「 ⩩ 𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐇 Vienna, amidst the bullying at school, crosses paths with a charmingly mysterious thug who swiftly becomes her protector. They both become each other's comfort despite being polar opposites, discovering in each other the hope a...
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⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ˳༄꠶ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯
↳ currently playing ;; [Bills ] - [Enhypen]
Vienna sat in the interrogation room, her body slumped but her expression unreadable. The dim light cast shadows across her pale face, and her eyes, heavy with fatigue, stared blankly ahead.
Every question, every accusation hurled at her, she deflected with quiet precision, her voice steady and composed, as if she had rehearsed this moment a thousand times.
"Where were you the night Hana disappeared?"
"Do you know why the suspect did this?"
Each inquiry was met with calm denials.
"No," she would answer, her tone neutral, eyes unblinking. "I don't know anything."
The officers circled her like vultures, their voices growing sharper with each failed attempt to break her. But Vienna remained unshaken, her exhaustion hidden beneath a veneer of practiced calm.
They pushed harder, searching for a crack in her facade, but Vienna had learned to build walls no one could breach.
Inside, though, her heart raced with fear and uncertainty. The weight of it all pressed down on her chest, suffocating her, but she couldn't let them see that. Not now. Not ever.
Placing the tip of the pen at the bottom of the transcript, Vienna hesitated for a moment before beginning to ink her signature. Each stroke felt heavier than the last, as though the weight of her choices had transferred into the pen.
Vienna she wrote, and the irony of her name stung—Vienna, brave like the city, yet she felt anything but brave.
She stared at her signature, the name that once felt like hers now foreign, distant. The longer she gazed at the word "Vienna," the more it morphed into something unfamiliar, as if it didn't belong to her at all. The letters blurred together, shapeless, meaningless.
In that moment, the person she thought she was felt further away than ever.
In the other cold, sterile room, Ni-ki sat with a blank expression, his eyes dull as the interrogation dragged on. His silence had initially been unsettling, but now he was answering every question thrown his way without hesitation, as if resigned to his fate.
The police had already found key pieces of evidence—his burned yellow raincoat and a bloodstained shirt. But the murder weapon was still missing.
