That night I had a dream.

  In that dream, the world looked big to me. The trees looked higher than they seem, objects looked bigger than what I remember them to look like, and people were much taller than I remember them to be. Although I could see these people, their faces were blank.

  I sat on the bench of my old school, surrounded by children smiling as they were getting picked up by their parents. I shifted around on my bench, waiting for someone to come.

  But they never came.

  I stood up, took my school bag, and walked outside my school gate by myself.

  The road outside my school stretched endlessly through the streets of Guangzhou, shadowed by tall buildings and neon signs flickering in the early evening light. I clutched my school bag, feeling small as I walked alone through the bustling, yet somehow distant, city.

  As I walked farther, the crowds began to thin. I reached a narrow alley lined with old, crumbling buildings, paint peeling from the walls. The smell of roasted chestnuts and street food filled the air, but there was no warmth in it. I could hear the laughter of children in the distance, echoing from somewhere I couldn’t see.

  The familiar Canton Tower loomed in the distance, glowing against the twilight sky. I remembered staring up at it as a kid, feeling awed by its height, feeling like it was a part of my city—my world. But now, even that felt far away, distant and unreachable.

  I kept walking, my footsteps echoing on the empty streets. The city’s hum softened, replaced by silence that pressed down on me. I approached an old apartment building, its worn fa?ade marked with faded posters and chalk drawings from long ago. Each step up the stairwell felt heavier, the silence amplifying the creak of the old wood beneath me.

  I stopped in front of my family’s apartment door. My hand hovered over the handle, hesitation holding me in place. A familiar ache welled up.

  For some reason, I don’t want to open this door. I’m scared.

  I drew my hand back and turned away, descending the stairs and stepping into the cool night air. The city felt vast, unwelcoming, each shadow deepening the emptiness I felt. I wandered through streets where families gathered around tables, sharing meals and stories. Couples whispered under the glow of streetlights, their laughter ringing out like a song I could no longer hear.

  But no one saw me. No one called my name. This feels nothing different than being dead.

  I walked until the buildings gave way to an open road, the lights of the city fading behind me. Darkness stretched ahead, endless and silent. The world blurred, unraveling at the edges as if it could no longer hold its form. I felt myself falling, my chest tightening as the last remnants of Guangzhou slipped away into the void—

  —I woke to the sharp sound of my phone ringing, the cold, artificial light of my room in QED casting harsh shadows. The ache in my chest lingered, a hollow reminder of something I forgot, just out of reach.

  I squinted at the screen. Callum’s name flashed as the call came through. I took a deep breath and answered, the echoes of the dream still whispering in my mind.

  I took a deep breath and answered the call. “Hello?” My voice came out raspy, still tangled in the remnants of the dream.

  “Xiao Li,” Callum’s voice was calm but carried an edge of urgency. “I’m sorry to wake you. I know it’s late.”

  “It’s fine,” I muttered, sitting up and rubbing my eyes. “What’s going on?”

  “We’ve got another case,” he said, a brief pause adding weight to his next words. “It’s related to a plane crash. Details are still coming in, but it looks serious.”

  A shiver ran down my spine. The heaviness from the dream hadn’t left me, and now it coiled tighter, a mix of dread and anticipation settling in my chest. Plane crashes weren’t just tragedies—they were chaos, a web of overlapping stories and lives abruptly altered.

  “When do we start?” I asked, trying to steady my voice.

  “Now,” Callum replied. “Meet me in the lobby in fifteen minutes. We’re going to work on this as a group, so Sasaki and Seo-Jun will be there too, along with other reapers.”

  I exhaled slowly. The mention of my teammates and other reapers brought a sense of relief, but the weight of this tragedy was grounding me in the present.

  “Understood,” I said.

  The line went dead, and I sat for a moment in the silence of my room, the weight of the dream and the new case pressing down like an unwelcome echo. I stood up, reaching for my suit, my mind already shifting from the haunting images of Guangzhou to the task at hand.

  The hallway outside my room was dim, illuminated only by the soft, sterile glow of a hotel. My footsteps were quiet as I walked, the silence of the corridor amplifying the distant hum of voices and hurried movements coming from the lobby.

  As I approached, the energy in the room grew palpable. Other reapers were already gathering, their faces a mix of grim determination and quiet resolve. Sasaki stood near the entrance, her usual cheerful demeanor replaced by a somber expression, though she gave me a small nod as our eyes met. Seo-Jun was next to her, arms folded and posture tense, his eyes scanning the room like he was already calculating what needed to be done.

  “Xiao Li.” Callum’s voice pulled my attention. He was in the center of the lobby, a tablet in his hand showing a flurry of incoming data. His hair was slightly disheveled, and his eyes, usually calm, were sharper tonight. “Glad you’re here.”

  “What do we know so far?” I asked, moving closer as Sasaki and Seo-Jun joined us.

