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A/n
This chapter contains descriptions of a dead body, mentions of sexual assault,
abuse and torture.
Reader discretion is advised.

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September, 7
Thursday

The city morgue always smelled like rot dressed up in bleach. No matter how many scrub-downs it got, death clung to the walls like a bad habit.

Vienna stood by the wall, arms folded, a steel cabinet digging into her spine. Yoongi's footsteps drummed a relentless beat against the tiled floor. Thud. Thud. Thud.

"What time did he say he'd be done with the autopsy?" His raspy voice disturbed the stillness.

"By 9." Her eyes stayed locked on the toe of her boot.

Yoongi glanced at his watch and tutted. "It's already 9:27. If the dead can wait, so can we, I guess."

Hoseok didn't look up from the body. Scalpel in hand, focus pin-sharp. His gloves were streaked with something dark and unspeakable. "You want this done fast, or you want it done right?"

"You could've told us to show up later," Yoongi snapped, arms crossed.

Hoseok grumbled. "Maybe, Detective Min, you should grab a coffee. Your pacing is getting on my nerves, and you don't want me distracted."

Vienna clocked the tension curling between them. Hoseok was meticulous. Yoongi, allergic to standing still. Oil and vinegar.

"Come on," she muttered, tugging Yoongi's sleeve just enough to make a point. "Let the man work. I could use a coffee and some fresh air."

Yoongi huffed but, with a grudging nod, followed her out. "Fine."

Outside, the air hinted at a day that would bake the city alive, the morning sun drenching everything in a sappy, golden light. Vienna squinted against it. Her skin still felt refrigerated.

Yoongi handed her a cup from the cart outside. She took a sip—latte, no sugar. Warm enough to thaw something in her chest.

For a moment, she let herself feel it. The quiet. The simplicity of sun on her shoulders, foam on her tongue.

"You wanna explain those scratches?" Yoongi's voice barged into her thoughts, his eyes narrowing at the marks on her cheek.

"Jeff..." Vienna began, her voice trailing off as last night's events replayed vividly in her mind.

"That bastard! What did he pull this time?" He shifted his cup to his left hand, like the right was suddenly itching for a fight.

"He showed up at my place last night. Wouldn't take 'no' for an answer," she replied. Tone even. Feelings raw.

"You should've called me. I've been itching to break his face."

Vienna let the silence hang for a second too long. She wasn't in the mood to be anyone's victim, even if she appreciated the backup.

"I handled it."

Yoongi shook his head with a chuckle. "Yeah, I can see that. Hang tight, I've got some cream for those cuts in my car."

Vienna watched him leave with a faint smile.

Overprotective pain in the ass. The kind you'd take a bullet for.

She thought about Yoongi's wife—Jisoo. Sweet, mouthy. After Jeff first spiraled Vienna had spent more nights at the Min house than her own. Ji cooked like she was feeding an army. Family didn't always share blood. Sometimes they just showed up and stayed.

She glanced at her watch: 9:46. The day was barely underway, but the heat was already beginning to press in. She shrugged off her blazer, stretching her legs in a rare moment of quiet.

Yoongi returned with a tube of cream and a raised brow. "Catch."

Thanks. You always come prepared."

"Yoona's endlessly getting into scrapes," he chuckled, his gaze softening. "It's a family trait, I suppose."

Vienna laughed softly, dabbing the ointment on. It stung. "Must be."

"You really need to stop letting that asshole orbit your life."

"I don't let him. He just keeps showing up like mold."

Yoongi watched the traffic for a beat, jaw set. "Next time, you call me. No points for going solo, Vie."

She didn't answer right away. Just nodded, eyes tracing a crack in the pavement.

Yoongi checked his watch and stood. "Should be done by now. Ready to head back in?"

"Yeah, let's go."

Re-entering the morgue felt like peeling off a layer of skin—exposing nerves you didn't want touched. Outside, the heat was slowly cooking the city, but in here, the air was brisk, almost too brisk.

Vienna stepped through first. Her boots echoed faintly. Yoongi followed, dragging the hospital scent of antiseptic into his lungs. Hoseok stood at the center of the room like some unwilling priest—gloved, pale, and visibly weary.

He didn't greet them. Just nodded once and kept wiping his hands on a towel. "She's ready."

That was it. No preamble. No pleasantries.

Vienna approached the table, keeping her eyes level until the last second. Michele's body lay still under the harsh glare. Bruised skin. Collapsed mouth.

Yoongi shifted beside her, not saying a word. For once.

"The cause of death was asphyxiation," Hoseok began, voice flat. "Smothered. Likely with a pillow or something soft. You can see the bruising around the nasal bridge and upper lip."

"Was she sexually assaulted?" Vienna asked, voice taut.

Hoseok's jaw tensed. He gave a small nod. "Yes. Repeatedly. The injuries vary in healing. Whoever had her... didn't stop."

Yoongi exhaled through his nose, a low hiss of breath like a tire slowly deflating. He took a half-step back, arms folded, one hand creeping up to scratch at his temple. "Any trace evidence?"

"No. She was scrubbed with bleach," Hoseok replied. "Head to toe. Internally, too."

"God," Yoongi muttered, rubbing his eyes now.

"No semen. No hairs. Nothing under her nails."

Vienna's gaze wandered—scanning the body. Her stomach pressed against her spine. She didn't dare to speak.

Yoongi gestured to the odd pattern along the ribcage. "What about the brand?"

Hoseok's eyes followed the gesture. "There are two types of those: done with hot or cold iron. This one? High heat branding. Damage goes deep into the skin tissue."

