The late afternoon sun filtered softly through the open windows, painting golden streaks across the room where Aera sat, bundled up in far too many blankets despite being perfectly capable of standing on her own now. The others were relentless—Sable, Daon, and even Justitia, all treating her like she might crumble at the slightest gust of wind.

And she was getting sick of it.

The sound of soft footsteps echoed behind her, calm but purposeful. She didn't even need to turn to know who it was.

"Sable," she muttered, half-annoyed, half-amused. "If you're here to bring me more tea, I swear—"

"It's not about tea."

Aera blinked, the unexpected seriousness in his voice cutting through her irritation. She turned fully, her teasing remark dying as she took in his expression—calm as always, but his eyes sharper than usual.

He hesitated, then spoke carefully. "You should know... Justitia lost her powers."

Aera's breath caught. "What?"

"Bael took them. She can't summon her blade anymore. She's... mortal now."

The words hung in the air like frost, cold and heavy.

"She didn't want you to worry," Sable added, softer this time.

Aera's pulse pounded louder in her ears. Of course she didn't want her to worry—Justitia had always been like that, carrying the weight of the world without asking for help. But this? This was too much.

"Where is she?" Aera demanded, already pushing the blankets off her lap.

Sable stepped back, giving her space but watching closely in case she wobbled.

"She's out in the garden," he murmured.

"Avoiding everyone."

The garden was quiet. The late blooms wilted slightly in the cool breeze, the scent of damp earth lingering after the morning rain.

Justitia stood near the old stone fountain, her back to Aera, arms crossed tightly. Her long coat drifted slightly with the wind, but she remained still, gazing out at nothing.

Aera's steps slowed, the anger she'd carried from the room dimming into something gentler as she approached. She looks so... tired.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Justitia didn't flinch, but Aera saw her shoulders stiffen.

"I didn't think it was important."

Aera scoffed, stepping closer. "Not important? You—" She swallowed, struggling to keep her voice steady.

"You lost your powers, and you thought that wasn't important? How can you—"

Justitia turned, and the weariness in her face hit Aera like a punch to the chest. Her once-vibrant eyes, the ones that had commanded armies of the damned, were duller now, hollowed.

"I did what I had to," she said, voice tight but calm.

"You were hurt. I couldn't—"

"Don't." Aera's voice cracked.

"Don't make this about me." Justitia blinked, caught off guard.

"This isn't just about me, unnie. You gave up everything—your strength, your powers, your identity—and you didn't even tell me? Were you just planning to fight Bael powerless?"

Justitia looked away, her jaw tightening.

"Answer me!"

Silence.

Then, finally, Justitia whispered, "What would you have me do? Let him take you instead?"

Aera felt her heart clench.

"That's not the point." Her voice softened. "You're acting like losing your powers makes you weak. It doesn't. You're still—"

"I'm nothing now."

The words were a whisper, but they cut deeper than any wound.

Aera shook her head fiercely.

"No, you're not. You're my sister. You've always protected me—not because of your blade, but because of you. The person who held me when I was scared. The person who—" Her voice broke, but she forced the words out.

"—who gave up everything to keep me safe."

Justitia's lips parted, her carefully built walls cracking.

"Aera, I—"

Suddenly, Aera grabbed her hand, holding it tightly despite the way Justitia's fingers trembled.

"I'm not a child anymore. You don't have to bear everything alone." Her voice steadied, even as her eyes shimmered.

"And you're not nothing. You're my sister. That will never change." For a moment, there was nothing but the wind between them.

And then, Justitia crumbled.

Her head bowed, eyes closing as the tension in her shoulders melted away. A single tear slipped down her cheek, but she didn't pull away when Aera wrapped her arms around her.

They stayed like that—just two sisters, holding each other through the weight of everything unsaid.

Later that evening, back inside, Aera found herself back on the couch, and much to her dismay, the whole glass doll treatment was back.

Daon sat across from her, arms crossed, watching her like a hawk as Sable brought another bowl of healing broth.

"Are you two seriously doing this again?" Aera grumbled, gesturing at the excessive blankets and the cup of herbal tea on the side table.

Sable raised a brow. "You were bleeding out two days ago. Humor us."

Daon remained silent, but his gaze never wavered, sharp and intent. It made her fidget under the weight of it.

"Daon," she muttered. "Stop staring at me like I'm about to explode."

He blinked, leaning back with a rare smirk. "I'm not staring."

"Yes, you are."

"I'm just... making sure you don't trip over your own stubbornness again."

Aera shot him a glare. "I'll be fine."

Daon leaned in slightly, voice dropping teasingly. "Would you really be fine? Because last time I checked, you passed out in my arms and nearly gave me a heart attack."

Heat flooded her face. "T-That's—!"

Sable cleared his throat loudly, smirking as he stepped back. "I'll leave you two to... sort out whatever this is."

Aera opened her mouth to argue, but Daon's gaze softened, his teasing fading into something quieter, more genuine.

"I'm glad you're okay," he murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

Aera swallowed hard, her heart doing an embarrassingly obvious flip. And just like that, the teasing shifted. The weight of everything they had been through lingered—but for the first time in a long time, it felt a little lighter.

The Assemblyman's estate was suffocating, as always. Its luxury did nothing to ease the tension coiling in Bitna's chest. Chandeliers cast pools of golden light across the polished floors, but beneath all the glamour, the place felt... rotten.

She had been here many times before. Played this game. Perfected the act of a poised guest, smiling politely as politics simmered beneath every word exchanged.