  “Flight 672,” Callum said, glancing at the screen. “An international flight from the United States to the United Kingdom. It lost contact about an hour ago and crashed somewhere over the North Atlantic, just off the coast of Newfoundland. There were over a hundred souls on board, and we’re tasked with guiding as many as we can tonight.”

  A ripple of murmurs spread through the reapers assembled, a few exchanging looks of silent acknowledgment. Plane crashes were among the most chaotic cases. The sheer number of souls, the shock, the confusion—it all made our work more complex.

  Sasaki’s eyes were wide, her usual bright demeanor subdued. “Do we know if anyone survived?” she asked softly.

  Callum shook his head. “Not yet. Our first priority is to manage the souls caught between those still tethered and unable to move on. We’ll split into teams for better coverage. Stay alert—these situations can change rapidly.”

  Seo-Jun gave a small nod, his expression stoic. “Understood.”

  I tightened my grip on my phone, the cold ache in my chest still echoing from my dream. But there was no time to dwell on it. We had work to do.

  “Let’s get moving,” Callum said, looking around at the team. “Everyone, be prepared. This will be a long night.”

  We gathered near the entrance, the tension in the air palpable. The reapers around me moved with purpose, each preparing for the task ahead. I adjusted the cuffs of my suit, trying to shake off the weight of the dream that had been lingering in my mind. But there was no time for that now. We were about to dive into the chaos of the crash site, and that required all my focus.

  “Teams are ready,” Callum said, his voice steady. “Sasaki, Seo-Jun, you’ll head north to handle the souls closest to the crash site. I’ll take the central area. Xiao Li, you’re with me.”

  I nodded, following him without a word, my footsteps light against the polished floor of the lobby. This was still only my second case, but I had learned quickly that the weight of each one would always be heavy, no matter how familiar we became with it.

  We made our way through the main lobby of QED, passing by other reapers who were preparing for their assignments. The air felt thick, each reaper caught in their own thoughts. We moved with purpose, the sound of our footsteps reverberating through the large space as we headed toward the elevator bank.

  Callum pressed the button, and we waited in silence. Sasaki and Seo-Jun caught up with us just as the elevator doors slid open. They nodded toward me, their faces a mixture of determination and quiet focus. Sasaki’s usual cheerful energy was tempered by the gravity of the situation, and Seo-Jun remained his usual stoic self.

  Once we all stepped inside, the doors closed, and the soft hum of the elevator filled the small space. I glanced at Callum, who was already scanning the details on his tablet, checking the latest updates.

  “Are you all up for this?” he asked, not looking up.

  “Of course we are.” Seo-Jun said as he also brought out his tablet, scanning the screen.

  Sasaki looks at me with concern. “This must be hard…you’ve only been here for less than a day and this happened…are you okay with doing this Xiao Li? You don’t have to join if you want to.

  “Yeah, but I want to help you guys too.” I replied, trying to steady my breathing. “We’ll make it through.”

  The elevator descended, and the faint vibrations of the building began to shift, taking us closer to our destination. The world outside the elevator blurred, and I couldn’t help but feel the weight of everything pressing down. This was it: the moment we had to act, to guide souls that had no idea where they were or how they’d gotten there.

  When the elevator doors opened, we stepped out into a completely different environment. The familiar, sterile air of QED was replaced by the salty scent of the ocean breeze, the hum of distant waves crashing on the rocks. We were now in a building near the coast of Newfoundland, where the crash had taken place. The building was stark and modern, but it still felt out of place amid the natural surroundings, as though it had been dropped here by some higher force.

  Sasaki and Seo-Jun stepped out behind us, their expressions serious. We were all in this together now, and there was no turning back.

  “The crash site is just ahead,” Callum said, as he led the way out of the building, his voice commanding but calm. “Stay focused. We’ll divide up once we reach the area. There are more souls out there than we can handle alone.”

  As we walked toward the coast, the reality of the situation hit me. The sounds of the ocean mixed with the quiet, eerie hum of the area around us.

  Once we reached the edge of the building, the scene opened up before us: a vast, rocky coastline, with wreckage scattered across the landscape. The once bright sky had darkened, and the distant crash site was already bathed in an unsettling glow, like an unnatural flame in the darkness.

  As we stepped further into the wreckage, the heavy silence was broken by murmurs and cries from the souls, flickering like shadows caught between this world and the next. It was a haunting sight—each soul carried an air of confusion, grappling with the realization that they were no longer among the living.

  A man stood by the remnants of the plane, his form wavering as though caught in an invisible breeze. Though his expression was blank, his eyes landed on the lifeless bodies nearby—a woman and a small girl, their forms still and silent. A deep, inexplicable pang filled his chest as he looked at them, a feeling more powerful than any memory.

