"Why him?"

Three days earlier, San had been given the name.

"Jung Wooyoung."

The man sitting opposite him pushed a thin black folder across the table.

San didn't touch it immediately.

"Why him?"

"You don't need to know."

San looked at the folder.

He had been in rooms like this before.

Rooms without windows.

Rooms where people spoke about murder the way accountants discussed invoices.

There was always a table.

Usually two chairs.

Sometimes three.

Never four.

Four suggested trust.

Trust was dangerous.

He opened the folder.

The first photograph showed Wooyoung walking down a street.

Blonde hair.

Black coat.

Coffee in one hand.

Phone in the other.

He looked annoyed.

San stared at the photograph for slightly longer than necessary.

"Problem?"

"No."

"Then memorize him."

San flipped through the photographs.

Wooyoung at a restaurant.

Wooyoung leaving an apartment.

Wooyoung talking to an older man.

Wooyoung sitting in a park.

Wooyoung smiling.

Wooyoung asleep in the back seat of a car.

San paused.

"What's the deadline?"

"Forty-eight hours."

"Reason?"

"You don't need one."

San closed the folder.

"Understood."

The man leaned back.

"There's one more thing."

San waited.

"No witnesses."

San gave a small nod.

There was no hesitation.

There never was.

Until there was.