice rang in his ears—
"Seungbae! Don't—!"
But he wasn't listening.
He couldn't.
Not when he saw Yoonbum disappearing into the night—
Not when Sangwoo was right there, dragging him down with him.
Not when Seungbae knew—
If he let them go now, he'd never get another chance.
—
The Last Chase
The night swallowed them whole.
Seungbae's boots slammed against the pavement, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The cold air burned his lungs, but he didn't stop.
Ahead—
Sangwoo's laugh.
Mocking. Triumphant.
Yoonbum's shaky breaths.
Desperate. Uncertain.
Seungbae could see them, just a few strides ahead—Sangwoo gripping Yoonbum's wrist, dragging him along.
Sangwoo glanced back, grinning.
And then—
They reached the bridge.
Seungbae's chest tightened.
The river below was black, churning. Hungry.
Sangwoo's grip on Yoonbum tightened.
"End of the road, Detective," Sangwoo called, his voice almost cheerful.
Seungbae raised his gun. His hand was steady. Deadly.
"Let him go."
Sangwoo tilted his head.
"Why? He doesn't want me to."
Yoonbum shook. His lips parted—but no words came out.
Seungbae's stomach twisted.
"Yoonbum," he said, voice low. Careful. "You don't have to go with him."
Sangwoo's smile widened.
And then—
Yoonbum moved.
Not toward Seungbae.
Toward Sangwoo.
Seungbae's breath hitched.
Yoonbum's fingers curled into Sangwoo's sleeve.
A silent choice.
A silent plea.
Sangwoo exhaled, almost touched.
And then he turned—
Pulling Yoonbum over the edge.
The world tilted.
Seungbae surged forward— too late.
Water crashed.
Cold. Black.
Swallowing them whole.
—
The ripples faded.
Seungbae stood at the edge, his breath ragged, the gun still clenched in his fist.
Hyunwoo reached him seconds later, panting. "Where—?"
Seungbae didn't answer.
His eyes were locked on the river.
Dark. Silent.
No movement.
No sign of Sangwoo.
No sign of Yoonbum.
Just—nothing.
Seungbae's fingers trembled.
The wind howled.
And deep in his chest, something fractured.
Because he knew.
No matter how much he searched.
No matter how many nights he lost to this case.
No matter how much he wanted to bring them back—
This was it.
ー
The River's Secret
The water remained still.
Seungbae's breath was uneven, his pulse hammering against his skull. He scanned the surface, searching for any sign—a ripple, a gasp, a hand breaking through.
Nothing.
"Fuck," Hyunwoo muttered, wiping rain from his face. His breath was ragged, but he didn't look away from the river. "Do you think…?"
Seungbae didn't answer.
He couldn't.
His fingers curled into fists, nails biting into his palms. His mind screamed for action—Jump in. Search. Do something.
But he knew.
The river was too fast. Too deep.
If they weren't already dead, they were gone.
He swallowed, his throat burning.
Hyunwoo was still staring at the water, his jaw tight. He finally spoke. "I'll call it in."
Seungbae said nothing.
He just watched.
Watched, even as he knew—
Sangwoo had won.
—
Beneath the Surface
The current pulled them down.
Yoonbum's lungs screamed for air. His body twisted, weightless in the dark, Sangwoo's grip still tight around his wrist.
He tried to kick, to swim—to live.
But Sangwoo's fingers dug into his skin, dragging him deeper.
Yoonbum struggled, bubbles slipping past his lips.
He opened his eyes—and there Sangwoo was.
Smiling.
His hair floated around his face, his eyes sharp, alive, wild.
And then—he moved.
His fingers slid from Yoonbum's wrist to his throat.
A slow, gentle touch.
Yoonbum's chest burned. His body begged for oxygen.
Sangwoo leaned in, their faces inches apart, lips parting as if to say something—
Then—
He let go.
Yoonbum's body jolted.