  “That’s… that’s them, isn’t it?” His voice was raw, a whisper that cut through the air. He couldn’t recall the details, the names or moments, but the feeling of family, of belonging, was unmistakable. He reached out with a trembling hand, and to his surprise, his fingers brushed the little girl’s hair. She looked up, eyes wide, and reached for him in return.

  “Daddy?” she whispered, her small voice carrying a mix of confusion and relief. She wrapped her arms around him, and he could feel her warmth, as real as if they were still alive. Tears filled his eyes as he hugged her close.

  The woman’s spirit moved forward, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears as she laid her hand on his arm. “We’re here,” she said, her voice breaking, though it was steady with the strength of love that had survived beyond death. She looked into his eyes, and he could feel her, just as tangible as before.

  Callum’s gaze softened, showing a rare glimpse of compassion. “You remember them, even if you don’t understand how,” he said quietly. “That bond stays with you, even now.”

  The man nodded shakily, looking from his wife to the little girl, who smiled as though she, too, felt that familiar pull of family. It was enough. It had to be.

  Reapers moved among the souls, guiding them gently and explaining what would come next. Some souls hesitated, glancing back at the wreckage, at the remnants of their lives, before accepting the truth.

  “Where do we go?” the man asked, holding his wife and daughter close. The question lingered in the air, answered by the subtle hum of energy around us—the pull toward something greater.

  I gestured toward the path that led back to the elevator, the same one we had emerged from minutes ago. “It’s time to move on. When you’re ready, follow us.”

  The souls gathered, families holding tightly to one another as they took tentative steps forward. The young girl squeezed her father’s hand, her eyes full of trust as they moved together as a family, guided by an unseen current, toward the waiting elevator.

  The elevator doors opened with a soft chime, and the souls entered, their forms bathed in a gentle, ethereal glow. The father turned back one last time, his expression not of regret, but of peace and acceptance. The doors closed, and the light faded, leaving us with the whispers of what once was, and the silence of what came next.

  Sasaki stood beside me, her eyes reflecting the solemnity of the moment. Seo-Jun approached, nodding silently as if to signal that our work here was nearly done. Callum exhaled, a hint of tension easing from his posture.

  “We’re ready for the next step, I guess…” I said, my voice steady. We would guide them, as we always did, in the moments that defined their path forward.

  But as soon as we were about to leave, I found an anomaly. This crash— it’s not normal.

  Callum’s eyes scanned the crowd, and before he could speak so that everyone could leave, I stepped forward. My attention zeroed in on the two pilots, who stood apart from the other souls with blank, puzzled expressions. They wore the remnants of their uniforms, the fabric torn and stained, eyes lost as if struggling to remember what they couldn’t.

  I approached them cautiously, my voice steady. “Wait a second— you two were the pilots of this flight, right?”

  The taller pilot blinked, confusion settling deeper into his features. “I… I think so,” he muttered, glancing at the insignia on his shoulder as if seeing it for the first time. “I remember boarding, adjusting the instruments, but everything after that is gone.”

  The second pilot, a younger man with dark hair and anxious eyes, shifted uncomfortably. “We were in the cockpit, then… nothing. Just darkness and noise.”

  I exchanged a look with Callum. The blank spots in their memories aligned with what we’d seen before—trauma wiping away the final moments before death. But there had to be something.

  “Think back to the moments before everything went dark,” I pressed, my tone taking on an edge. “Was there anything unusual—anyone who didn’t belong or anything that felt off?”

  The younger pilot frowned, his brows knitting together as if searching through a dense fog. “There was… a noise,” he said finally, voice strained. “Metal on metal, like someone forcing open a latch.”

  The taller pilot’s eyes widened slightly. “The cockpit door,” he said, realizing dawning. “Someone tried to break in, but we couldn’t see who. After that, everything is blank.”

  Sasaki stepped up beside me, nodding thoughtfully. “It’s not much, but it’s a lead. If someone forced their way into the cockpit, it could explain the signs of a struggle.”

  I glanced back at Callum. “We should inspect the cockpit and look for anything out of place—tools, signs of forced entry. It’s possible the attacker didn’t leave immediately after.”

  Callum’s jaw tightened as he took in the pilots’ fragmented memories. “Agreed. Whatever happened, we’re starting to piece it together. We need to find out who was behind this and why.”

  We stood in the dim glow of the crash site, the wind cutting through the silence with a ghostly wail. Shadows of souls moved around us, some clinging to their last moments of confusion and fear. Others were frozen in the daze of half-formed memories, glancing around as though trying to find pieces of themselves in the wreckage.

  “Where do we even start?” Sasaki whispered, her eyes wide as they swept over the lost souls. Each one carried a story, a fragment of what happened, but which one held the piece we needed?

  Seo-Jun’s jaw was set in a tight line. “We have to stay methodical. Look for inconsistencies. Someone might not even know they’re the cause.”

