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The precinct's breakroom was as drab as ever—stark white walls, cold flickering lights, and the faint stench of burned coffee grounds that refused to be scrubbed away. Vienna tipped her chair back on two legs, her fingers wrapped around a chipped mug of sludge that someone dared to call coffee.

Across the table, Yoongi slouched in his seat, holding his own mug as if it personally offended him. Asra perched on the edge of the desk like a bird, sipping something the color of pond scum with alarming enthusiasm.

Yoongi stared at her drink, his expression equal parts revulsion and fascination. "Do I even want to know what that is?"

"Pickle juice," Asra said breezily, as if that explained everything.

Yoongi blinked, then shoved his mug a little further away, as if proximity to Asra's concoction might contaminate it. "You've got issues."

"Don't knock it till you try it," she replied, grinning as she set the jar down with a clink. Her grin faded as she grabbed her notebook, flipping it open with a flick of her wrist. "Anyway, Woods. Hoseok's got a preliminary time of death. Based on decomposition and skin maceration, he puts it somewhere between 14 and 20 days before we fished him out of the river."

Vienna let the chair legs drop back to the floor. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and tapped the calendar app. "So, August 18th to the 24th."

"Right," Asra mused, tapping her pen against the notebook. "But you all saw Woods' ledger—he got a payment from your girl Michele on August 21st. Meaning he was still alive then." She flipped the notebook shut and tossed it onto the desk, where it landed with a slap that echoed through the room.

Yoongi leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his frown deepening. "So, best guess? He was killed sometime between the 21st and the 24th."

"The window lines up with when Michele went missing. Just before, or right after," Asra murmured.

They fell into a silence, the kind that felt like it belonged more in a funeral parlor than a precinct. Vienna stared into her coffee, watching the thin film of oil swirl across the surface. "I still don't get why the hell Michele was paying him. What kind of surveillance did she need? Did she catch something fishy with Jin's campaign?"

Yoongi tilted his head, staring down at his coffee as if it held the answers. "If it was campaign-related, why pay out of her own pocket? What if she had him watching her husband? Maybe she thought he was cheating."

Asra bit at her nails, her face tight with concentration. "Could it have been for blackmail?"

Vienna shook her head. "Doesn't fit. Everyone says she was kind to a fault. Blackmail's calculated. Michele doesn't strike me as a schemer."

Yoongi leaned back, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "We're assuming the murders are connected, but the MO's completely different. Michele was assaulted, tortured, and strangled—textbook sexually driven unsub. Woods, on the other hand, was shot in the back of the head. Execution-style. That's cold. Efficient."

"Detached," Vienna nodded, her gaze dropping to the scarred table between them. "Not personal."

"Exactly." Asra's pen stilled. "If it's the same case, it's not the same killer. Could be a team of two."

Vienna's expression darkened. "That doesn't track either. Teams like that usually have a clear power dynamic—the dominant partner calling the shots. This feels... disjointed. No synergy."

"Or they're working toward completely different goals and just happen to cross paths here. But that's even more far-fetched," Asra added quietly.

The room fell silent again, save for the hum of the ancient vending machine in the corner. Vienna checked her watch and stood, setting her mug down with a dull thud. "I've got to go. Dinner with my father."

Yoongi gave a dry snort. "Have fun getting grilled."

"Beats drinking this sludge," she shot back, tugging her jacket on and heading for the door.

The drive gave her too much time to think. Vienna's hands tightened on the steering wheel, her knuckles white against the leather as she watched her Mustang eat away at the dark highway. The case was a mess—nothing added up, and she hated loose ends more than she hated precinct coffee. And now, there was Jungkook.

Hate to admit it, but Yoongi's right. Recruiting him could be the breakthrough we need.

Jungkook had connections—insight into the criminal underworld that no badge would ever grant her. But he was also a loose cannon: unpredictable and volatile.

Trusting him is like holding a lit match over a stick of dynamite.

Her childhood home loomed in the distance, its iron gates standing like a rusted sentinel, barely visible through the overgrown hedges that choked the driveway. Vienna exhaled slowly, pushing the thoughts of Jungkook and the case out of her mind.

Tonight, I am a dutiful daughter. Tomorrow, I'll deal with the mess.

The Mustang grumbled to a halt in the driveway, spitting a low growl before falling silent. Vienna sat there a moment longer, her hands still on the steering wheel. Rain hung heavy, fat clouds blotting the sky. Her chest tightened—not quite a fist, more like an old bruise—but she shoved the feeling aside. Vienna had learned to focus on the things that mattered—like the warm glow of the porch light and the faint smell of her dad's cooking wafting through the open window. She'd gotten good at that.

