The Profiler’s Echo

by Winter Waters (mystmae)

Summary:

Gemini Norawit is Bangkok Major Crimes’ behavioral profiler: brilliant, unsettling, and a little too good at seeing the worst in people. Fourth Nattawat is the detective who hates profilers, hates being read, and definitely hates that he’s been saddled with “the department’s pet mind reader” on a new serial case.

When a killer begins suffocating victims and leaving their bodies ritualistically cleaned, Gemini and Fourth are forced into an uneasy partnership—profile versus instinct, theory versus street work, sharp sarcasm versus blunt stubbornness. The more the pattern unfolds, the clearer one thing becomes: the killer isn’t just hunting at random. He’s watching Gemini.

Forced into the field together, they go from trading barbs across evidence boards to watching each other’s backs in alleys, stairwells, and interrogation rooms. Hatred frays into grudging respect, respect into fierce protectiveness, and somewhere between late-night stakeouts and “temporary” couch sleepovers, the line between partners and something more quietly disappears.

Notes:

Listennnn!!! I am still working on Clinical and Chaotic…I just got stuck on this one chapter and my brain was like…here’s this idea instead. You should write it. AND I DID AND I HAVENT SLEPT SINCE NOVEMBER IT SEEMS LIKE. The good news this story is mostly done, all chapters are completed, I just gotta go through and proof and edit them.

I just wanted a grown up dark thriller of GemFot and it exploded on me 🤦🏻‍♀️

Chapter 1: The Alley

Bangkok never really slept, but tonight it felt like it was pretending to.

 

Fourth Nattawat Jirochtikul ducked under the flapping strip of yellow tape, the alley swallowing him in damp heat and the sour mix of river air, rotting food, and motorbike exhaust. Blue-and-red light from the patrol cars stuttered over cracked walls and rusted gates, painting the narrow lane in pulses that made everything look like it was breathing.

 

He tuned out the noise the way he’d learned to—voices, radios, the rattle of a stretcher somewhere behind him—until all that was left was the soft slap of his shoes on wet concrete and the quiet thud of his own heart.

 

The body lay in the center of the alley where the single flickering streetlamp could find it.

 

Female. Mid-twenties, maybe. Dark dress clinging to her like another layer of skin, soaked from the ankle-deep puddle she’d been placed in. Not fallen. Placed.

 

That was the first thing he saw.

 

The second was her hands.

 

They were folded on her chest like a child at a school prayer—right over left, fingers loose instead of locked. Someone had smoothed her hair away from her face. Someone had straightened the hem of her dress so it fell cleanly over her knees.

 

Fourth’s jaw tightened.

 

“Fourth,” Winny called softly.

 

Winny Thanawin Pholcharoenrat was crouched a meter away, camera hanging from his neck, gloves already on. His shirt clung to him in the humidity, dark hair pushed back with a band that had slid half off in the sweat.

 

Fourth moved to his side, careful to stay outside the little graveyard of yellow markers already standing like flags on the slick concrete.

 

“What have we got?” he asked, voice low.

 

Winny swallowed, the click of his throat almost audible. “Shop owner from the front of the alley came to take out trash around midnight, saw her, called it in. No one’s touched her since patrol got here. No obvious defensive wounds, no blood spatter on the walls or ground nearby. ID might be in the bag there.” He jerked his chin toward a small purse placed neatly against the wall. “We were waiting on you before we opened it.”

 

Fourth’s gaze swept the alley. At one end, the glow and roar of the main road; at the other, a dead end sealed by a corrugated metal gate. Trash bins lined one side, a narrow drainage gutter the other. The water around the victim’s shoes was mostly rain and runoff, but there was something deliberate in how she’d been set directly in the circle of light.

 

“Any sign of a struggle? Drag marks?” he asked.

 

“None here,” Winny said. “Pavement’s wet but not scuffed, and there’s no debris stuck on the back of her dress. I don’t think she went down here.”

 

Dumped. Moved after death. Arranged.

 

Fourth sighed through his nose and squatted down just enough to peer more closely without crossing into Winny’s area.

 

Her face was still. Not peaceful—that word didn’t belong here—but there was no contortion of terror or pain. Lips parted slightly, eyes half-open. There was a faint, almost invisible line at the corner of her mouth, like something had pressed there and then been removed.

 

He looked at her hands again. The fingers were pale. Wrinkled, the way skin got when it had been in water too long.

 

“Where’s the ME?” Fourth asked.

 

“On his way,” Winny replied. “Traffic.”

 

Fourth made a noncommittal sound, then stood up, straightening his shoulders as he turned back toward the mouth of the alley.

 

Satang Kittiphop Sereevichayasawat and Santa Pongsapak Oudompoch were just inside the tape, taking statements from the patrol officers and the anxious shop owner who’d found the body. Tay Tawan Vihokratana and Junior Panachai Sriariyarungruang were halfway down the alley, checking doors and rattling rusted gates, flashlights arcing like impatient comets.

 

At the mouth of the alley, under the wash of police lights, Captain Phuwin Tangsakyuen stood with his hands in his pockets, the set of his shoulders saying exactly how bad he expected this to be.

 

Fourth walked toward him, ducking past a uniform who lifted the tape without looking away from the scene.

 

“Captain,” Fourth said.

 

“Nattawat,” Phuwin answered, his eyes still on the body.

 

They stood side by side in silence for a beat, watching Winny take another series of photos, listening to the distant honk of impatient cars on the main road.

 

“Walk me through,” Phuwin said.

 

Fourth did. First call at 00:16. Patrol on scene at 00:22. They cleared the alley, taped it off. No one touched the body or the bag. The shop owner heard no screams, no fighting. No cameras on the alley itself; there might be one out front, but Tay and Junior were still checking.

 

“And you’re thinking?” Phuwin asked quietly.

 

Fourth scratched his jaw, feeling the prickle of stubble under his fingertips. “She didn’t die here,” he said. “No lividity that matches that puddle, no blood pooling underneath. Clothes are wet but not torn, and her hair’s been… fixed.” The word felt wrong, but he couldn’t find a better one.

 

“Fixed how?” Phuwin asked, finally glancing at him.

 

“Smoothed. Arranged.” Fourth exhaled. “If this was a dump-and-run, she’d be crumpled, hair over her face, dress riding up. And her hands—”

 

“Folded,” Phuwin murmured. “Like someone put her to bed.”

 

Fourth nodded once.

 

“You think it’s a domestic?” Phuwin asked. “Boyfriend, husband, someone who knew her?”

 

“That’s the first box I’ll check,” Fourth said. “But…” He hesitated.

 

“But?” Phuwin pressed.

 

“But my gut says this isn’t just grieving idiot staging,” Fourth said. “There’s something… deliberate. Like he wanted us to see her like this.”

 

Phuwin’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “You think we’re looking at something more than one dead woman in an alley.”

 

“I think if I say the word I’m thinking, you’ll tell me not to jump to conclusions,” Fourth said.

 

Phuwin huffed a humorless breath. “You can think ‘serial’ without saying it out loud,” he replied. “At least until we know if she’s got friends missing fingers or enemies with knives.”

 

Fourth’s lips twitched briefly, then flattened again. The traffic noise swelled as another car passed, sending a spray of light over the tape, the uniforms, the alley.

 

Phuwin shifted his weight, then nodded toward the road. “He’s almost here,” he said.

 

Fourth frowned. “Who?”

 

Phuwin tilted his head, the barest hint of a warning in his eyes. “Play nice, Nattawat.”

 

Fourth felt irritation flare between his ribs. “With all due respect, I am nice,” he muttered.

 

Phuwin’s eyebrow went up in silent commentary.

 

A moment later, a sedan rolled to a stop at the curb. The back door opened, and a man stepped out into the wash of light.

 

Plain clothes, not uniform: dark button-up shirt rolled to the forearms, black trousers, ID clipped discreetly to his belt rather than hanging around his neck. No visible sidearm, but everything about the way he moved—the set of his shoulders, the steady but unhurried pace—said training.

 

Gemini Norawit Titicharoenrak ducked under the tape with a quick word to the patrol officer, then walked down the alley, eyes already tracking everything: walls, puddles, exit points, faces.

 

Fourth had seen him in photos and once, briefly, across a crowded briefing room. It was different up close. Even if they were the same age, his features were softer than Fourth’s, but there was nothing soft about his gaze. It was focused, sharp, constantly taking things apart and putting them back together.

 

Profilers. Behavior specialists. Whatever the brass wanted to call them.

 

“Gemini,” Phuwin called out, his tone warming in a way that made something twist in Fourth’s chest. “Over here.”

 

Gemini’s gaze flicked to them. The corner of his mouth moved—too small to call a smile, but not nothing.

 

“Captain,” he said, stopping a step away. His voice was low and even, like he’d ironed every wobble out of it. He nodded once to Phuwin, then glanced at Fourth. “Detective Jirochtikul.”