  “If the culprit is here but unaware, we need to focus on those who seem more detached from the memories of the crash. Any strange behavior could be our clue.”

  We began moving among the souls, watching their movements, listening to snatches of conversations. I scanned the group carefully, looking for anyone whose confusion was different—less grief-stricken and more detached, more like a puzzle missing its centerpiece.

  A man stood apart, frowning as he touched his chest as though searching for something. His eyes met mine, empty of recognition. He flinched, a slight step back as if my gaze pried too deeply.

  “Hello sir. What’s your name?” I asked softly, approaching him. His hands stilled, and his mouth opened, but no words came out. A shiver passed through me. He couldn’t remember.

  “I… don’t know,” he said, his voice ragged, eyes darting around like he was trying to anchor himself to something familiar.

  Sasaki, now by my side, whispered, “He seems disconnected, almost too lost compared to the others.”

  I nodded. The wind picked up, and the faint sound of metal clinking drew my attention. The man’s hand was pressed tightly against the inside of his coat, where something metallic poked out, catching the pale glow of nearby wreckage. His hands and coat were smeared by blood, but judging by how the blood splattered across his coat, the blood was probably not his.

  “What’s that in your coat?” I asked, keeping my voice calm but pointed.

  His eyes went wide, darting between me, the object, and Callum, who had stepped closer. “I don’t know. It was there when I... woke up.” He reached in with trembling fingers and pulled out a small, jagged piece of metal—similar to the one we found in the cockpit. Recognition flickered across his face, then vanished like smoke.

  Seo-Jun’s voice cut in, low and thoughtful. “The sabotage must have happened before the crash, but the one responsible might not even know they did it. If trauma wiped their memory, they could be here, haunted by guilt they don’t understand.”

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  The man looked down at the metal shard, his expression hollowing. “I don’t know why I have this,” he whispered, eyes beginning to water. “It’s like waking up from a nightmare you can’t remember, but it still feels so real.”

  I stepped forward, my mind spinning through possibilities. “Maybe you were involved, or maybe you were trying to stop it. Either way, we need to find out.”

  The man’s silence was the only response, but the anguish in his eyes spoke volumes. The shard of metal in his hand glinted in the dim light, which was probably a murder weapon, but my instincts screamed that something wasn’t adding up, that he was carrying guilt but not the true burden of a culprit.

  A red herring perhaps? This is too obvious.

  I glanced at the wreckage around us. Pieces of the plane were scattered across the rocky coast, some jagged edges painted with the shadows of broken memories. The cockpit door lay twisted not far from where we stood, its hinges torn and bent. The detail pulled at my thoughts—the sheer force needed to break through suggested determination, but also desperation.

  Sasaki stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on the man’s arm. “So? Do you remember your name now?” she asked softly, her eyes searching his face for any trace of who he once was.

  He hesitated, eyes flickering with recognition that slipped away as quickly as it came. He looked down and realized he was wearing a uniform. A security guard uniform, although it was torn and tattered. “Jin,” he finally muttered. “I was on the flight as a security officer. I think- I tried to open the cockpit door…but I don’t even remember if I succeeded or not.”

  A security officer. The pieces shifted again in my mind. Someone meant to protect, not attack. I exchanged a quick glance with Seo-Jun, whose brows were furrowed in contemplation. Callum’s expression remained guarded, but I could see that he, too, was processing this new information.

  “Jin, you said you were trying to open the door,” I began, my voice steady, probing for details. “Why? Did you know who was inside?”

  Jin’s hand tightened around the shard, knuckles paling. He stared at the ground, eyes distant. “I didn’t see them,” he whispered, frustration and pain lacing his tone. “I just knew… something was wrong. There was shouting from inside the cockpit. It was chaos.”

  His mannerisms were tense but deliberate, more defensive than deceitful. He glanced around at the other souls, his eyes resting on a small, broken piece of the pilot’s seat. The way his gaze softened, an unconscious tilt of his head, told me more than his words: this man had acted out of duty, not malice.

  As we stood there, a distant, broken radio crackle interrupted the silence, its voice lost to static and the wind. I shifted my focus, catching sight of another part of the wreckage—a shattered passenger seat that had been yanked free from its bolts. Something about its placement, away from the main crash, caught my eye. Jin noticed my gaze and looked back at me, a flicker of recognition in his expression.

  “You’re not the one who forced that door open, Jin,” I said carefully, watching his reaction. He opened his mouth as if to argue, but the words died on his lips. “You tried to stop someone else, didn’t you?”

  The tension in his jaw eased slightly, and a deep sigh escaped him. “I… I think so,” he admitted, his eyes darting nervously. “But who? And why would they try to break in?”