She stepped out into the cooling evening, yanking her jacket from the passenger seat. The screen door squeaked open, and her dad skipped onto the porch, a dishrag slung over his shoulder.

"There you are!" he called, a grin breaking across his face. "I was starting to think the rain would beat you here."

Vienna smiled, shoving her keys into her pocket as she climbed the steps. "It's not even raining yet." She glanced at the sky.

He shrugged. "Give it five minutes."

He pulled her into a quick hug, the kind that didn't linger. The dishrag now dangled from his hand, and she had to dodge it to avoid getting smacked in the face.

"C'mon, get in here," he said, already retreating toward the kitchen. "I made too much food."

She followed him inside, where the warmth hit her first—garlic and soy sauce, and something sweet she couldn't place. The house felt smaller than she remembered, but maybe that was just her. The little things hadn't changed: the radio perched on the windowsill, still set to the same station, its tinny tune scratching through the speakers; the pile of mail stacked on the counter, half of it probably junk.

"You hungry?" he asked, already stirring something on the stove.

"Depends. What'd you make?"

"Meatballs," he said. "Kind of."

"Kind of?"

"They fell apart. So now it's, uh, meat... sauce." Her dad smirked, tossing her a glance over his shoulder. "Still tastes good."

She leaned against the counter, crossing her arms. "You ever think about following a recipe?"

He snorted. "Where's the fun in that?"

Vienna let the quiet fill the space between them as he fussed with the food. There was something soothing about watching him work: the way his hands moved, deliberate and efficient, while his mind was probably two steps ahead, thinking about seasoning or plating or whatever came next.

The table was set by the time they sat down—two plates, mismatched forks, and a pile of napkins he'd folded into some unholy shape that might've been an animal. She didn't ask.

"So," he said, spearing a chunk of meat with his fork. "What's eating you?"

Vienna blinked at him, her own fork hovering midair. "What makes you think something's eating me?"

"You're twitchy," he replied, waving his hand vaguely in her direction. "More than usual. Spill."

"There's... this situation at work," she admitted finally, picking at the corner of her napkin. "The captain wants me to work with someone I don't trust. A guy who's all too happy to play both sides of the law."

Her dad raised an eyebrow, chewing thoughtfully. "What's his deal?"

"He's cocky, unpredictable, and too smart for his own good."

"Ah," he pointed his fork at her. "One of those."

"Yeah," Vienna muttered, pushing her food around her plate. "And of course, he's charming enough to make everyone else think he's a goddamn gift."

Her dad shrugged. "Maybe he is. Maybe he's just wrapping it wrong."

She frowned at him. "That's terrible."

"Yeah, well, I'm not the one with a mysterious guy ruining my life."

She let out a small laugh, the tension in her shoulders easing just a little.

Leave it to dad to boil everything down to the simplest truth.

"Well," he said, leaning forward, "you've always been good at figuring people out. Trust yourself, Vie. If you think he's lying, call him on it. If you think he's being straight with you, maybe... give him a chance."

She frowned, turning his words over in her mind.

Trust yourself. It sounds simple—too simple. But maybe he's right.

"I'll think about it," she muttered finally, pushing her plate aside.

He gave her a small smile, the kind that always made her feel like a kid again. "That's all I can ask."

They cleared the table together after dinner, and Vienna caught herself watching him again: the way he rinsed the plates with one hand while wiping down the counter with the other, a constant flurry of motion that somehow never felt rushed. She wondered if he even noticed he was doing it.

"You know," he said suddenly, setting the dishrag aside, "I've been thinking about something."

"Uh-oh," she chuckled.

He ignored her. "I never really said it before, but... I'm sorry. For what you had to deal with after your mother left. You and Kang. I wasn't around enough, and I should've been."

Vienna froze, the words sweeping through her like a sudden gust. She'd spent years building walls, and here he was, tearing them down with a few simple sentences. Apologies weren't his style, and she wasn't sure what to do with the raw sincerity in her dad's voice.

"That wasn't on you," she said, her voice sharper than she intended. "It was her. She left. You stayed."

"Yeah, but—"

"No buts," she assured firmly. "You did the best you could. She didn't. That's the difference."

He stared at her for a moment, then nodded, his shoulders sinking just a little. "Thanks, kiddo."

Vienna rolled her eyes, shoving him lightly with her elbow. "Now stop being weird and help me with the dishes."

He laughed, the sound warm and familiar, and she let herself relax. The air between them felt lighter, as if they'd finally let go of something they'd been carrying too long. For once, she let the moment sit, unguarded. The walls could wait until tomorrow.

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A/n:
And this ends day 3 in the story.
Who's eager to finally see
Vienna and Jungkook
work together to solve the case?

I wish all my delulus
happy holidays!
✨🎄💜
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