 

He knows my name.

 

Fourth shoved down the reflexive bristle. “Titicharoenrak,” he replied. “Glad to see you decided to leave the air conditioning.”

 

It came out sharper than he’d meant.

 

Gemini’s expression didn’t shift much, but the faintest shadow crossed his eyes. “I go where I’m assigned,” he said. “And I prefer to see the scene myself.”

 

“Good,” Fourth said. “Try not to step on my markers while you… analyze.”

 

“Nattawat,” Phuwin murmured.

 

“It’s fine,” Gemini said quietly, already lowering his gaze toward the body. “I know the rules.”

 

He moved forward, Winny instinctively stepping back a pace to give him room. Gemini stayed outside the graveyard of yellow markers, pivoting slowly, taking in the angle of the streetlight, the glint of water, the purse by the wall. He didn’t take out a notebook yet. He just… looked.

 

Fourth watched him, unease crawling up his spine.

 

There was something unnerving about someone who could step into a place like this and settle into himself rather than flinch.

 

Gemini stopped about half a meter from the victim, still careful. He crouched down, not as low as Winny, but enough to see her face. He studied her hands, the wrinkle of the fingers, the way the fabric of the dress fell, how the water pooled around her heels.

 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Fourth asked, the words out before he could stop them.

 

Gemini didn’t jerk or startle. He just turned his head slightly to look over his shoulder. Up close, his eyes were stark in the alternating flashes of red and blue—dark irises, tired shadows underneath.

 

“Observing,” he said. “Detective.”

 

“You’re walking through my scene,” Fourth said. “If you’re going to do… whatever you do, I’d prefer you not contaminate the evidence while you do it.”

 

“His shoes are covered,” Winny said quietly, as if trying to defuse something. “I checked.”

 

Gemini glanced down at the disposable boot covers over his shoes, then back at Fourth. “I’ll stay outside the markers,” he said, voice still mild. “And I won’t touch the body. I’ve done this before.”

 

Fourth folded his arms. “Yeah. From a desk.”

 

Something flickered, just for a second, in Gemini’s jaw. “My desk doesn’t have puddles,” he said. “I’d rather it stay that way.”

 

Phuwin stepped in, tone a shade sharper. “Fourth. Enough.”

 

Fourth clicked his tongue against his teeth and looked away, letting the clatter of a distant metal shutter and the murmur of Santa’s questions fill the space where his temper wanted to be.

 

Gemini turned back to the victim. His voice dropped into that half-murmur people used around the dead.

 

“Her hands have been washed,” he said. “See the pruney skin around the fingertips?” He didn’t wait for confirmation. “If she’d been lying in this puddle long enough for that, the back of her dress would be soaked through, and there’d be more grime on her shoulders.”

 

“We figured she was dumped,” Fourth said. “No blood under her.”

 

“Dumped suggests a lack of care,” Gemini replied. “This is careful.”

 

He pointed, not with his finger but with a small tilt of his chin.

 

“Her hair’s been smoothed away from her face,” he continued. “Her dress is straight. And her shoes…” He frowned slightly. “Winny, can you zoom on the soles?”

 

Winny adjusted, clicking rapidly. “Soles are clean,” he reported after a second. “No obvious scratches or pebbles stuck in the treads. No signs she walked here from far away.”

 

“So she was carried or transported,” Gemini said. “Placed here just inside the light.”

 

“I could’ve told you that,” Fourth muttered.

 

“I’m not here to replace your observations,” Gemini said without looking back. “I’m here to… build on them.”

 

Fourth bit the inside of his cheek.

 

“Any sign of bruising on the neck?” Gemini asked.

 

“Can’t tell yet without moving her,” Winny answered. “ME’s not here.”

 

“Traffic,” Fourth said. “He’ll get here when he gets here.”

 

Gemini hummed, a small sound that could’ve meant anything. “We’ll know more after autopsy,” he said. “But from what we can see, there are no obvious defensive wounds on the hands or forearms. No broken nails, no skin under the nails.” He glanced at Winny. “You’ll check for that anyway.”

 

“Already planning to,” Winny replied.

 

“So she either didn’t fight,” Gemini said, “or she was incapacitated before she had the chance. Drugs, unconsciousness, restraints we can’t see yet.” He rocked back on his heels, eyes narrowing.

 

He was quiet for a few seconds. The alley seemed to hold its breath with him.

 

Fourth hated that he felt that.

 

“Unsub is physically capable of moving a full-grown adult,” Gemini said finally. “Not necessarily strong, but practiced. He’s comfortable enough with this environment to take his time—walk in, place her, arrange her, leave. No signs of panic in the staging. No attempt to hide her.”

 

“Unsub?” Fourth repeated. “You’ve decided it’s a ‘he’ now?”

 

Gemini rose to his feet, brushing his hands together out of habit even though they were gloved. “Statistically speaking,” he said, “given the level of control, the lack of overt sexual staging, and the nature of victim handling, a male offender is more likely.”

 

“You gendered him based on a haircut and folded hands,” Fourth said. “Impressive.”

 

“It’s a starting point,” Gemini replied. “Not a conclusion. If you prefer, I can use ‘they’ in my notes until we have more data.”

 

Fourth opened his mouth to retort something sharp about language not being his priority, but the words snagged on the look Gemini gave him then—tired, but not hostile. Just… steady.

 

“It’s not a guess,” Gemini went on, softer. “But it is a hypothesis. Hypotheses change when evidence does. I’m not married to being right.”

 

Fourth shut his mouth.

 

Phuwin stepped forward, nodding toward the purse. “Can you work with Fourth and the team on victimology first?” he asked. “We need to know who she was as fast as possible. Whether she has anyone who’d do this.”

 

“Of course,” Gemini said. “I’ll need whatever Joong and Dunk pull from cameras and phones, too.”

 

“They’re already on it,” Phuwin said.

 

As if on cue, a voice crackled over Phuwin’s radio, Joong’s clipped tones filtering through the static, talking about traffic cams and timestamps. Phuwin lifted it to answer, stepping aside.

 

Gemini turned toward Fourth again. “May I see the bag?” he asked.

 

Fourth motioned to Winny. “Photos first,” he said. “Then we’ll open it together.”

 

Winny nodded and moved to crouch by the purse, camera clicking. Fourth watched Gemini watching the process, the way his gaze tracked each movement, filing details away.

 

“You ever considered saying please?” Fourth asked, almost absently.

 

“I did,” Gemini said. “You looked like you were having a long night.”

 

Fourth blinked, caught off guard for a fraction of a second, then snorted quietly despite himself. “This is a normal night.”

 

“I hope not,” Gemini said, and there was something in his tone that shut the joke down without mocking it.

 

The medical examiner finally arrived, muttering about Sukhumvit traffic as he ducked under the tape. Dr. Somchai stomped down the alley with his equipment, Fourth and Gemini stepped back to give him space.

 

“I’ll do a prelim here,” Somchai said. “Full work-up at the lab.”

 

“Text me your first impressions,” Fourth said.

 

“Text me as well,” Gemini added.

 

Somchai glanced between them and shook his head. “You two are going to be fun,” he grumbled.

 

Fourth caught Phuwin’s eye over Somchai’s shoulder. The captain’s look said behave without needing words.

 

The ID in the bag, when they got to it, belonged to a Chayanisa Thongdee, twenty-four, office worker. Wallet intact. Phone missing.

 

“Not a robbery,” Fourth said.

 

“Not primarily,” Gemini agreed.

 

“Or at all,” Fourth said. “If he wanted the phone, he’d take the wallet too. As a bonus.”

 

“He took the phone because he doesn’t want us to see what’s on it,” Gemini said. “Calls, messages, maybe something he sent her.”

 

“So he knew her?” Satang asked from behind them, having drifted closer once the initial canvassing was done.

 

“Maybe,” Gemini said. “Or he’s inserting himself into the narrative by taking a trophy that keeps her ‘talking’ in his head. Hard to say yet.”

 

“You talk about him like he’s your friend,” Fourth said.

 

Gemini looked at him, really looked, and for a second Fourth wished he hadn’t said it.

 

“He won’t be,” Gemini said simply. “I promise.”

 

The words were flat, but there was an undercurrent there, something darker and older than this alley. Fourth wondered, briefly, who had failed to keep that promise once before.

 

He shoved the thought away.

 

“Alright,” Phuwin said. “Winny, finish up with the scene. Tay, Junior, I’m assigning you two to this case with Fourth and Santa. Double back with the shop owner, check if anyone’s vehicle’s been missing from the area tonight. Santa, Satang, canvas the apartments on both sides, top to bottom. See if anyone heard anything, saw any cars, anything unusual.”

 

“Yes, sir,” came the chorus.