  Seo-Jun scanned the crowd of wandering souls. Each figure moved in confusion, some in shock, some whispering fragments of memories that floated like ghosts in the air. It was impossible to tell who among them held the answer, but something in their movements or mannerisms might give it away. A slight limp, a nervous habit, a touch to their pocket as if searching for something lost…

  “Let’s look around,” Callum said, his tone shifting to the calm authority he carried in moments like this. “There might be something here that holds the memory, even if they don’t realize it themselves.”

  Sasaki nodded, her eyes narrowing as she stepped past Jin, scanning the wreckage for any overlooked clue. I took a deep breath, my mind sharpening like a blade. This wasn’t going to be simple. We’d need to pull at every thread, even the faintest ones, to find the truth hidden among the echoes of their final moments.

  As we stood in the wreckage, the tension thickened. The winds picked up, carrying with them the sounds of distant waves crashing against the shore and the hushed murmurs of souls still trapped in their confusion. We had to act quickly, but we also needed to be methodical. We couldn’t afford to let this tragedy cloud our judgment; we had to focus on the smallest details—the ones that might tell us who or what was behind the crash.

  Callum's voice broke the silence. "Everyone, start questioning the souls. Look for inconsistencies, anything that stands out." His tone was calm, but his eyes were sharp with purpose. He gestured toward the nearest group of souls—some huddled together, still unsure of their surroundings, others lost in a fog of confusion.

  Sasaki and Seo-Jun moved first, dispersing, while I stayed by Callum, keeping an eye on the environment. We all knew this wasn't just another accident. This had to be deliberate—there were too many questions that had no answers, and the gaps in the pilots’ memories were too deliberate, too calculated.

  "Hey, you," Sasaki called out to a soul standing alone near the wreckage, his head tilted as if trying to piece together his surroundings. The man looked lost, his expression distant. "Can you tell us what happened? Do you remember anything strange before the crash?"

  The man’s eyes flickered, but he shook his head. "I... I don’t remember much. It was a normal flight, then... darkness, and now this. I’ve never been here before." His voice trembled, as though something beyond his understanding was weighing on him. Sasaki took a careful step closer, her eyes scanning his features for any trace of recognition, any hint of knowledge he was unwilling to share.

  Meanwhile, Seo-Jun approached another group, his usual stoicism masking the sharpness of his investigation. "You all were on the flight together, right?" he asked, his voice low but direct. "Did anyone seem out of place, acting differently?"

  A woman, pale and shaking, glanced at the others. "No one was strange, at least not at first," she said, her voice quivering. "But... there was one passenger. A man, he kept to himself. He sat at the back, but there was something about him—he wasn’t really... with us, you know? Like he wasn’t even part of the flight."

  "Do you remember what he looked like?" Seo-Jun asked, his eyes narrowing.

  The woman’s gaze drifted towards the wreckage. "Not clearly. I can’t remember much. But he had dark hair... and a scar on his cheek." She clutched her arms tighter, like she was trying to keep herself grounded in the present.

  Seo-Jun nodded silently, processing the information. It wasn't much, but it was a start.

  Callum and I exchanged a look. This wasn’t going to be easy, but it was clear now that we needed to look for anyone who was disconnected from the rest. Anyone whose presence felt like it didn’t belong.

  "Keep looking," Callum murmured, his voice steady. "If there’s someone here who doesn’t belong, we’ll find them."

  Just then, a flicker of movement caught my eye. A shadow moving against the light of the wreckage—a figure that seemed too distant, too detached. I gestured toward it, and Callum followed my gaze. It was a man, standing off to the side, his eyes fixed on the wreckage as though trying to make sense of it all. His gaze didn't seem to focus on anything in particular; it just bounced from one thing to another, almost as if searching for something.

  I moved closer, making sure not to startle him. "Are you okay?" I asked, my voice gentle but probing. "You don’t look like you’re with the others."

  The man turned to face me, but his eyes didn’t quite meet mine. Instead, they hovered just to the side, as though he was avoiding eye contact. "I... I don’t know," he murmured, shaking his head. "I was on the flight, but... I wasn’t with anyone. I didn’t know where I was supposed to be. I don’t know what happened." His voice was shaky, and his expression was blank—familiar, but with something off about it.

  Sasaki, having finished with her earlier conversation, approached cautiously, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. “You’re sure you were on the flight?” she asked. "What do you remember about the passengers? Did anyone seem strange to you?"

  The man hesitated. "I don’t know. I don’t remember... not clearly, anyway. But I saw someone—just before it all went dark. A person—he was standing by the emergency exit, and he was... acting strange. Like he wasn’t supposed to be there. But then everything went black, and... now I’m here."

  “Strange, how?” Sasaki pressed, her voice almost too soft, as though coaxing something deeper out of him.

  He flinched slightly, as though her tone had stirred something buried inside. "He didn’t fit in. He was... fidgeting, looking over his shoulder like he was waiting for someone, but I couldn’t tell who."