But today was different.

Today, she was done playing the game.

The Assemblyman sat in his usual chair, a seat of power, swirling his tea with the same calculated calm he wore on his face. Bitna mirrored his elegance as she took her seat opposite him, back straight, hands delicately folded in her lap. Yet, the words she was about to speak were anything but delicate.

"I've reconsidered," she began softly, watching him carefully. "You were right. I should marry into the family after all."

The faintest flicker of triumph passed through his cold eyes, his thin lips curving upward—until she added, voice sharp as glass:

"I want to marry Seonho. Not Taegyu."

Silence.

Jaegeol nearly spat his tea across the room. A burst of laughter erupted from him, genuine and loud, echoing far too harshly for the tension suddenly present in the space.

"Seonho? Not Taegyu?" Jaegeol wheezed, clutching his side.

"Oh, Bitna, this is rich!"

Bitna didn't flinch, though inside, her pulse raced. The reaction was exactly what she had anticipated. She turned her gaze back to the Assemblyman, whose expression had shifted—guarded now, curious. Calculating.

Seonho, standing near the window, said nothing. But Bitna saw it. The slight tightening of his jaw. The tension in his shoulders.

She had struck a nerve.

"I'm serious," she continued, tilting her head with a saccharine smile.

"Seonho is... far more interesting than I gave him credit for. Don't you agree, sir?"

The Assemblyman's fingers tapped the porcelain cup softly.

"Interesting indeed."

But Bitna wasn't just choosing him on a whim. She'd seen the cracks in the perfect façade. Seonho had secrets. And she intended to find out exactly what he was hiding.

Later that evening, while Taegyu and Jaegeol were away golfing, Bitna found herself wandering the estate's grand halls.

The excuse? Searching for the bathroom.

The truth? She was waiting for an opportunity.

And it came when she saw Seonho slip out from a room—one she hadn't noticed before.

The door, slightly ajar. His face composed, as usual, but there was tension in the way he locked it behind him.

She counted the seconds.

Five. Ten. Fifteen.

When the coast was clear, Bitna retraced her steps.

The door led to the study, but something felt... off. Her eyes swept the room, sharp and methodical. The mahogany shelves, the endless rows of neatly arranged books.

And then she saw it.

A faint groove in the wood paneling beside the bookshelf.

Hidden.

With a slow, steady breath, she pressed her hand against it.

Click.

The hidden door eased open. Cold air rushed out, chilling her skin.

Inside was a smaller, dimly lit space—bare except for a single framed photograph on the wall.

Bitna blinked. It wasn't just a photograph.

It felt... wrong.

The cityscape in the image seemed to shift under the low light, shadows dancing unnaturally. Her fingers brushed the edge of the frame—and suddenly, the picture shifted, revealing a concealed vault.

A latch.

Should she open it?

The logical part of her whispered to walk away. This wasn't her fight. But the burning question what is Seonho hiding? was louder.

The latch clicked open.

Cold mist billowed out.

Bitna staggered back, her breath catching as she took in the contents.

Containers. Frost-covered. Meticulously labeled. Body parts.

And resting at the center, an axe.

Stained dark, despite the freezing temperatures.

The scent was faint, but unmistakable.

Blood.

Her stomach turned, but Bitna clenched her fists, forcing herself to stay composed. This wasn't just a political game anymore.

This was something far, far worse.

Elsewhere—

The rain poured heavily outside the church, a relentless storm matching the ache in Myeongsook's chest.

She knelt before the altar, hands trembling as she gripped her rosary so tightly the beads pressed into her skin.

The candles flickered weakly, their flames dancing in rhythm with her unsteady breathing.

"Why?" she whispered, voice raw.

"I prayed. I begged for salvation—for peace. And yet he returns?"

The image of her son's lifeless body haunted her, as vivid as if it had happened yesterday. And the man who took him...

Serial Killer J.

After twenty years, the nightmares had returned.

A sob wrenched from her throat, echoing through the empty church. "I wanted to forgive. I tried to forgive. But how do you forgive a man who still breathes?"

The sound of rain echoed louder.

And then—

A figure appeared at the entrance.

Bitna.

She rushed forward just as Myeongsook collapsed, catching the older woman before she could hit the stone floor.

"Mrs. Choi!" Bitna's voice was sharp, filled with genuine concern. Rain dampened her hair, but she didn't care. She held the broken woman tightly, shielding her from the cold draft sweeping through the open doors.

Later, in Myeongsook's modest home, the rain still whispered against the windows. The older woman sat on the couch, a cup of untouched tea trembling in her hands.

Bitna sat across from her, watching. Waiting.

Until—

"I saw him."

Bitna leaned forward. "Who?"

Myeongsook's voice was barely above a whisper. "The man who killed my son. After the murder... he was holding a white rose."

Bitna's heart skipped.

"I—I tried to fight him. But he escaped." Her voice cracked, tears brimming in her weary eyes. "For years, I thought... maybe if I forgave him, I could heal. But now? I can't. I won't. Not when he's out there. Not when he's tormenting me again."

She looked Bitna dead in the eye.

"Help me find him. Make him pay."

Bitna's jaw tightened.

She thought of the vault. The body parts. The blood. And Seonho.

A cold knot settled in her stomach. Because if her suspicions were right...

The killer Myeongsook feared wasn't just back.

He had never left.

Did you feel it too? That something here isn't what it seems. Vote if your gut screamed.