 

“And the profiler?” Fourth added, glancing at Gemini. “What’s his move?”

 

Gemini adjusted the ID in his hands, eyes still on the victim’s photo. In it, Chayanisa smiled at the camera, office lighting flattening her features, name tag crooked on her chest.

 

“I’d like to see where she lived, where she worked, and who she loved,” Gemini said. “Before I start telling you who killed her.”

 

Fourth inhaled slowly. “You don’t want to go back to your office and draw lines on a board first?”

 

“I can draw lines anywhere,” Gemini replied. “I’d rather meet the person behind the file before I start turning her into a list of traits.”

 

Fourth didn’t hae a ready comeback for that.

 

Phuwin sighed, “Traffic cams caught nothing useful yet,” he said. “Either he knows how to avoid them, or he got dropped close by and walked the rest.”

 

“Or he’s walked this path enough to know where the blind spots are,” Gemini said quietly.

 

Fourth didn’t like how that sounded.

 

He watched the way Gemini’s eyes lingered on the alley’s mouth, on the patch of road beyond the tape.

 

“You thinking something?” he asked, because as much as the profiler rubbed him the wrong way, a part of him wanted to hear the answer.

 

Gemini took a breath, exhaled, and looked at him.

 

“I’m thinking,” he said, “that this doesn’t feel like a first draft.”

 

Fourth frowned. “Meaning?”

 

“Meaning this kind of control doesn’t appear out of nowhere,” Gemini said. “Most people’s first kill is messy. Hesitations, overkill, attempts to hide the body even if it’s pointless. They panic and make mistakes they didn’t plan for. This…” He gestured slightly at the woman’s folded hands, the smooth hair, the precise position under the light. “This looks like someone working from a script they’ve already rehearsed.”

 

“You’re saying he’s done this before,” Fourth said.

 

Gemini hesitated. Not long, just long enough for Fourth to catch the subtle war between caution and conviction.

 

“I’m saying,” Gemini replied, “I’d be more surprised if he hasn’t.”

 

Fourth felt the air in his lungs cool.

 

Phuwin’s gaze sharpened, flicking between them. “We don’t have other bodies with this staging on our books,” he said.

 

“Maybe we haven’t found them yet,” Gemini said. “Or maybe they’re not ours.”

 

“The hell does that mean?” Fourth asked.

 

Gemini’s eyes were dark, reflecting the harsh overhead light and the distant flash of sirens.

 

“It means,” he said softly, “that if this is his first scene in Bangkok, we may already be late.”

 

For a moment, the alley felt narrower, the walls leaning in.

 

Fourth looked down at Chayanisa Thongdee, at the careful way someone had arranged her like a message. He looked at the profiler’s tense shoulders, at the way Phuwin’s jaw had clenched.

 

He didn’t want to agree with Gemini Titicharoenrak about anything.

 

He especially didn’t want to agree that one dead woman in an alley might just be the beginning.

 

“Then we’d better make sure we catch up,” Fourth said, his voice low.

 

The city hummed around them, restless and indifferent. Somewhere beyond the tape and the sirens and the whispered questions, a man who liked to pose his dead under streetlights walked the same streets as everyone else.

 

Fourth squared his shoulders, turned to his team, and started giving orders, the profiler’s words echoing in the back of his mind like the first line of a story he didn’t want to read.

 

He had no way of knowing yet just how much that story would demand of them—or how close it would cut to the scars Gemini already carried.

But he knew this much:

 

Whoever had done this thought he was in control.

 

Fourth intended to prove him wrong.

Chapter 2: The File

Notes:

Don't go thinking I'mma post two chapters at a time...I'm just off this weekend and managed to get two chapters poof and edited. I will try to post at least twice a week. I am also still working on Clinical and Chaotic, and to top it off again...I'm working on a gemfot office romance and the sequel to The Profiler's Echo focused mainly on PondPhuwin. This is what happens when i don't take my adhd medication

The fluorescent in the briefing room hummed just a fraction off-key. Gemini Norawit Titcharoenrak sat at the far end of the long table, pen balanced between his fingers, staring at the photo clipped to the front of the slim case file.

 

Chayanisa Thongdee smiled up at him from the page, caught mid-blink by an office camera. Her hair was pinned back in a way that made her ears look a little too big. There was a coffee stain on the lower edge of her name tag. She looked like she’d laughed two seconds after the picture was taken.

 

He tried to hold on to that version of her—the one who didn’t know how the story ended—because he knew, from hard experience, that once he started talking, she would become bullet points and categories in other people’s heads. ‘Female, twenty-four, office worker, no known enemies.’

 

A problem to solve.

 

“Stop staring holes in the paper,” Phuwin said mildly.

 

Gemini blinked and looked up. Phuwin Tangsakyuen stood by the whiteboard at the front of the room, marker in hand, sleeves rolled to his elbows. He’d already written the victim’s name, age, and time of discovery at the top, block letters underlined twice.

 

Fourth sat halfway down the table, flipping a pen between his fingers, jaw working. Santa Pongsapak Udompoch and Satang Kittiphop Sereevichayasawat were beside him, murmuring to each other quietly. Tay Tawan Vihokratana and Junior Panachai Sriariyarungruang were on the other side, back straight, notebooks open. Winny Thanawin Pholcharoenrat and Mark Jiruntanin Trairattanayon sat closer to Gemini, each with their own stack of photos and lab printouts. At the far wall, Joong Archen Aydin and Dunk Natachai Boonprasert leaned against the cabinets, laptops open, cables and coffee cups forming a nest at their feet.

 

This was the core. The team thrown together when murder began to rise, Gemini being the last assigned to the makeshift team.

 

The hum of the air conditioner, the scuff of chair legs, the faint smell of coffee and marker ink. If he ignored the tightness in his chest, it almost felt like any other case. Gemini turned the pen once, twice between his fingers, then set it down. “Just trying to see her,” he said.

 

Fourth flipped a pen between his fingers, then let it fall into his palm. “Photos are fine,” he said, too loud for a room that had been quiet a second before. “They’re not…they’re not the whole person.”

 

Gemini’s gaze slid to him, cool and precise. “They’re the start,” he said. “They’re what we have before the story gets rewritten into bullet points.”

Fourth’s mouth tightened. “Don’t make her a project before we even know the facts,” he snapped. “She’s not a case file first. She’s—”

 

“—a victim,” Gemini finished, voice low. “And victims deserve clarity, Fourth. Not sentiment.” The word came out like a verdict.

 

A few heads turned. Fourth’s fingers dug into the pen until the plastic creaked. “Sentiment doesn’t help us find who did this,” he said. “But neither does turning her into a checklist and calling it empathy.”

 

“Fourth,” Phuwin said in warning.

 

“It’s fine,” Gemini said before his friend could scold. “Detective Jirochtikul isn’t wrong. Photos help.” He tapped the page lightly. “They just don’t show everything.”

 

“What are they showing you so far?” Joong asked, closing his laptop halfway. His tone curious, not skeptical. Gemini appreciated that.

 

“Later,” Phuwin cut in. “Let’s start with what we know outside of Nora—Gemini’s instincts.”

 

Gemini sent Phuwin a sardonic grin, knowing Phuwin was trying to restrain showing familiarity between them, but he let it go. In this room, Phuwin wasn’t the Phi that lived down the street and was at his house more than his own. He was the Captain that called him in to work. It was just hard sometimes to remember the line between childhood friends and the Boss and subordinate they found themselves in at work.

 

“Santa,” Phuwin continued. “Walk us through the victim’s life.”

 

Santa straightened, flipping open his notebook. “Chayanisa Thongdee, twenty-four,” he began. “Born and raised in Nonthaburi, moved into a rented condo in On Nut about a year ago. She worked as an administrative assistant at a logistics company near Phra Khanong. Coworkers describe her as nice, quiet, reliable. She handled scheduling, invoices, and customer calls.”

 

“Any disciplinary issues?” Fourth asked.

 

“None on record,” Santa replied. “No complaints from clients either. Her boss called her a good kid.” He made a face at the wording but didn’t comment on it.

 

“Relationships?” Junior asked.

 

“Single,” Santa said. “No current boyfriend on her social media. Her last tagged boyfriend photo is from two years ago and they broke up amicably, at least publicly. No harassment reports, no restraining orders.”

 

“Family?” Tay put in.

 

“Parents still in Nonthaburi,” Santa supplied. “One older brother working in Chiang Mai. They’re on their way to the city now to identify the body.” 

 

The room shifted around that phrase—the body—everyone’s gaze skittering away for a heartbeat. Winny cleared his throat. “Neighbors?” He asked.

 

Satang picked up, flipping open his own copy of the file. “Before coming in spoke to three on her floor,” he said. “They said she kept to herself, but was friendly, always smiled in the elevator. One neighbor heard her phone alarm every morning at six, heard her leave by six forty-five. No loud arguments, no late-night visitors. No one noticed anything unusual in the forty-eight hours before she turned up dead in the alley.”