  I exchanged a quick glance with Callum. This was starting to sound more like sabotage—someone who had planned for something to happen, but had slipped under the radar until it was too late.

  “Can you remember anything about him?” I asked, narrowing my focus on the man in front of me.

  His gaze shifted, still restless. "I don’t know... I didn’t even realize what was happening until after. Everything just... got so chaotic. I... I don’t know."

  Sasaki and I exchanged another look. It wasn’t much, but we were getting closer to something—a lead, a feeling that there was more to this crash than it seemed. We had to dig deeper, even if the souls didn’t remember what they’d seen.

  I turned back to Callum. "We need to search for any anomalies, things that don’t add up. This wasn’t just an accident. It was orchestrated."

  Callum nodded, his expression grim. "Agreed. Keep asking questions. Someone here knows more than they realize."

  As we moved deeper into the wreckage, the other reapers spread out, continuing their questioning. It was clear that something was wrong with this crash, something that was buried in the memories of the souls and hidden behind their confusion. The more we spoke with the victims, the more the fragments began to form a picture of something far more sinister than an accident.

  We continued our search, moving through the wreckage with careful precision. The man I’d spoken to earlier, the one who seemed disconnected, was still standing there, fidgeting, but now he was joined by another soul, a woman with dark eyes and an unnerving calmness to her.

  Sasaki approached them first. “What do you remember?” she asked, her tone sharper now. It was clear she was starting to get frustrated with the vagueness of their answers.

  The woman glanced at her companion, then back at Sasaki. “It’s all... blurry,” she said, her voice distant. "But... I remember the man. The one by the emergency exit."

  My ears perked up at that. Another witness to the strange man. Sasaki’s gaze hardened as she leaned in, pushing for more details.

  “Did you see where he went after that?” Sasaki asked, her tone demanding. “Anything that could tell us who he was?”

  The woman hesitated, her face pale. "He was... watching something. I don’t know what, but it was like he was waiting for something to happen. Then the lights flickered, and... everything changed." She paused, her expression distant, as if trying to piece together fragments of her memory. “I think I saw him smile right before it all went dark. But I couldn’t tell why.”

  The unsettling thought began to settle in my chest. The man wasn’t just an observer. He was a part of this—he had to be. I glanced back toward the wreckage, but my thoughts were interrupted by Callum, who had circled back toward us.

  “Anything useful?” he asked, his voice clipped, but I could see the same suspicion in his eyes. We all knew now that something wasn't right.

  “More about the guy by the emergency exit,” Sasaki replied, her voice low but determined. “But it’s still vague. We need to look for more info.”

  Callum nodded, but then his eyes shifted to the side, as though something had caught his attention. His brow furrowed in concentration. “Wait a minute,” he muttered. “This doesn’t add up. The culprit was supposed to be in the cockpit. If we are talking about a suspicious person, I might have found someone who fits exactly that.”

  I followed his gaze. There, near the edge of the wreckage, was the shadow of a figure—a tall man, standing at a distance but watching the group. His body language was stiff, his posture off, like he was hiding in plain sight, trying to blend into the chaos without being noticed.

  “Is that him?” I asked, my voice low but urgent.

  Callum’s lips thinned. “It could be. Let’s approach cautiously.”

  We moved toward the figure, our steps deliberate. As we drew closer, the man stiffened, turning just enough to acknowledge our approach without fully looking at us. His face was obscured by the wreckage’s debris, but there was something about the way he held himself that felt... wrong.

  “Hey!” Sasaki called out sharply. "We need to ask you a few questions."

  The man tensed. His hand moved instinctively toward his coat pocket. A hidden weapon? A sign of nervousness? Either way, it made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, his voice too calm, too rehearsed. "I was just looking around... the wreckage. Seeing if anyone needed help."

  “Don’t lie,” Sasaki snapped, stepping closer. “You’re not part of the rescue team, and you weren’t on the flight. Who are you really?”

  The man took a half step back, his eyes darting toward the souls still gathered by the wreckage, and then he looked to the sky. He was searching for something, some escape, some way to slip away unnoticed. But it wasn’t going to work.

  We moved closer, our eyes locked on the man’s every movement. Then, without warning, he spun around, his hand jerking toward his coat pocket in a swift, practiced motion.

  Before anyone could react, a flash of steel glinted in the dim light. The man pulled out a knife, its blade catching the flickering light from the wreckage. He lunged toward Sasaki, his movement fast and deliberate.

  Sasaki barely had time to react, but her instincts kicked in as she sidestepped, narrowly avoiding the strike. The man’s blade slashed the air, missing her by inches. But then he turned, thrusting it back at her with a brutal, calculated motion.

  I didn’t think. I just acted.

  In a split second, I pushed forward, shoving Sasaki aside. The blade buried itself into my side as I intercepted the strike, my hand reaching out to grasp the knife. My fingers wrapped around the cold steel, feeling the heat of the blade sear through my skin. The pain was immediate, sharp, like fire spreading through my veins.

