Precinct smelled of old coffee and damp paperwork, the kind of scent that never quite left no matter how much the janitors scrubbed. Officer Kim Taehyung strode up to the reception desk, adjusting his belt as he signed in for his shift.
Behind the counter, Sergeant Lee barely glanced up. Her short, graying hair was pulled back into a no-nonsense bun, and the lines on her face deepened as she skimmed through a report. She looked as if she had been here all day—because she probably had.
"Kim," she said, her voice sharp and steady. She slid a case file across the desk. "Jonas Ngoni. Zwarten. Found dead near the docks. Witness reports say a Medean was involved, but no clear details yet."
Taehyung frowned, flipping through the file. Jonas Ngoni—early thirties, worked at the docks, no criminal record. The crime scene photos were grim. He was slumped against a stack of crates, blood pooling beneath him. The shadows from the streetlamp made the wound on his torso look even darker. "Cause of death?" he asked.
"Still waiting on forensics," Lee replied, rubbing her temple. "But it wasn't a simple mugging. Whoever did this knew what they were doing."
Taehyung exhaled through his nose. The city's tensions between Zwarten and Medeans had been boiling for months. If this turned into a racial killing, things could get ugly fast. "Any suspects?"
Lee scoffed, closing the file in front of her. "Not a damn one. Some witness saw a Medean running from the scene, but no solid description. We need facts, not hearsay."
Taehyung nodded. "I'll start at the scene. Maybe forensics missed something."
Lee finally met his eyes, her gaze unwavering. "Be careful, Kim," she warned.
The parking lot behind the precinct was dimly lit, the flickering streetlamp casting long shadows over the rows of squad cars. Kim Taehyung pulled his jacket tighter as he stepped out, scanning the lot. He spotted Captain Choi leaning against his car, casually sipping from a takeout coffee cup like he had all the time in the world. Kim approached, clearing his throat. "Captain Choi."
Choi didn't look up immediately. Instead, he took another long, exaggerated sip. Then he smacked his lips and let out a satisfied sigh. "Ahh. You ever had this coffee from that new place down the street? Smooth, not too bitter. Just the right kick, you know?"
Kim exhaled slowly. "Sir, I need clearance to investigate the Jonas Ngoni case."
Choi finally glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. "The Zwarten guy?"
"Yes, sir."
Choi scratched his chin, looking up at the sky like he was pondering the mysteries of the universe. "You in a hurry?"
Kim resisted the urge to sigh. "Yes, sir."
"Hmm." Choi took another sip of his coffee. "You sure? You don't wanna, I don't know, take a moment? Maybe admire the night air? Smell the—"
"Sir."
Choi held up a hand. "Alright, alright. Just saying, you young guys are always rushing. One day you'll realize life's not a sprint, it's a—"
"Sir, permission to investigate?"
Choi looked at him for a long moment, then shook his head with a dramatic sigh. "You're so serious, Kim. It's like talking to a wall. Fine," Choi said, fishing a crumpled paper from his pocket. "Here's your authorization."
Kim took it, offering a curt nod. "Thank you, sir."
As he turned to leave, Choi called after him. "Hey, Kim!"
Kim paused, glancing back. Choi grinned. "You really should try this coffee. It'll change your life."
Kim said nothing. He just walked away. The city stretched out before him, a vast expanse of concrete and neon, humming with the restless energy of those who never slept. Somewhere beyond the towering buildings and the flickering streetlamps lay the docks, waiting like the edge of the world. Kim Taehyung checked his phone, the glow of the screen casting sharp shadows over his face. Precinct → Dockyards: 5.6 kilometers.
He stared at the numbers, feeling the weight of them settle in his gut. No car. No money. No ride. Just him and the pavement. He exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders as if that would somehow make the distance shorter. The precinct loomed behind him, its fluorescent-lit windows indifferent to his predicament. Choi had made it perfectly clear—hewasonhisown. No cruiser, no backup, not even a half-hearted offer of a lift. Just a casual wave and that smug, coffee-sipping indifference.
Kim pocketed his phone and stepped onto the sidewalk. The city smelled of rain that hadn't fallen yet, of asphalt still clinging to the last remnants of warmth from the day. His boots hit the pavement with a steady rhythm, a metronome to the slow march ahead.
The streets were quiet in this part of town. Not silent—never silent—but the kind of quiet that lived in the spaces between things. A flickering streetlamp buzzing overhead. A distant siren wailing somewhere too far to matter. The rustle of paper as a stray flyer skittered across the sidewalk.
After long walking, the docks loomed ahead, shrouded in mist that clung to the wooden planks like a living thing. The scent of salt and rust filled the air, mingling with the distant stench of fish and oil. Kim Taehyung rolled his shoulders, shaking off the ache that had settled into his legs from the long walk.