 

Gemini made a note on his pad. “So, she was predictable,” he said. “Routine based. Same hours, same routes.”

 

“Most office workers are,” Fourth said.

 

“Most are, yes.” Gemini agreed, mouth ticking in annoyance at the interruption. “That’s what makes them easy to watch. To exploit.” The table quieted down at that phrase and Fourth’s fingers stilled on his pen.

 

“Mark,” Phuwin said, turning towards the other. “Prelim from the lab?”

 

Mark spread out his sheets. His tie was already loosened, a faint coffee ring on the corner of one report. “From the scene,” he began, “Winny collected trace samples from the water and soles of her shoes. Water in the alley is mostly rain and urban runoff, nothing surprising, but there’s a residue on her wrist and hands that looks like diluted detergent. We’ll know more after full analysis, but it supports what Prof—what Profiler Titcharoenrak said last night.”

 

“Gemini.”

 

“Uh…what?” Mark asked, blinking at the interruption.

 

“Gemini. Not Professor, Not Profiler Titcharoenrak. Just Gemini, or Norawit if you want to be formal.” Gemini said dryly ignoring Fourth’s eye roll.

 

“Right. Preliminary reports supports what Gemini said last night. Her hands were likely washed shortly before she was placed there.”

 

“Any foreign fibers?” Dunk asked.

 

“A few textile fibers on the dress that don’t match the fabric,” Mark explained. Could be from wherever she was before she was moved. Nothing obvious yet—no glittering clues like Oh, he owns a red velvet couch. We’re still running comparisons.”

 

“And the body?” Fourth asked, leaning forwards. “Somchai sent his report over yet?”

 

“He did. His immediate observations,” Mark said, tapping another sheet. “No obvious stab or gunshot wounds on the torso or limbs. No external bruising beyond minor marks consistent with everyday life. Preliminary estimate puts time of death between ten and midnight, but we’ll refine that.”

 

“Cause of death?” Phuwin questioned next.

 

“Likely asphyxiation,” Winny jumped in. “There are petechial hemorrhages in the eyes and some bruising around the neck area under the skin, but there was a faint mark and some fibers around her mouth and nose. We’ll confirm once the full autopsy is done, but it’s consistent with manual strangulation.” Silence settled for a moment, heavy. Gemini felt his fingers twitch. He curled them into his palm under the table. He knew what question was coming next, and he hated that it had to be asked.

 

“Any signs of sexual assault?” Phuwin asked, voice carefully neutral.

 

“Nothing obvious externally,” Mark said. “We took all the usual swabs and samples. Results pending. From what we asked Dr. Somchai, there’s nothing to suggest overt sexual staging or assault as the primary motive. No postmortem mutilation, no posing of the…intimate areas.”

 

“The pose is intimate enough,” Winny muttered, then flushed when everyone glanced his way. “Sorry, I just—The way her hands were…it felt like he was putting her on display. Like he wanted—”

 

“Like he wanted us to see that he could do this,” Gemini finished quietly. “And still leave her looking untouched.” The words tasted on his tongue. He reached for his pen again, more to have something in his hand than because he needed to write.

 

Phuwin uncapped the marker and turned to the board. “Alright,” he said. “We have a twenty four year old office worker with no known enemies, a predictable schedule, and no major drama in her life. Taken somewhere we have found yet, strangled, washed, posed in an alley that the unsub either knows well or scouted in advance.”

 

“Stop calling him unsub like we’re in some movie or tv show.” Fourth grouched.

 

“That’s literally the term,” Gemini said before he could stop himself. “Unknown subject. But if it bothers you, what do you think we should call him?”

 

“Call him what he is — a murderer and a coward,” Fourth said, voice low and hard. He met Gemini’s eyes without flinching. “‘Unsub makes him sound like he matters. He doesn’t deserve a name that gives him weight.”

 

“And calling him Unsub doesn’t give him that weight; it reduces him to what he is. An unknown person who thinks he can murder someone for whatever reason thinks gives him the right.” Gemini snapped back. “That’s literally the term,” Gemini continued before he could stop himself. “Unknown subject. But if you want to pick at particulars we can call him the offender.”

 

Fourth shot him a look. “It bothers me that you sound like you’re giving a lecture.”

 

“Nattawat,” Phuwin said again, sharper.

 

Gemini took a slow breath. “I’m not trying to perform,” he said, trying to calm down. He was speaking to Fourth but not quite looking at him. “I’m trying to be precise.”

 

“Try sounding precise and less condescending.” Fourth snapped. “Try being precise without sounding like you’ve done all this in your sleep.”

 

“I don’t sleep much,” Gemini replied, still staring at his notes. “So that might be difficult.”

 

“Norawit.” Phuwin groaned out.

 

The room went quiet around that, the joke shaped sentence that didn’t quite land like one. Across the table, Junior’s mouth twitched. He glanced at Mark, who gave him faint understanding look but didn’t smile.

 

Phuwin’s eyes lingered on Gemini a beat too long. Childhood friend winning over boss for a moment, Gemini thought, and looked away first. “Gem.” Phuwin said, softer. “Your turn.”

 

Gemini nodded, swallowed once, and stood. The chair legs squeaked against the tile. He carried his notepad to the board, feeling the familiar prickle along his skin that meant everyone’s eyes were on him. He’d done this dozens of times. It never got any easier.

 

He clipped a crime scene photo next to Chayanisa’s ID—a top-down shot of the alley, her body under the stark cone of light, hands folded, hair smoothed. “Based on what we know so far,” he began, “this is a preliminary behavioral profile of the offender. Emphasis on preliminary. It will change as new information, new data, comes in.”

 

Fourth snorted quietly. Gemini ignored him.

 

“He is likely male,” Gemini continued. “Late twenties to late thirties. Average physical strength, possibly higher end of average intellect. Average physical strength, maybe a bit more, considering he carried her any distance. Organized. Controlled. The scene shows signs of planning and post offense behavior—washing the victim’s hands, arranging her clothing and hair, choosing a location where she would be easily found.”

 

He pointed to the edge of the photo, where the alley’s mouth opened onto the main road.

 

“He didn’t dump her in a ditch,” Gemini said. “He placed her under a streetlight. Where a passerby would almost certainly notice her. That suggests he wanted her discovered.”

 

“So, he’s proud of it,” Tay broke in.

 

“Proud, or he needs the act to be recognized to feel complete,” Gemini said. “Killers like this sometimes think of themselves as directors. The scene is not just a crime; it’s a message.”

 

“Message to who?” Satang asked, brow furrowing.

 

Gemini’s pen tapped once against his notebook. “To us,” he said. “To whoever would stand over her and try to understand what he did. To whoever would put his work on a board and dissect it.”

 

Fourth’s chair creaked as he shifted. “You’re flattering him.”

 

“I don’t care how he feels,” Gemini said, his voice flat. “I care what he does next. Knowing he wanted recognition helps to predict that.”

 

“If he wants us to see his work,” Joong said slowly, “and the first thing we do is tell the press as little as possible, that might frustrate him.”

 

“Frustrated killers escalate,” Dunk added. “Online, if nothing else.”

 

“Correct,” Gemini agreed. “He may seek other avenues for validation. That could mean increasing the theatricality of the scenes or more bodies. Or it could mean reaching out directly.”

 

“To who?” Fourth asked. “The police?”’

 

“Possibly,” Gemini said. “Possibly to the media. Possibly to people connected to the victim. People who will talk about it.” New’s name flickered across his mind, uninvited. He pushed it away for now.

 

“What about his relationship to the victim?” Phuwin questioned. “Or was she just a random chance of opportunity?”

 

“Not random to him,” Gemini said. “No victim is random to their killer. The washing of her hands suggests an attempt to remove trace evidence, but the careful posing and smoothing suggests a sense of…” he paused, “…ownership. Or responsibility. He wanted her to look peaceful. Like he was tucking her in after finishing with her.”

 

Santa grimaced. “That’s disgusting.”

 

“What about the asphyxiation?” Fourth asked. “That tells you something, right?” His tone not mocking for once since the beginning of the debrief.

 

Gemini nodded, his eyes wary. “Strangulation is an intimate method,” he explained. “It requires proximity and time. It also gives the offender a sense of godlike power—literally controlling life and death with his hands, feeling the victim’s struggle. The lack of overt sexual components at the scene suggests the gratification he gets may be more about domination and control than about sexual sadism in the traditional sense.”

 

“So, he’s a control freak.” Junior said.

 

“On some level, yes.” Gemini replied. “These offenders often have fantasies that they’ve rehearsed for a long time. When they finally act, they’re trying to make reality match the script in their head.”

 

“And like you said last night,” Phuwin said, “scripts are rarely perfect on the first try.”