The current ripped Sangwoo away,
pulling him into the abyss.
And for the first time—
Sangwoo wasn't smiling.
Yoonbum reached for him.
A reflex.
A mistake.
Darkness swallowed him whole.
—
One Week Later
The river search continued for days.
No bodies were found.
The case was marked unsolved.
Seungbae sat in his office, staring at the file.
Hyunwoo leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "If he's dead, why don't you look relieved?"
Seungbae didn't answer.
His gut twisted, his instincts screaming—
Sangwoo wasn't dead.
Somewhere, somehow—
He was still out there.
And Yoonbum?
Maybe he was too.
ー
The rain had stopped days ago, but the river still felt heavy. Thick with secrets.
Seungbae stood at the edge of the water, watching the surface ripple under the moonlight. It had been a week since they vanished. A week of searching, of dredging, of finding nothing.
Hyunwoo was behind him, hands shoved in his jacket pockets. "You're still coming here," he muttered.
Seungbae ignored him.
He kept staring. Watching. Listening.
Some nights, when the city was quiet and the air was still, he swore he could hear it—
A breath. A whisper. A laugh.
But the river stayed empty.
No bodies. No closure.
Just questions.
Had they really drowned?
Or—
Had he pulled Yoonbum down just far enough to disappear?
Seungbae exhaled sharply, shaking the thought away. His fingers brushed against the lighter in his pocket, a nervous habit.
Then—
A snap.
Not from the water. Not from the wind.
Behind them.
Hyunwoo tensed. "Did you hear that?"
Seungbae turned slowly, hand already at his hip, ready to grab his gun—
The trees stood still.
The street was empty.
The silence stretched.
And then—
A phone rang.
Seungbae's pulse stopped.
That phone.
It was in his pocket. The one Sangwoo had sent. The one that had been dead since the river.
He pulled it out, staring at the black screen.
It wasn't vibrating. It wasn't on.
But he could still hear it ringing.
Loud. Distant.
Like an echo.
Like something calling from deep below.
Seungbae's grip tightened. His throat was dry. His mind screamed impossible.
And then, in the silence—
A voice.
Soft. Familiar. Distant.
"You were supposed to rot with me"
Hyunwoo swore. "What the fuck—"
Seungbae spun around.
But there was no one there.
Just the wind.
Just the river.
Just the laughter still ringing in his ears.
ー
The air was too still.
Seungbae's pulse hadn't settled. The weight of something unseen clung to his skin, like damp fingers pressing into his spine.
Hyunwoo was pulling him away, his grip iron-tight, but Seungbae's feet wouldn't move.
His eyes were locked on the river.
Something was wrong.
The water was too smooth. Too flat. Like glass stretched over something deep, something waiting.
He swallowed.
The breath at his ear—he still felt it.
The phone in his hand—he still felt it.
The footprints—he knew they were there.
But the street was clean. Dry. Silent.
Like nothing had happened at all.
Like the river had swallowed it whole.
Hyunwoo tugged his arm again, his voice sharp. "Seungbae—let's go."
Seungbae forced his legs to move, but the feeling—that weight, that presence—it was still there.
Watching.
Listening.
Waiting.
Waiting for what?
Then—
A sound.
Faint. Wet. Dripping.
Seungbae stopped walking.
Hyunwoo noticed. "What?"
The sound came again.
Closer.
Drip.
Seungbae turned his head slowly.
Drip.
His grip on the phone tightened until his knuckles went white.
The sound wasn't coming from the river.
It wasn't coming from the trees.
It was behind them.
Seungbae turned.
The street was empty.
The silence stretched.
Then—
A breath.
Low. Damp. Too close.
Seungbae's stomach twisted. He knew that sound. He had heard it in the dark, in locked rooms, in the spaces where monsters lived.
Hyunwoo's jaw clenched. He took a slow step back.
Then—
Something moved.
Not in the street.
Not in the water.
But in the reflection.
Seungbae's breath caught.
