The Party That Killed || Hyunlix

66 🕸️

3rd person pov.
The evening was cold, and the air was heavy with moisture, signaling an approaching rain. Seungmin sat on the steps in front of the house, staring at the empty street. His hands were clasped together, his gaze wandering into the distance as if searching for answers that were just out of reach. The chill of the evening felt oddly soothing, a stark contrast to the storm still raging in his mind.

The door behind him creaked softly, but Seungmin didn’t flinch. Moments later, Jeongin joined him, sitting down with a can of soda in hand. He held it out to his friend, speaking in a gentle tone:
“Here, drink this. It’ll help a little.”

Seungmin raised his eyes, weary and distant, to meet Jeongin’s. Without a word, he took the drink and opened it, but for a moment, all he did was roll it between his hands, as if unsure of what to do with it.

“How are you feeling?” Jeongin asked, tilting his head back to look at the darkening sky.

Seungmin stayed silent, his gaze fixed on his hands, as if debating whether it was worth speaking at all.

He sighed and closed his eyes. “I don’t know,” he admitted after a pause. “All of this… it feels unreal.”

Jeongin nodded as though he understood, even though Seungmin’s words felt more like they were directed at the empty street than at him. They sat in silence for a while, letting the sounds of the evening fill the space between them. A gentle breeze rustled the branches of a nearby tree, and somewhere in the distance, a dog barked faintly.

“It’s hard to believe Chan was really involved in all this…” Seungmin’s voice was almost a whisper. “And the others… they were all dragged into it. Maybe it wasn’t their fault, but what if they really… didn’t know what they were doing?”

Jeongin looked at him, frowning slightly. He was trying to stay calm, even as the weight of the situation pressed on them both.

“Seungmin… I get that this is all hard for you. But you know we have to see this through. We can’t stop now, no matter how tough it gets. We know what’s going on, and now we have to act.”

Seungmin met Jeongin’s eyes, something akin to relief flickering in his own. Maybe it was the knowledge that he wasn’t alone in this.

“You’re right. We have to do this,” Seungmin said, taking a deep breath as he tried to steady himself.

For a moment, neither spoke, both silently acknowledging that there was no turning back now. What they had started, they had to finish.

“What we saw…” Jeongin began, but his voice trailed off, as if unsure how to continue.

Seungmin lifted the can to his lips and took a sip before replying:
“…It’s something you can’t erase from memory.”

In the dim twilight, a police car pulled up, its lights flashing against the calm neighborhood backdrop. It stopped in front of the house, and both doors opened simultaneously. Two officers stepped out: one older, more authoritative, and the other younger, slightly hesitant. They approached the door, holding documents in their hands. Seungmin stood in the doorway, watching them uncertainly, as though debating whether he wanted to hear what came next.

The senior officer studied him for a moment before speaking with a formal tone:
“Good evening, Mr. Seungmin? We have a few questions about Jungmin. May we have a moment to talk?”

Jeongin glanced at Seungmin, noticing the tension beginning to build within him. Before Seungmin could respond, the officer added:
“We’d like to come inside. There’s some information we need to discuss.”

≈🎃≈

Seungmin pov.
I’m sitting silently now, watching the police sift through the recordings. My heart pounds in my chest, and my mind keeps replaying the words I spoke moments ago, trying to explain everything to the officers.

Jeongin and I decided to show them the flash drive containing the recordings. It was our last chance to convince them we weren’t lying. I explained that Jungmin knew Chan because they had worked together. I knew how it sounded, but they had to believe it. If they didn’t, everything we’d done would have been for nothing.

Pause. The memory of that moment is still vivid. Jungmin and Chan weren’t just colleagues. I felt there was something more between them, but I couldn’t tell if it was just professional or if they’d become friends over time. But one thing was clear—it all started with that cursed cult.

Silence again. I stare at the monitor, watching as one of the officers freezes the footage and looks directly at me. I’m sure he doesn’t believe what I’m saying, but I have no other choice but to keep repeating it. We wanted them to believe in the connection between Chan and Jungmin because without that, we had nothing to prove our case wasn’t just a coincidence.

The room is stiflingly quiet, broken only by the hum of the computer and the faint sound of files being scrolled through. The tension is palpable as the recording nears its end. Everyone watches the screen intently, analyzing every second of footage.

Then, finally, one of the officers speaks, breaking the oppressive silence:
“We’ve got something. Take a look at this.”

All eyes turn to the monitor, where the video is paused on a significant frame. The officers begin taking notes, the rustling of papers sounding like the prelude to an inevitable storm.

“This is Jungmin’s recording, right?” they ask, though the answer is obvious.

“Yes,” I confirm softly.

“What about these symbols?” one officer asks, pointing at unfamiliar markings visible in the footage.

I can’t explain them, so I just recount what happened before the recording.

“They were tied to a cult, and these recordings… they show how Chan became more dangerous over time. Jungmin was a victim long before Chan targeted anyone else.”

The officers exchange glances, their expressions unreadable. One of them finally speaks again:
“Maybe we need to look more closely at the place where this cult operated. These symbols… they might be the key to understanding how this all began.”

His words send a shiver down my spine. If they’re right, uncovering the truth might come at a cost we’re not ready to pay.