 

“Correct,” Gemini agreed. “Most first-time killers make mistakes. They panic, they overkill, they leave obvious trace. This scene is controlled enough that I have to a least consider the possibility that this isn’t his first time killing. If it is his first body we’ve found, there may be others we haven’t connected yet.”

 

“Here?” Fourth asked. “Or somewhere else?”

 

Gemini hesitated, then circled the streetlight in the photo with his pen. “He’s comfortable enough with this environment to use it as a stage,” he said. “That suggests local familiarity, but not necessarily a long history here. It’s possible he practiced elsewhere. Another district. Another province. Another city.”

 

“Or another country,” Dunk said quietly.

 

The words hung in the air.

 

Gemini’s grip on the pen tightened involuntarily. He forced his knuckles to loosen. Not now. “For now,” he said, forcing himself to continue. “We focus on here. On her. We build backwards from Chayanisa’s life. Whoever he is, he intersected her somehow—through routine, through space, through opportunity.”

 

Fourth leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “So, we look at her routes,” he said. “Her condo to work. Work to home. Where she eats, where she shops, who she rides the BTS with. Anyone who appears too often in the background.”

 

“Joong, Dunk,” Phuwin said turning towards the duo. “I want a digital map of her movements for the last month. Cameras, phone GPS if we can get it, financial records. Build her routine.”

 

“Winny, Mark,” Phuwin continued. “Keep processing everything we pulled from the alley. Focus on the detergent trace and any unusual fibers. I want to know if he washed her in a basin, a tub, a sink, a river.”

 

“We’ll cross-reference with common brands sold in her neighborhood,” Mark said. “It’s a long shot, but you never know.”

 

“Tay, Junior,” Phuwin called. “You’re on family liaison. Go meet the parents at the morgue, walk them through the process. Gently.” His gaze softened for a moment. “Find out who she was when she wasn’t at work.”

 

“Got it.” Tay said as he and Junior stood up.

 

“We’ll take care of them.” Junior said quietly.

 

“Santa, Satang,” Phuwin carried on, “you keep working her workplace. Talk to anyone who we may have missed on the first pass. Coworkers, security guards, vendors. Someone’s seen something that didn’t feel important at the time.”

 

“Yes, sir.” Santa said. Satang nodded, biting his lip.

 

“And Fourth,” Phuwin said. “You coordinate with Nora—Gemini. Victimology, timelines, everything in between. I want you two talking to each other. Not past each other.”

 

Fourth’s gaze flicked to Gemini like the words physically pulled it. “Yes, sir.” He muttered.

 

“I don’t bite,” Gemini said lightly. “Unless you ask nicely.”

 

The line slipped out before he could stop it. Damn filter from his brain to his mouth must be out of commission again. A few people choked—Santa, Junior. Tay coughed into his hand, Satang’s ears went pink, Dunk made a strangled noise that was possibly (it was) a laugh.

 

Fourth just stared at him, stunned for a heartbeat, then shook his head like he couldn’t quite reconcile the man in front of him with what he just said.

 

Phuwin pinched the bridge of his nose. “Norawit.”

 

“Sorry,” Gemini said, though he didn’t particularly feel sorry. The room had been thick; a little crack in the tension was better than letting it crush them. Phuwin sighed but there was a tiny twitch at the corner of this mouth that only someone who’d known him since they were eight would notice.

 

“Alright,” the captain said, shaking his head. “Assignments are clear. Don’t forget your check ins. Joong, Dunk—flag anything that even smells like a pattern and send it to Casanova. He says he doesn’t bite, but if the files start flirting, let him nibble at it first. Dismissed.”

 

Chairs scraped back, papers shuffled, the low murmur of voices rising again. Santa clapped Satang on the shoulder. Tay and Junior were already arguing who would be driving as they left. Winny and Mark gathered their files, moving in comfortable sync.

 

Fourth remained seated as the others filtered out, spinning his pen once, twice, then stabbing it into the table with unnecessary force. “You’re with me,” he said to Gemini without looking up.

 

“Apparently.” Gemini muttered.

 

They left the room together, the corridor outside buzzing with the usual life of the station—phones ringing, officers moving, the smell of the fried rice from the canteen downstairs creeping under the door from the stairwell. All of it magnifying the silence between them.

 

“You okay?” Phuwin’s voice came from behind them. They both turned. Gemini knew the question wasn’t aimed at Fourth, even if it technically could have been.

 

“I’m fine,” he said automatically.

 

Phuwin raised an eyebrow. “You look like you’ve been mainlining coffee and not sleeping again.”

 

“That’s because I’ve been mainlining coffee and not sleeping,” Gemini shot back. “You want honesty or comfort?”

 

“Both,” Phuwin said. “In that order.”

 

“Then no,” Gemini answered. “But I’m functional.”

 

“That’s not the same thing,” Phuwin replied.

 

Fourth glanced between them, noticing the easy camaraderie, something like realization flickering in his eyes. “You two know each other.”

 

“Primary school,” Phuwin said. “He used to copy my homework.”

 

“I think it was the other way around.” Gemini smirked. “Don’t rewrite history, Tangsakyuen.”

 

Fourth blinked as he processed the new information. “You’re childhood friends,” he said, like that rearranged a few things in his head to fix the puzzle.

 

Gemini shrugged one shoulder. “He pulled me out of a canal when I was eight,” he said. “I apparently then owed him my servitude forever. That included becoming his profiler.”

 

“That is not how that happened,” Phuwin said rolling his eyes, “now who is rewriting history.” He looked at Gemini shaking his head, but his voice softening. “We’ll talk later. After you’ve had something that is not caffeine.” He clapped a hand on Gemini’s shoulder—firm, familiar—and then turned to Fourth. “Try not to kill each other,” he said. “I don’t have the paperwork for that.”

 

Fourth snorted. “I’ll do my best, sir.”

 

Phuwin nodded once more and walked off down the corridor toward his office, Pond falling into step beside him as if he’d appeared out of thin air, but Gemini knew he had been waiting for the briefing to end. He watched the two of them go for a second. The way Pond’s hand brushed lightly against Phuwin’s wrist, the way Phuwin leaned in, just a fraction. If anyone asked him, he would have said he was glad his oldest friend had someone like Pond to look after him.

 

Fourth cleared his throat. “We got a condo to get to.”

 

Gemini pulled himself back to the present. “Agreed.”

 

Fourth started toward the stairs. Gemini fell in beside him. For a few steps, they walked in silence, the noise of station faded around them. “Can I ask you something?” Fourth asked suddenly, not looking at him.

 

“You can try.” Gemini answered.

 

Fourth’s mouth twitched in annoyance, but he reigned it in. “Last night,” he said. “When you said this doesn’t feel like a first draft. You sounded…absolutely sure.”

 

“I didn’t say I was sure,” Gemini said. “I said I’d be more surprised if he hasn’t done this before.”

 

“Right,” Fourth said. “Are you often surprised?”

 

“More than you’d think.” Gemini answered. “It’s one of the few perks of this job.”  The turned down the stairwell, the echo of their footsteps bouncing off concrete.

 

“And if you’re not surprised this time?” Fourth asked.

 

“Then we’re dealing with someone who’s killed before,” Gemini said. “Someone who’s had time to refine his script. Someone who has gotten away with it.” He looked at Fourth, at the stubborn line of his jaw, the faint crease between his brows. “And we’ll have to catch up faster than he’s expecting us to.”

 

Fourth met his gaze for a second, something like a dare there. “Good,” he said. “I like proving people wrong.”

 

Gemini smiled, just a little. “Then we might actually make a good team, Detective Jirochtikul.”

 

Fourth rolled his eyes. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Profiler Titicharoenrak.”

 

They stepped out into the humid Bangkok afternoon together, the city’s noise rushing up to meet them. Somewhere out there, the man who had washed Chayanisa Thongdee’s hands and posed her under a streetlight was going about his day, invisible in the crowd. Gemini could almost feel him, a blank spot in the pattern, a silence in the data.

 

He’d find him.

 

He had to.

He owed that to the girl in the photo, to the boy he used to be, to the friend who dragged him out of a canal and then into he police department. He even owed it to the man walking beside him, who didn’t trust him yet—but he would, they just had to survive long enough.

 

“Condo first,” Gemini said.

 

Fourth unlocked the car. “Condo first,” he agreed.

 

The city swallowed them as they pulled away from the station, another unremarkable sedan in a river of wheels and noise, chasing the beginning of a pattern only one of them could feel like a faint, insistent echo on the back of his mind.

Notes:

As always, I appreciate you reading, any kudos or comments you wanna leave to keep me going! Also come yell at me on twitter or x @unwrittenheroes. In the words of Gemini, I don't bite...unless you ask nicely!