The river—it wasn't reflecting them.
The figures standing in the water weren't him and Hyunwoo.
They weren't standing at all.
One was floating.
Yoonbum.
His body half-submerged, his face pale, his lips parted like he was trying to speak.
His arms twitched, fingers curling, reaching—
And the other figure—
Seungbae's blood ran cold.
The second reflection wasn't floating.
It was standing.
Too tall. Too still.
A shadow with no face.
No eyes.
Just a mouth—open. Smiling.
Seungbae spun around.
There was nothing there.
Just the empty street. Just the wind. Just Hyunwoo, pale and still, staring into the water.
The reflection was still there.
Still watching.
The dripping sound came again.
Seungbae didn't turn back.
He already knew—if he looked too long, it would see him too.
Hyunwoo grabbed his wrist, voice tight.
"We're leaving. Now."
Seungbae let him pull.
Let the city swallow them back up.
Let the river slip out of sight.
But as they walked away—
The laughter followed.
ー
They walked in silence.
Not because there was nothing to say—but because speaking would make it real.
Hyunwoo's grip on Seungbae's wrist never loosened, his pace stiff, quick. Like he knew—if they stopped, something would catch up.
Seungbae didn't resist.
But he could still hear it.
The wet footsteps. The quiet dripping. The sound of something breathing too close.
And behind them—
The laughter hadn't stopped.
It wasn't loud.
It wasn't obvious.
But it was there.
In the wind. In the space between their footsteps.
Like an echo buried beneath the city.
Hyunwoo didn't say a word until they reached the car.
Then, finally, he let go of Seungbae's wrist. His breathing was uneven. His hands trembled.
"We're not going back there," he muttered.
Seungbae didn't answer.
Hyunwoo's fingers twitched, restless, tapping against his leg. "That wasn't real."
The words felt empty.
Seungbae sat in the passenger seat, his hands resting on his thighs, still gripping the useless, dead phone.
Hyunwoo turned the key. The engine refused to start.
Once.
Twice.
The street outside was still. Empty. The river was long behind them.
But Seungbae still felt it.
That presence.
That watching.
The laughter still in the back of his skull—quiet, steady, patient.
The car engine finally roared to life.
Hyunwoo exhaled. A sharp, nervous sound. His fingers were tight on the wheel. He didn't look at Seungbae when he said, "We should get a drink or something. You look like you're about to pass out."
Seungbae forced himself to nod.
But something was wrong.
Something was missing.
His pulse quickened.
He looked down at his lap. At his hands.
At the phone.
The phone that had been there the whole time.
The phone that was now gone.
The silence stretched.
A car honked in the distance. A streetlamp flickered.
Hyunwoo didn't notice.
But Seungbae did.
And in the rearview mirror—
There was something in the backseat.
Seungbae didn't move.
Didn't blink.
Didn't breathe.
The car engine hummed. The headlights flickered against the wet pavement. Hyunwoo tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, oblivious.
Seungbae's hands stayed frozen on his lap.
Because he could see it.
In the mirror.
A shape.
Faint. Wrong.
Not a reflection—a presence.
It sat in the backseat, just out of focus.
Dripping.
Seungbae could hear it—the soft patter of water hitting the floor.
His stomach twisted. He hadn't heard the door open.
Hyunwoo exhaled sharply. "You okay?"
Seungbae's fingers twitched.
He could feel it.
The weight.
The air in the car had changed—thicker, heavier, colder.
A presence that hadn't been there before.
But Hyunwoo—he didn't notice.
Or maybe—
Maybe it wasn't there for him.
Seungbae's throat felt tight. His skin was burning.
The laughter was gone now.
But something else had taken its place.
A whisper.
Wet. Broken. Familiar.
"Drive, Detective."
Seungbae's breath caught.
His heart slammed against his ribs.
He couldn't turn around.
He wouldn't.
His nails dug into his palms, cold sweat gathering at the back of his neck.