  I gritted my teeth, the blood rushing down my arm as I held onto the knife, locking it in place. The man’s eyes widened, surprised at my sudden intervention, but his grip on the knife tightened. He tried to pull it free, but I wasn’t going to let him.

  With a swift motion, I twisted the blade in my hand, forcing him off balance. The pain from my wound was intense, but I barely registered it. My other hand slammed into his chest, shoving him back with enough force that he stumbled, losing his grip.

  Sasaki took the opportunity to disarm him, kicking the knife out of his hand with brutal precision. The man fell to the ground, gasping for breath, stunned by the sudden turn of events.

  I stood there, the knife still wedged in my hand, the blood soaking into my sleeve. My body was on fire with pain, but there was no time to think about it. Not yet.

  “Move,” I growled, my voice cold and steady despite the blood dripping from my palm. “Tell us everything. Now.”

  The man’s body jerked violently, as if the reality of his death—or whatever had happened to him—finally struck him. His eyes widened, mouth agape, as he let out a guttural scream, one that echoed through the hollow space.

  “I didn’t mean to die!” he yelled, his voice raw with anger and pain. “You think this was an accident, Jin?! You think this was just some freak thing?!”

  The man thrashed, struggling to rise to his knees, his spirit writhing in the air. His rage was like a storm, chaotic and bitter. "It was your fault! All of it!"

  Jin's brow furrowed, his expression confused. He stood frozen, a slight tremor in his hands, clearly lost. "What... what are you talking about?" he asked, his voice shaky, eyes darting between the man and the rest of us. "Who are you?"

  The man’s face twisted with hatred as he fixed his gaze on Jin. "You left me to rot! To be forgotten... while you got to walk away scot-free!" He fumbled, his hands clawing at the air around him, trying to grab something, anything as Sasaki pinned him to the ground. "I hijacked that plane because of you!"

  Jin blinked, still dazed, his voice weak, struggling to understand. "I… hijacked a plane? What? I don’t... I don’t even know who you are—"

  "Of course you don’t remember!" the man screamed, voice shrill, his fury building. “You never cared! Never noticed me until it was too late! You think I’m just some random guy? Huh? Some face you forget?" He shook with frustration, his words sharp, every syllable laced with venom. "You did this to me, Jin! And now you're gonna pretend you don't remember?"

  Jin was visibly shaken now, his face pale. He looked like he was trying to recall something, anything, but nothing came. His hand went to his temple, rubbing as if he could force the memory back, but it didn’t come. “I… don’t remember anything. What is this? What are you talking about?”

  The man’s anger only grew stronger. "That’s exactly what you always did, huh? Wipe everything away like it never mattered. You can’t escape it anymore! I remember everything, Jin, all the lies, the betrayal..." His voice wavered for a moment before turning into a growl. “And now I’m dead, but you still don’t get it. You don’t deserve to forget.”

  Jin stepped back slightly, his confusion deepening, but his eyes were still glued to the man, his voice filled with disbelief. “I... I can’t remember anything about you. I don’t even know who you are! What did I do?”

  The man sneered, the bitterness in his gaze never leaving. "You don’t remember because you don’t care. That’s what this is about, isn’t it?" He sneered at Jin one last time. "You’ve always been good at pretending."

  I could see Jin trying to piece together the fragments of whatever this man was accusing him of. The confusion on his face was palpable, and it only seemed to feed the man’s fury.

  "That’s not how it works," Jin muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "I swear, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I never..."

  I stepped forward, voice calm but sharp, trying to cut through the man’s frenzy. “You’ve got your answers now, right? You’ve had your revenge. What do you want? What are you trying to achieve by doing this?”

  “Stay out of this. I don’t want anything from you anymore, Jin,” he spat, his voice breaking slightly. “You’re not worth it. But you’re never going to forget this. None of you are.”

  The man’s words seemed to hang in the air for a moment, his anger still smoldering. There was a finality in his tone, but it felt hollow—like there was still more he couldn’t let go of, more pain he didn’t know how to express.

  Jin stood there, still lost, his expression haunted by the confusion. “I didn’t do anything to you, I swear…” His words trailed off, as if he was trying to convince himself as much as the man.

  I noticed Jin’s hands shaking now, his eyes wide, still processing everything, while these accusations filled the silence between them. It was clear that the memory gap wasn’t just about forgetting; it was about something deeper, something that neither Jin nor the man could bridge.

  Before the air could thicken with more tension, Seo-Jun stepped forward, his presence commanding. Without waiting for Jin to react, he gently placed a hand on his shoulder, his voice firm but soft. “That’s enough, Jin. We need to go.”