Winter :)

Chapter 3: Second Face

Summary:

TRIGGER WARNINGS: THERE WILL BE AN IN DEPTH CRIME SCENE DESCRIPITON WITH A D**D BODY. JUST BE AWARE!

Notes:

At this point, I'm just updating when i get a chapter edited and proof. I may have another one later tonight. depends, i do have work tomorrow and I'm not off again until like two weekends from now. RIP me. Anyways, i hope you are enjoying this story.

Winter

Bangkok traffic had a way of making everyone honest. Fourth swore under his breath as a motorbike cut too close to the front bumper, then pretended he hadn’t when he remembered he wasn’t alone in the car. He jabbed the wheel, nudging into a gap that wasn’t there, and the car slid forward with a soft protest; a scooter clipped the mirror and Fourth muttered, more to the steering wheel than to Gemini, “Sorry, not sorry.” Beside him, Gemini had his seatbelt on and his expression set somewhere between bored and mildly irritated. The case file sat on his lap, untouched since they’d pulled out of the station. He watched the flow of traffic through the windshield like it was a documentary he’d seen before.

 

“You always drive like this?” Gemini asked finally, flinching as Fourth clipped the curb to squeeze past a stalled tuk‑tuk.

 

“Like what?” Fourth said, steering with one hand while the other tapped the dash like a metronome.

 

“Like you’re trying to personally fight congestion with your car.” A bus horn answered them from the left; Fourth grinned and accelerated into the space it had vacated.

 

“Don’t profile me, Gemini.” Fourth said, pausing for a moment as he threaded between two lanes, the car’s tires whispering against paint. “Or my driving skills. It’s rude.”

 

“Oh, sorry—I forgot you were a certified traffic tactician. My mistake for assuming you were just another menace on four wheels.” Gemini shot back, fingers tightening on the case file as Fourth clipped a gap that made a delivery van honk.

 

“Don’t call me a menace. I’m a strategic navigator. There is a difference.” Fourth argued, cutting the wheel and sliding into a lane that technically belonged to oncoming traffic for half a heartbeat.

 

“Strategic navigator? Translation: you treat lane markings like polite suggestions and other drivers like optional scenery.” Gemini retorted, voice flat as Fourth swerved to avoid a child darting between cars.

 

Fourth rolled his eyes and jerked the wheel, the car fishtailing slightly before he corrected it. “Lane markings are more like guidelines for the creatively minded. And scenery needs direction.”

 

“Right, because nothing says Public Service like forcing three scooters into a synchronized panic.” Gemini said, grabbing the oh‑shit handle above his head as Fourth clipped a motorbike’s rear wheel with a breathless apology and a flash of his teeth.

 

Fourth shot him a mocking grin, then downshifted and launched past a line of taxis. “If my driving inspires coordination, I’m basically running a free urban yoga class.”

This time it was Gemini’s turn to roll his eyes. “Keep telling yourself that while I update my will and my insurance premium.” He exhaled as Fourth drifted into a narrow alley to shave off a minute.

 

Fourth chuckled despite himself, braking hard enough to make Gemini’s knuckles whiten. “Fine. File my heroics under bold and your complaints under ungrateful and we’ll call it even. It’s either this or we sit in silence for forty minutes. Pick your poison.”

 

Gemini made a quiet hm sound, watching Fourth steer them through a gap that should not have existed. “Given the choice, I’d pick decent public transport funding.”

 

Fourth snorted despite himself.

 

They fell quiet for a few blocks. The city slid past in layers: street vendors packing up from the morning rush, office workers funneling toward skytrain stairs, a stray dog sleeping in the patch of shade under a parked truck. Fourth glanced sideways once. Gemini was still staring straight ahead. Not fidgeting. Not checking his phone. Just…there. It put Fourth on edge more than someone nervous would’ve.

 

“Ever done door knocks?” Fourth asked.

 

“Yes,” Gemini said.

 

“That isn’t what I asked,” Fourth said.

 

Gemini shot him a look. “It kinda is what you asked.”

 

Fourth sighed. “I meant have you ever done door knocks not can you talk like you are a robot speaking from a manual.”

 

Gemini’s mouth twitched. “I have physically walked to people’s doors and spoken to them,” he said. “With AI settings of humanity and even standing up.”

 

“Impressive,” Fourth said. “Did you survive?”

 

“Unfortunately,” Gemini replied. “It’s why I’m here.”

 

Fourth rolled his eyes and changed lanes a little too aggressively. The condo building came into view ahead—eight stories of concrete, narrow balconies stacked like crates. A patrol car sat at the curb, lights off. One uniform leaned against the wall near entrance, trying to look like he wasn’t watching everyone who went in and out. Fourth pulled in behind the patrol, killed the engine, and got out. Heat hit him the second he opened the door, thick and wet.

 

The uniform straightened. “Detective,” he said, spotting Fourth’s badge.

 

“Anything suspicious?” Fourth asked.

“No sir,” the officer replied. “Crime scene wrapped up earlier, and the officer at the door hasn’t reported anyone trying to enter the apartment.”

 

“Good,” Fourth said. He signed the log on the folding table, then nodded at Gemini. “Come on, Desk Guy.”

 

Gemini’s look said he’d heard that before, but he didn’t bite. He adjusted the file under his arm and followed Fourth into the lobby. Inside, the air was cooler, smelling faintly of cleaning fluid and someone’s lunch. Mailboxes lined one wall. A TV in the corner played a lakorn with the sound off, subtitles crawling across the screen. They stepped into the elevator. Fourth hit the button for eight.

 

“You know,” Gemini said, watching the doors slide shut, “if you keep calling me Desk Guy, people are going to be disappointed when they realize I actually leave my chair.”

 

“Then prove me wrong,” Fourth shrugged. “We’re about to find out if you can walk and think at the same time.”

 

“That’s asking a lot,” Gemini deadpanned.

 

The elevator hummed its way up. When the doors opened, the stepped out into a corridor painted an uninspired beige. Doors lined both sides. Shoes were neatly arranged outside some of them; a bicycle leaned against a wall near the stairwell. Somewhere, a baby cried, and someone shushed it. Unit 805 had yellow tape crossed over the door and a second uniform standing nearby with a clipboard.

 

“Detective.” The officer nodded.

 

Fourth took the clipboard, scanned the log, and signed them both in. “Any trouble?” He asked, just to be thorough.

 

“Neighbor from 803 came by, wanted to borrow a charger,” the officer said. “I turned her away. No one else.”

 

Fourth peeled the tape back carefully, leaving it attached for resealing later, and opened the door. The air from inside was cool and faintly floral. The living room was small but tidy: two-seater sofa, low table, TV on a pressed wood stand. A kitchenette hugged one wall. Further back, a short hallway led toward a bathroom and bedroom. Winny’s number markers dotted the floor and furniture like yellow landmines.

 

Fourth stepped aside to let Gemini in. “Try not to break anything,” he said.

 

“I’ll do my best not to breathe,” Gemini replied, pulling on gloves.

 

He didn’t rush in. He stood just inside the door for a moment, eyes moving in small, precise shifts. Shoe rack. Corkboard. Shelves. Sofa. Then he went to the shoe rack. Three pairs of flats. One pair of cheap heels. A pair of sneakers that still looked new.

 

“No missing gaps,” Gemini murmured. “Nothing that screams ‘favorite shoes gone’.”

 

“She died in flats from here,” Fourth said. “We saw them last night.”

 

Gemini nodded. “If she had a regular date night pair or something for going out, we’d expect more wear on one pair of heels. These barely saw any use. She didn’t go out that way often.”

 

“Or she was just broke,” Fourth said.

 

“Or both.”

 

Gemini turned to the corkboard near the door. A small printout of a calendar with work shifts circled. A sticky note: Mom’s meds—call before Sunday. Another: Electric bill—21^st. A grocery list with items crossed out in different colors. “Not a compulsive lister,” Gemini said. “These are just anchors. Important things, not every thought.”

 

“You can tell that from three notes?” Fourth questioned.

 

“I can tell that from three notes and the absence of twenty-seven others.” Gemini answered, his eyes focusing on the information before. “Some people need to externalize every decision. She doesn’t. She keeps most things in her head and only writes down what she really doesn’t want to forget.”

 

Fourth grunted. He wasn’t going to say it, but it fit with what Santa and Satang had pulled from coworkers when they sent their updates earlier. Reliable, quiet, always remembers everything. He moved further inside, scanning locks, windows, sightlines. The balcony door was latched. No fresh marks on the frame. No furniture out of place.

 

“Winny didn’t report signs of forced entry when they were here earlier.” Fourth said. “I don’t see any either.”

 

“So, either he never came in,” Gemini reasoned, “or he came in when she let him in and left no obvious trace.”

 

Fourth shot him an annoyed look. “You hearing yourself? That’s two completely different options.”