The figure in the mirror didn't move.
But the whisper came again—closer.
"We're not done."
The car shuddered.
Hyunwoo frowned. "What's wrong?"
Seungbae forced himself to swallow. His pulse pounded. His fingers twitched against his leg.
Nothing's there.
Nothing's there.
"Look at me."
His vision blurred. His breath felt too loud.
"Look at me."
The air was suffocating.
Something shifted.
A wet hand—cold, decayed—brushed the back of his neck.
Seungbae's vision swam. His chest clenched.
Hyunwoo reached for the radio. "Maybe we should—"
Then—
The car doors locked.
A single, quiet click.
Seungbae's breath stopped.
Hyunwoo's face twisted in confusion. "Huh?"
Then—
The lights cut out.
The car plunged into darkness.
And from the backseat—
Something breathed.
The darkness stretched.
Thick. Alive.
Seungbae couldn't breathe.
His fingers were tight around the wheel, the leather slick with sweat. His pulse hammered in his ears, loud enough to drown out everything else. But not loud enough to ignore the weight in the backseat.
He could feel it.
The air was different. Thicker. Like someone was breathing just behind him.
Hyunwoo muttered something under his breath, fumbling for his phone. The screen's dim light flickered against the windows, barely pushing back the blackness outside.
Seungbae's stomach twisted.
Because the rearview mirror—
It wasn't empty.
There was a shape.
Just behind his seat.
Not moving. Not breathing.
Just there.
Hyunwoo exhaled sharply, shifting forward. "Do you feel that?"
Seungbae didn't answer.
Because the shape—
It was shifting.
Not moving.
Just… changing.
Like a smudge in his vision. Something that was never supposed to be there, never supposed to be seen.
A whisper.
Right next to his ear.
"Drive."
Seungbae's chest locked.
Hyunwoo's phone slipped from his fingers, landing somewhere at his feet with a muffled thud. "Shit," he hissed, patting blindly for it.
Seungbae didn't turn around.
Couldn't.
The thing in the mirror tilted its head.
Slow. Calculated. Watching.
The whisper came again, softer this time.
"Drive, Seungbae."
And in the mirror—
Just for a second—
It smiled.
Seungbae's hands clenched the wheel. His knuckles were white, stiff. He wanted to move, to breathe, but the thing in the mirror—
It was smiling.
Not a normal smile. Not even a human one.
It was too wide.
Hyunwoo was still cursing under his breath, still reaching for his phone, still oblivious.
Seungbae swallowed, forcing himself to move. His foot pressed down—gently. The engine grumbled, and the car rolled forward.
Just drive.
That's what it had told him.
So he did.
The road stretched ahead, endless in the dark. No headlights. No streetlights. Just black.
And in the mirror—
The smile was growing.
Seungbae's chest was tight. He focused on the road, refusing to blink, refusing to look again.
But then—
Hyunwoo exhaled, shifting in his seat. "We should stop. Just pull over, man."
Seungbae couldn't.
His fingers dug into the wheel. "No."
Hyunwoo frowned. "Seungbae—"
Thump.
The sound came from the backseat.
Seungbae's stomach twisted.
Hyunwoo heard it too. His body went still, his breath catching. "What the hell was that?"
Seungbae didn't answer.
The car kept rolling, the tires humming against the road.
Thump.
Hyunwoo turned, slow, his movements hesitant. "Is someone—?"
Seungbae's pulse stopped.
He wanted to say it.
Don't look.
But it was too late.
Hyunwoo faced the backseat—
And screamed.
The car jerked. Seungbae's vision blurred. He slammed the brakes, tires screeching against the asphalt.
The world lurched.
For a moment, there was only silence.
Then—
A breath.
A whisper.
"Took you long enough."
And Seungbae realized—
The voice was right next to him.
He turned—
The smile was waiting.
The lights cut out.
The engine died.
And the darkness swallowed everything whole.
THE END.