"Postmortem?" Yoongi asked.

"No. She was alive. There are signs of healing, so it was done early on. Probably the first few days in captivity."

Vienna looked down at it, eyes narrowing. The shape wasn't quite a flower, but close—something stylized, warped, wrong. "What kind of flower does it look like to you?"

"I'm not a botanist," Hoseok muttered, already opening his notepad. "But I sketched it. You might get further with someone who studies that kind of thing."

He handed her the page. A crude outline of petals and curling lines. It felt personal. Too specific to be random.

Yoongi stepped away. "Toxicology?"

"Still processing," ME replied. "I'll call when I have it."

"Thanks, Hoseok," Vienna said softly. "We appreciate your help."

Hoseok nodded. "Take care. This one's a rough ride."

Outside, the sun had crawled higher. The heat lay over the city like wet canvas—draped, heavy, hard to breathe through.

This case... It just keeps getting uglier.

They walked to the car in silence for a while. Yoongi finally cracked it. "The branding—what the hell does that mean to someone?"

She didn't answer right away. Her head was a hive of ugly images. "Ownership," she said finally. "Or maybe a way to force their dominance onto her. Like they wanted to leave a calling card burned into her skin."

"That's not just sadism. That's ritual."

Vienna nodded. She couldn't unsee Michele's wrists, the way the ligature marks had faded to a dusky red. The little hints of restraint. "Two weeks. Someone kept her alive that long just to... break her."

Yoongi's hand tightened on the door handle, knuckles pale. "People like that don't stop. They don't get bored. They escalate."

She didn't reply. She couldn't. The acid in her gut was threatening to crawl up her throat.

"You holding up alright?" he asked, softening just a tad.

Vienna looked away. "No. But I'm functional. That's the goal, right?"

He grunted, unlocking the car. "You ever stop being clinical, I'll worry."

She laughed, brittle. "Thanks for the concern, partner."

"Anytime."

Inside the car, it was marginally cooler. The engine kicked in with a shudder, and Yoongi draped one arm over the wheel. "We still seeing that campaign manager?"

Vienna stared ahead, expression unreadable. "Yeah. Might be the first thread that actually unravels."

"Great," Yoongi muttered. "Let's go tug on it."

Vienna nodded and shut her eyes.

At the precinct, they were greeted by Anna Kensington. Seokjin's campaign manager looked like she'd been printed on glossy cardstock and laminated. Tailored navy suit, porcelain makeup, every strand of hair ironed into submission. But her eyes betrayed the act—rimmed red, like she hadn't slept or had tried too hard to look like she had.

Vienna greeted her, extending a hand with a nod. "Appreciate you coming in."

Anna's fingers were ice-cold but steady. "Of course. Anything I can do to help."

She sat, crossing her legs at the ankle like someone raised on etiquette manuals. Her hands found the edge of the chair, then tapped a slow, silent rhythm against her thigh.

Yoongi leaned back in his seat, elbows loose on the armrests, voice casual but firm. "What exactly was Michele's role in the campaign?"

"She managed most of the public events—talking points, speeches, seating charts, audio tests, green rooms," Anna said, lifting her chin. "Last night's debate venue? That was all her. She coordinated with Patrick Yang's team to make sure everything was in place. Nothing happened unless Michele signed off on it."

Vienna watched her fingers—tapping, pausing, tapping again. "Did you notice anything odd about her recently?"

Anna hesitated, eyes flitting briefly to the ceiling like she was searching for the right version of the truth. "She was jumpy. More distracted than usual. She took a lot of phone calls. Not like her. She usually hated interruptions."

"She ever say who was calling?" Yoongi asked, casual tone still in play, but his shoulders had gone tense.

"No names," Anna replied, twisting the edge of her blazer between her fingers. "But the calls always left her shaken. One time she went outside for air and didn't come back for almost half an hour. When she did, she looked like she'd been crying."

No affection in her tone. No warmth. Just observation.

Vienna shifted, angling herself slightly. "You get the sense it was personal? Or something related to the campaign?"

Anna gave a shallow shrug. "Hard to tell. Michele never let work and life bleed into each other. She kept things neat. But this... it felt like someone had kicked a leg out from under her."

"Thanks for your time," Vienna said, rising. "If anything else comes to mind, you know how to reach us."

Anna stood, smoothing her skirt. "I hope you find out who did this. Michele deserved better."

She left without looking back. Vienna turned to her partner. "Those personal calls must be the ones from the unknown number we found."

Yoongi leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. "I'll get in touch with the mobile company and see what I can find out. I'll also check with our tech team."

Vienna didn't answer. Her throat had gone tight, her mouth sour.

When Yoongi moved off, she stood there a moment longer, letting the silence close around her. The fluorescent lights above made everything look bleached and dry. Her limbs felt leaden. She turned toward her desk, but her legs had another idea—carrying her down the hall, fast.

The bathroom door barely closed behind her before she lurched toward the sink.

Her stomach emptied in sharp, bitter waves. Coffee, croissant, nerves—it all came up in a burning mess that hit the porcelain with a wet slap. She braced herself on the sink with shaking hands, knuckles white.

God, pull it together.

Vienna coughed once, wiped her mouth on her sleeve, then turned the faucet and splashed water on her face. It didn't help. Her skin felt raw. She forced herself upright, blinking the water away.

Breathe. Just breathe.

By the time Vienna stepped out, her hair was damp, her shirt rumpled, but her eyes were dry. She felt steadier. Not better. And not for long.

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A/n:
This was a heavy one, I know.
We'll take a lighter tone
in the next chapter🥹

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