 

“I’m aware,” Gemini replied. “That’s why we call this is preliminary impression, not gospel. Keep up Detective Jirochtikul.”

 

Fourth ignored him.

 

Gemini drifted toward a narrow bookshelf. Fourth followed more slowly. The shelves held romance novels, a couple of manga volumes, a few self-help books with creased spines, and three framed photos. One was of Chayanisa at graduation, parents on either side. Another with a group of friends on a beach. The third was a blurry shot of her and an older woman—grandmother maybe—laughing over a bowls of noodles.

 

Gemini didn’t pick them up; he just leaned in close enough to see. “Middle in all of them,” he said quietly.

 

“She liked being center of attention?” Fourth asked.

 

“Maybe,” Gemini answered still looking at the pictures. “Or maybe a desire to be seen? It could also be she was the one they were waiting on. First, to graduate. First to move to Bangkok. First problem-solver. We’ll ask when we can. But it means she mattered to someone before she was a case file.”

 

Fourth’s fingers tightened on the edge of the shelf. “Everyone matters to someone.” He said.

 

Gemini’s eyes flicked sideways to his. Fourth saw the others dark brown, boba eyes soften. “Yes,” he said. “That’s why this job exists.”

 

Fourth let the silence stretch, then forced himself to breathe out and move. He pushed himself away from the shelf and headed for the hallway. “Bedroom,” he said, more to himself than to Gemini. The bedroom was tidy, too. Double bed made, blanket folded, cheap fairy lights strung over the headboard but turned off. A small wardrobe against one wall, a narrow desk with a laptop against the other. A single plant sat on the windowsill, leaves actually green instead of half-dead.

 

Winny’s markers marked the desk chair feet, the wardrobe handle, the edge of the rug—places he’d checked for traces. Fourth went to the window first. It faced another building; no balcony close enough to jump from, no convenient fire escape. “Latch is good,” he said. “No one crawled in here.”

 

Gemini settled near the desk, eyes tracking the clutter. A mug with pens. Sticky notes around the laptop screen: send monthly report, call mom on Sunday, use vacation days with  a drawn frowny face next to it. “Did she?” Gemini asked himself.

 

“Did she what?” Fourth said.

 

“Use her vacation days,” Gemini answered.

 

“We’ll know when HR stops pretending our requests are low priority.” Fourth said.

 

Gemini’s mouth twitched. “So, never.” Fourth almost smiled. Almost.

 

He opened the wardrobe. Office clothes lined one side. A couple of dresses in plastic covers. A hoodie with a cartoon character on it stuffed on the top shelf. No half-packed suitcase. No obvious empty hanger shapes. “She didn’t pack for anything,” Fourth said. “No planned trip.”

 

“No signs she was preparing to disappear voluntarily,” Gemini said. “This was supposed to be a normal week for her.”

 

“Until someone decided it wasn’t,” Fourth muttered, shutting the wardrobe. Something about the room made the back of his neck itch. Not because of anything obvious. Because of everything being blanketed in silence. “This feel like anything to you?” He asked without looking back. The question slipped out before he could stop it.

 

Gemini was silent long enough that Fourth turned to check if he’d heard.

 

“It feels like someone cut a line in the middle of a sentence,” Gemini said. “That’s all.”

 

“That’s very poetic for a report,” Fourth said, voice quieter than he meant it to be.

 

“I won’t phrase it that way in the report,” Gemini said. “The Brass gets nervous when I sound human.”

 

“Maybe we share that problem,” Fourth said. Their eyes met for a brief second. Something unspoken moved there and then retreated.

 

Gemini looked away first, back to the desk. “Her laptop’s cloned,” he said. “Joong and Dunk will tear through her messages and browsing history. We’ll see if any new name drops into her life and then vanishes.”

 

Fourth nodded. “We’ll also pull phone records once we have the warrant.”

 

“Assuming the phone hasn’t already been smashed and thrown in a drain,” Gemini said. Fourth’s radio crackled at his shoulder before he could answer.

 

“Unit 12, dispatch central.”

 

He grabbed it. “Central go ahead.”

 

“Captain Tangsakyuen requests status update. “Also, Detective Aydin has requested that you check your email for a video link marked prioritized.”

 

“Copy,” Fourth said. “We’re still at the victim’s residence. Tell him we’ll review the video now.” He slid the radio back and checked his phone. A new email from Joong sat at the top of the pile with a link and a brief note: Traffic cam, near her office. WATCH!

 

“Got something,” Fourth said. “You want to stand over my shoulder or pretend we have boundaries?”

Gemini stepped closer immediately. “Boundaries are for people with shorter case lists,” he said. Fourth pulled up the link. The video feed buffered, then resolved into grainy black and white footage of a sidewalk from above. Timestamp: 18:43.

 

“There,” Gemini said almost immediately. “Left side.”

 

Chayanisa walked into frame from the left edge, office bag strap across her chest, hair pinned back the way it was in the photos taken on scene. She moved at an easy pace, not rushed.  Two seconds later, a man stepped into frame behind her and closed the distance.  Cap. Surgical mask. Messenger bag. Average height, average build, average everything.  He matched her stride like he’d done it before. Fourth zoomed in as far as the low resolution allowed. The cap brim shadowed most of his face. The mask took care of the rest.

 

“You got anything?” Fourth asked.

 

“Play it again,” Gemini said.

 

He watched more than the faces this time, Fourth realized. On the second run, Gemini’s gaze stayed low—feet, distance between bodies, angles. On the third run through he tracked shoulders.

 

“She doesn’t startle,” Gemini said. “Doesn’t speed up, doesn’t hug her bag closer. She shifts half a step to give him space when he comes alongside. That means she recognizes him, at least superficially.”

 

“Or She’s just polite,” Fourth said.

 

“If she were just polite, she’d keep a little more distance,” Gemini responded. “Watch her arm.” Fourth rewound, watched the arm. When the man’s elbow brushed hers, she didn’t pull away, but her hand flexed, fingers twitching once before relaxing. “She’s not comfortable-comfortable,” Gemini continued. “But she’s not scared. That’s a ‘someone my brain has filed as familiar enough to ignore most warning bells’ reaction.”

 

“Coworker?” Fourth asked.

 

“Maybe,” Gemini said. “Neighbor. Friend of a friend. Someone who’s been on the periphery long enough not to register as a stranger.”

 

The clip ran the last few seconds. The man said something—mouth moving under the mask—and Chayanisa’s head tipped slightly toward him in that automatic listening angle. They walked out of the frame together. Joong’s noted at the bottom of the screen read: No return on other cameras yet. Working on it.-J

 

Fourth locked the screen and pocketed the phone and breathed a little easier when Gemini stepped back. “So, he knows where cameras are,” Fourth said. “keeps his face covered, walks her out of frame, and then vanishes.”

“He thinks about angles, not just actions,” Gemini mused. “He’s not only planning what he does, but how it will look on replay. His intelligence is definitely above average.”

 

Fourth hated how much sense that made.

 

“We’ll get patrol to pass around the stills to the university and her workplace,” Fourth said. “Maybe someone recognizes that cap, that bag. Maybe he made the mistake of being distinctive somewhere else.”

 

“Or maybe he’s been very careful not to,” Gemini replied. “People like this spend a lot of time learning how not be seen.”

 

Fourth’s jaw tightened. “Then he better count his days as a ghost. He made a mistake picking a girl in my jurisdiction.” He grounded out.

 

Gemini’s gaze flicked sideways to him. “You say that like he checked who was assigned where.”

 

“That’s his second mistake,” Fourth countered.

 

Gemini’s mouth actually curved, just barely. “Optimistic,” he said. Fourth turned away before he could feel like this was becoming any kind of shared moment.

 

“We done here?” He asked instead. “I don’t want to be standing in her living room when Junior and Tay bring her parents here.”

 

Gemini’s fingers brushed the back of the chair, then he let go. “Done, unless something else comes up.”

 

They stepped out into the corridor. Fourth resealed the tape on unit 805, signed them out, and nodded at the uniform. “Same deal,” he said. “No one in or out without clearance. If anyone asks, tell them we’re still processing.”

 

“Yes, sir.” The officer said.

 

On the way back to the elevator, Gemini’s phone buzzed. He glanced at it—just long enough to see the name, not long enough to answer.

 

“Phuwin?”

 

“Pond.” Gemini said instead.

 

“You going to pretend you didn’t see it?” Fourth said.

 

“I’m going to call him back when we’re not standing in a hallway of our victim,” Gemini replied. “He worries for a living. I don’t need to give him extra material.”

 

Fourth shrugged. “Suit yourself.”  He stepped into the elevator, Gemini following. They rode down in silence. The doors opened onto the lobby. The talk show on the TV had switched to a cooking segment. The hostess mimed laughing, subtitles insisting everything was delightful. Fourth was halfway across the tile when his radio crackled again.

