Hana dragged the chair closer, the metal legs scraping softly against the cold tile floor. She sat down, her eyes meeting his. He watched her every move, his gaze steady and intense. She wondered if he was merely observing her or if there was a hint of caution, perhaps even suspicion, in his eyes.
She returned his gaze with a bold, almost challenging look, her eyes drifting lower to his soft, pink lips, then to his long, slender fingers. Small cuts marked his left hand, tiny slashes that seemed to come from a sharp object. A memory of the leather-bound book he'd been carrying earlier flashed in her mind, and things began to piece together.
Without breaking eye contact, he waved a hand casually and lifted two fingers. "How do you like your coffee?"
"Black, Detective Nathan," she replied.
Nathan turned his head toward the break room, his voice cutting through the low hum of the office. "Two black coffees!" he called out to the young boy inside.
Turning back to Hana, he leaned back in his chair. "This job's usually straightforward for you, Hana. Most cases are simple, but every now and then, there's a complex one—like this."
Moments later, the boy came out with a tray, setting a cup down in front of Hana with a shy smile. He looked young, barely more than a teenager. As he placed the second cup before Nathan, the detective's voice cut in, "Where's Ren?"
The boy hesitated, then replied, "He took another job up in the mountains."
Nathan nodded, his expression unreadable. He reached into the stack of papers on his desk and pulled out three thin folders, handing them to Hana. "These are the missing cases we need your help with."
Hana's eyes narrowed as she accepted the files, her fingers gripping the edges a little too tightly. "I'll do my best," she promised, her voice low but firm.
Nathan nodded again and gestured to the boy. "Take her to the break room. She needs a quiet place to work."
As Hana followed the boy, she felt Nathan's eyes lingering on her, but when she glanced back, she saw he was scanning the room, watching the comings and goings of people around him, including the police chief and a few officers who had just entered.
The break room was small and dimly lit, a narrow beam of sunlight sneaking in through a gap in the thick curtains. A pot of coffee sat on a cabinet beside two comfortable-looking couches. Despite the coziness, Hana felt a chill as she walked in. She took her coffee cup, now half-cold, and took a few sips while opening the first file.
Her brow furrowed as she studied each page, her mind working through every detail. She scribbled notes into a small notebook she pulled from her brown bag.
"Mime Kino, 16 years old," she read softly to herself, "last seen near her school entrance, laughing with friends, on October 12th."
That was over two weeks ago. Hana's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of raised voices from outside the room. She looked up, her attention drawn to Detective Nathan, who was now in a heated argument with two figures—a man and a woman. The woman clung to Nathan's jacket, crying desperately.
Hana blinked, flipping through the pages of the file until she found a photo of Mime Kino. The girl stared into the camera with pale, tired eyes. The same people arguing with Nathan were in the photo, their expressions mirroring the anguish they wore now. They must be her parents.
But something about Mime's expression bothered Hana. It wasn't just sadness or dislike; it was fatigue, a deep, soul-weariness. But from what?
The break room felt suffocating now, the air thick with an uneasy tension Hana couldn't quite place. She stared at the files laid out before her, the same set of words repeating in her mind like a mantra
All the answers came from her parents. It didn't sit right. Mime's expression in that photograph—the blankness in her eyes, the tiredness etched into her young face—spoke of something much darker than teenage rebellion or the typical troubles of growing up.
Hana took another sip of her coffee once more , her eyes drifting to the small window where the curtain danced with a draft. A part of her wanted to ignore her instincts, to chalk it up to something simple. But she knew better. She always trusted her gut, and right now, it was screaming at her to dig deeper.
Gathering the files, she made her way back to Nathan's desk. The detective was still rubbing his temples, a look of frustration marking his face. "Detective," she began, her voice low to avoid drawing the attention of the other officers, "there's something off here."
Nathan looked up, his eyes narrowing. "Go on.".
Hana tapped the files in her hand. "All these statements are too uniform, almost rehearsed. You mentioned everyone gave the same answers, but why? People don't naturally respond in the same way unless they're scared or told to say something specific."
Nathan leaned back, his chair creaking under his weight. He seemed to consider her words carefully. "There is something strange about the neighborhood," he admitted his running thought ."We've had a few whispers about a group—a kind of community support club that's gotten real popular lately. They call themselves 'The Circle of Renewal.' Mostly it's just a bunch of people looking to better their lives, or so they claim. But I've heard some of the officers mention it's got a…cult-like vibe."
Hana felt a chill run down her spine. "And Mime's parents?"
"Very active members," Nathan said, nodding slowly. "Always handing out flyers, organizing events. The works."
Hana's thoughts raced. It made sense. Mime's tiredness, her detachment in the photograph, the synchronized answers—it all pointed toward something deeper and more sinister. She flipped through her notebook, stopping at the page where she had jotted down a name: ' Mrs. Tanaka', a neighbor who lived two houses down from Mime's family. She'd mentioned Mrs. Tanaka had been at every meeting with the Circle. Maybe there was more she knew.
She looked at Nathan. "I need to talk to someone, but I'll need you there."
Nathan nodded, his expression serious. "I figured as much. Let's go."