  Jin turned to him, eyes filled with confusion, his voice barely a whisper. “But I— I don’t remember anything! I don’t understand…”

  Seo-Jun gave him a steady, reassuring look. “And that’s exactly why you need to get out of here.” He glanced around at the growing commotion, the remaining reapers and spirits buzzing, as if they knew things were about to escalate further. “It’s too dangerous for you to stay here. You need to come with me.”

  Jin opened his mouth to protest, but Seo-Jun was already guiding him toward the elevator. His grip was gentle but unyielding, pulling him away from the scene. “I’ll handle this. You don’t need to be a part of this right now,” Seo-Jun said, casting a quick glance back at the man, still raging.

  The culprit was finally restrained. He twisted, trying to break free from Sasaki’s grip, but it was futile. Sasaki’s hold was unyielding, her gaze cold and focused. She was done with the talk. Despite her petite stature, I was surprised that she can easily hold a man down like that. The situation was now under control.

  As Sasaki kept the culprit pinned, a new group of reapers appeared. They were different—more official-looking, dressed in sharp uniforms that resembled some kind of police force. Their posture was rigid, their eyes alert, as they swept into the area with authority.

  One of them, a tall reaper with a neatly pressed jacket, approached the scene with a stern expression. “We’ve got this from here,” he said, his voice cool and commanding. “You can go ahead and take him back to QED.”

  Seo-Jun gave a quick nod, guiding Jin into the elevator, but not before exchanging a brief, knowing look with the new reapers. There was a certain efficiency in their movement as they began to secure the area, their role clear—they were the cleanup crew, the enforcers. Their presence felt like a shift, as if this was a matter now of law and order, not just lost souls and forgotten memories.

  Another reaper, slightly shorter but with a sharp-eyed gaze, began questioning the remaining spirits. They were all methodical, asking the right questions in the right way, their presence clearing the area of chaos and bringing a level of control to the madness that had ensued.

  Seo-Jun, now standing next to Jin in the elevator, looked at him one last time, his expression softening for a moment. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you get answers. Just… let’s get you back to QED. It's safer there. Sasaki, come with me, we need to help this guy.”

  “Roger that.”

  I look at Sasaki and Seo-Jun’s retreating figures as they walk towards the building..

  Callum stood frozen, eyes wide with shock. His normally steady demeanor was shattered, replaced by a stunned, almost disbelieving gaze as he took in the scene.

  For a moment, he was rooted to the spot, unable to process what had just happened. The chaotic noise of the fight, the blood dripping from my hand, the man on the ground—everything felt like it was moving too fast for him to catch up.

  I looked at him and sighed from exhaustion. I’m just glad that it's finally over.

  “This guy just proved himself to obviously be the culprit. This case is closed. Let’s go back.”

  Callum’s eyes flicked from me to the knife still lodged in my palm, then back to the man. His shock slowly turned to anger, his jaw tightening as he moved forward, but he still didn’t seem able to form words, his gaze heavy with something I couldn’t quite place.

  "You—" He took a shaky breath, his voice finally finding its strength. "You’re bleeding."

  I could feel the warmth of my own blood seeping down my side, but the pain didn’t seem to matter. I wasn’t going to let myself fall apart—not yet.

  I glanced at him with a dead stare. “I’m fine. We have bigger problems right now.”

  Callum shook his head, clearly torn between concern for me and the urgent need to deal with the situation at hand. His expression softened, the reality of what had just happened slowly sinking in. He was usually the first to leap into action, but this... this was different.

  "Just—just hold on. Let me—" His voice trailed off as he stepped closer, eyes flicking between the man on the ground and me.

  He brought out his handkerchief but hesitated.

  Ah. That’s right. He can’t stand human contact.

  Callum stood there, handkerchief in hand, clearly conflicted. His usual composed nature had crumbled in the face of this chaotic, overwhelming moment. He hesitated, a pained expression flickering across his face as he struggled to figure out how to help without breaking his personal boundaries.

  I saw the hesitation, and I knew what it was—he couldn’t bear the thought of physical contact. The weight of the moment was too much for him to handle.

  Without missing a beat, I carefully reached for the handkerchief, taking it from his hand without making contact. My fingers brushed against his, but I avoided his touch. It wasn’t about me, though. It was about making sure we stayed focused, that we handled things with efficiency even in the face of personal discomfort.

  I wrapped the handkerchief around my palm, my fingers working quickly, the blood staining the fabric. It hurt, but I didn’t let it show. I wasn’t about to break down now.

  "Let’s go," I said flatly, the words clipped as I turned toward the building.

  Callum watched me for a moment, his expression unreadable, before he nodded. His gaze lingered on me, still processing everything that had happened. His anger had faded, replaced by an exhaustion that mirrored my own. He was trying to stay calm, trying to do what needed to be done. But I could see he was shaken, the protective instinct in him battling with the confusion.

  We walked in silence, heading back toward QED.