Dim floodlights cast pools of yellow over the loading bays, where tired workers moved like ghosts beneath the glow. Crates were stacked high, their surfaces slick from the evening moisture, and the quiet hum of the river lapped against the pier.
Kim pulled out his notebook and approached the nearest group of workers—a cluster of Zwarten men huddled near a forklift, their faces lined with fatigue and suspicion. One of them, a broad-shouldered man with a shaved head, noticed him first. "You're police," the man said, not a question, just a fact.
Kim nodded. "Officer Kim. I'm looking into Jonas Ngoni's murder."
A shift in the air. The men exchanged glances, tension settling in the space between them. "You're wasting your time," one of them muttered, tossing his cigarette onto the ground and grinding it under his boot. "Cops don't solve cases like this. They just write 'em down and forget."
Kim kept his expression neutral. "Not every cop."
Silence. Then, the bald man—who seemed to be the leader—sighed and crossed his arms. "Jonas was a good man. He didn't have enemies here. If someone killed him, it wasn't one of us."
Kim took a slow breath. "Did he have problems with anyone recently? Fights, arguments?"
A pause. Then, one of the younger men hesitated before speaking. "Couple of Medeans were hanging around last week. They don't usually come down here, but Jonas had words with one of them. Don't know what it was about."
Kim's pen scratched against the paper. "Do you remember what they looked like?"
"Just one," the young man said. "Tall, maybe early thirties. Had a scar over his eyebrow. Didn't catch a name."
Kim nodded, committing the details to memory. He thanked them and moved on. Near the shipping office, he found a pair of Alben dock supervisors taking a smoke break. Their crisp uniforms and wary stares told him they weren't eager to talk.
"You guys see anything the night Jonas was killed?" Kim asked.
One of them, a wiry man with thinning blonde hair, scoffed. "You think we're out here watching? We keep to ourselves. Don't want trouble."
Kim exhaled through his nose. "I'm not looking for trouble. Just information."
The second supervisor, an older man with a thick mustache, shrugged. "Look, we heard shouting that night. Something near Warehouse 6. By the time anyone checked, Jonas was already dead."
Warehouse 6. A direction. Kim thanked them and continued. His final stop was a lone Medean man sitting on the edge of the pier, flicking a cigarette into the water. He barely looked up as Kim approached.
"You don't look like you work here," Kim observed.
The man smirked. "Don't need to. Just passing through."
Kim crouched beside him. "Jonas Ngoni. You hear what happened?"
The Medean's eyes flickered, something unreadable in them. "Everybody's heard. But hearing ain't seeing."
Kim studied him. "You wouldn't happen to know a tall guy, scar over his eyebrow, would you?"
The man exhaled smoke, lips curling. "Lot of guys have scars. Dangerous city."
Kim held his gaze for a long moment before standing. "If you remember anything, let me know." He handed over his card, knowing full well it might end up in the river.
The man twirled it between his fingers before tucking it into his pocket. "Good luck, officer."
Kim turned away, heading toward Warehouse 6. After Kim Taehyung had everything what he needed. The testimonies, the descriptions, the half-truths wrapped in silence—he had gathered them all, piecing together the shape of something larger than a simple murder. Jonas Ngoni wasn't just a victim. He was a warning.
He long walk back to the precinct. By the time he pushed open the precinct doors, exhaustion clung to his bones, but his mind remained sharp.
Sergeant Lee was exactly where he expected her to be—behind her desk, glasses perched low on her nose, a cigarette smoldering in the ashtray beside her. She barely glanced up when he dropped the report onto her desk. "Progress," he said.
Lee exhaled slowly, picking up the papers with reluctant fingers. She scanned them with the practiced eye of someone who had seen too many of these reports, each one blending into the next. Tap, tap, tap.
Her nails drummed against the paper. A bad sign. Kim folded his arms, waiting. Finally, she sighed, setting the report down like it physically weighed on her. "You really don't know when to stop, do you?"
Kim's jaw tightened. "I'm just following leads."
"No, you're digging." Her voice was flat, but there was something else underneath—something close to regret. "And you should know by now, some things are meant to stay buried."
Kim felt a chill creep up his spine. "Jonas Ngoni was murdered. I have a witness placing a Medean suspect at the scene. I have a location. I have enough to—"
"Enough to do what?" Lee cut in sharply. She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. "To close the case? To fix this?" She scoffed, shaking her head. "You think you're the first cop to try?"
Kim stayed silent. Lee studied him for a long moment, then sighed, rubbing a hand over her face. When she spoke again, her voice was quieter. "You're walking into something bigger than a single body in a dockyard."
Kim didn't flinch. "Then tell me what I'm walking into."
Lee exhaled, tapping the report again. Tap, tap, tap. "You want the truth?" Her eyes met his, dark and knowing. "The kind of truth that gets people killed?"
Then, after what felt like too long, Lee pushed the report back toward him. "You have one last chance," she murmured, voice barely above a whisper. "Walk away."