 

“Unit 12, dispatch central.”

 

Fourth shoved the groan down before it could even bubble up and escape. “Go for Unit 12.”

 

“Report of unresponsive male by the riverside walkway, Rama III,” dispatch said. “Caller says body is ‘laid out strange’. Unit 15 is responding. Lead requested.”

 

The words landed like a stone in his gut.

 

“Copy,” Fourth said. “Unit 12 en route from Sukhumvit.” He clipped the radio back on and looked at Gemini.

 

“Laid out strange,” Gemini repeated, face unreadable. “That’s…specific.”

 

“Could be a drunk,” Fourth said, knowing it was pointless but saying it anyways. “Could be someone fainted.”

 

Gemini looked at him like he’d just suggested the killer might apologize and turn himself in. “And it could be nothing,” he agreed, “but then Captain wouldn’t be sending Tay and Junior and us to the scene.”

 

Fourth didn’t have a response for that. He pushed through the glass doors, heat hitting him like a wall, and headed for the car. “Rama III first. Then the precinct.” 

 

Fourth turned the key. The engine caught, the dashboard flared and the radio hissed softly. He flipped the siren on and pulled out, the city peeling away from their path in angry little bursts of horn and motion. As they moved toward the river, Gemini settled back against the seat, eyes on the road but clearly somewhere else under the surface. His fingers tapped once on his knee and then stilled.

 

Fourth thought of the second face that was going to join Chayanisa on the whiteboard back at the station. He pressed his foot down harder. If someone was out there arranging the citizens under his care, under Bangkok’s lights like they were making art, Fourth intended to be at the next scene before the paint dried.

 

~ ~ ~

 

By the time they hit Rama III, the sky had gone from white to a flat, dirty gray that made the river look like old dishwater. Fourth cut the siren half a block from the scene. No point announcing themselves more than the lights already did. Patrol cars clogged the curb near the riverside walkway, red and blue washing over the trees. He pulled in behind the last one and got out, badge already in hand. The air was thicker here, heavy with humidity and the sour-metal smell of the Chao Phraya.

 

A young uniform at the tape straightened. “Detectives,” he said, nodding. Voice too loud, too eager. Too new to be touched by the job yet.

 

Fourth jerked his chin toward the walkway. “Where?”

 

“Twenty meters down, sir. Near the big tree and benches. Detectives Sriariyarungruang and Vihokratana are already there, and CSU just got here as well.”

 

Fourth ducked under the tape. Behind him, he heard Gemini thank the young officer and do the same. The faint snap of plastic as he pulled on gloves as he walked. The path ran along the river, lamps spaced at regular intervals. A few curious onlookers had gathered beyond the perimeter—office workers, a jogger still in headphones, a couple of kids who hadn’t learned yet that this wasn’t something you wanted to see.

 

Santa and Satang were pushing them back, voices low but firm. Under one of the lamps, the world shrank to a harsh, pale circle. Fourth stopped at the edge of the markers Winny and Mark had already laid down.

 

Male. Young. Jeans, T-shirt, sneakers. Laid out on his back parallel to the path, exactly where the lamp’s circle hit. Hands folded over his chest, elbows at a familiar angle. Someone had smoothed his hair off his forehead. Fourth didn’t move for a second. The pose pressed against his memory like the alley scene had grown another limb.

 

Winny took a step back from the body, camera hanging from his neck, expression set. Mark was kneeling near an open evidence kit, scribbling something on his clipboard. The ME Dr. Somchair was already on scene and bent over the victim muttering.

 

“Winny,” Fourth called out.

 

“Male victim, early twenties. No visible defensive wounds. No obvious blood. Found by that guy—” he jerked his head toward a pale student sitting on a bench guarded by Tay and Junior—“on his way home. Same…feel as the alley.”

 

“Pose?” Gemini asked.

 

“Hands, hair, clothes straightened. Shoes lined up with the edge of the path.” Winny supplied.

 

Gemini stepped up beside Fourth, just inside his peripheral vision. He didn’t say anything at first. Just looked. Fourth forced himself to step closer, careful of the markers. The kid’s T-shirt had a band logo on it. His jeans were cheap but clean. His fingers were pale wrinkled at the pads, like he’d been in water. His face…empty in the way all dead faces were, but someone had tried to make it neat.

 

Fourth hated that.

 

“Doc?” He asked instead.

 

Somchai huffed, straightening his back a little. His forehead shone in the lamplight. “Bruising under the jaw and around the neck,” he said. “Some petechiae in the eyes. Same as last night. Hands show signs of being submerged. I’ll confirm later, but I’d put early money on asphyxiation again. Manual or with something soft.”

 

“Time of death?”

 

“Within the last few hours,” Somchai said. “Rigor’s early. Temperature’s no help in this weather.”

 

Gemini spoke again, voice low. “The hands,” he said. “Same as Chayanisa.”

 

Mark nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “Pruney. And the way they’re placed—it’s…”

 

“Rehearsed.” Gemini finished.

 

Fourth shot him a look. “You sound sure.”

 

“I’d worry more if he’d ‘accidentally’ done the exact same thing twice.” Gemini said quietly.

 

Fourth didn’t answer that. He looked at Winny instead. “ID?”

 

“In his back pocket,” Winny said. “I left it until you got here.”

 

“Get your photos,” Fourth said, “then pull it.”

 

Winny lifted the camera, took a few more shots, then crouched, hand careful as he slid the wallet free. He opened it, lips moving as he scanned. “Preecha Namsai,” he read. “Twenty-one. Student ID matches. Rama III district university.”

 

Fourth repeated the name once in his head, anchoring it next to Chayanisa’s. “Anything around the scene?” he asked. “Drag marks, signs of a struggle?”

 

“Nothing obvious,” Mark said, glancing up from his clipboard. “Grass is only disturbed where he’s lying and where the witness nearly stepped on him. No overturned benches. No trail from the path.”

 

“So, not killed here. Killed at a different location and dropped at a secondary. Just like the first victim.”

 

“Placed.” Gemini said quietly.

 

Fourth head the distinction and didn’t like it. He turned slightly toward Gemini. “Well?” he asked. “Still too early to call it?”

 

Gemini kept his eyes on the body. “Same level of control,” he said. “Same post-mortem washing and grooming. Same use of light. Different gender, different likely routine. That means he’s not picking from one obvious group on the surface.”

 

“Then what is he picking?” Satang asked as he and Santa drifted closer from the perimeter, having drifted closer.

 

Gemini’s gaze shifted briefly toward the river, then back. “We don’t know yet,” he said. “But whatever it is, it’s about what they represent to him, not what we see on paper.”

 

Fourth ground his teeth. “Paper is what we can work with,” he said.

 

“And behavior,” Gemini said back. “Two scenes, same staging. That’s not coincidence. It’s intent.”

 

Gemini’s phone sounded from his pocket. Gemini didn’t even look to see who it was, educated guess being the captain. He just slid his finger across the screen and put it on speaker.

 

A pause. Then, Phuwin’s voice came through the phone.

 

“Gemini, status check.”

 

It was Fourth who answered. “Twenty one year old male victim, similar staging to last night’s alley. Likely same offender. ME on scene. CSU processing.”

 

Another pause. “Bring what you have when you’re done,” Phuwin said. “I want a full team de brief before we all go home tonight. We need to decide how to talk about this before someone else does it for us.”

 

“Understood.”  They both said, but before Gemini could hang up the phone, Phuwin called his name.

 

“Gem.”

 

Fourth watched as Gemini’s face flickered at the nickname, but the other didn’t take it off speaker. “Here.”

 

Phuwin fell silent before sighing. “Brass wanted additional eyes on this case. Too many reports not saying the ‘s’ word but saying the ‘s’ word.”

 

Gemini frowned. “That’s fine. Anyone I know? P’Aou or…”

 

Phuwin cut him off, and Fourth couldn’t understand the gentle way he called for Gemini’s attention again. “Gem,” he paused, “it’s Perth.”

 

Notes:

As always, thank you for reading! Your kudos and comments keep me motivated to continue to make poor life decisions regarding my sleeping habits. You can also yell at me on X, i'm always lurking @unwrittenheroes

Winter :)

Chapter 4: Points of Contact

Summary:

This is a dense chapter! I did try to make as interesting as possible :(

Notes:

So I managed to edit this chapter, and realized how long it was and broke it down into another chapter. SO, you guys are getting 3 chapters today. I'll wont update again until Thursday. Also, I will I'm debating on whether to take Clincal and Chaotic down and restart it. Somehow i got lost in the planning of that one and....ionno. I'm just rambling. Also I may start posting the the office gemfot one...maybe...I'm like 3 chapters away from having that one completed.

Who needs sleep?

The drive back to the station was shorter with lights and siren off but louder in Gemini’s head. Two faces. Two scenes. The pattern was knitting itself into something ugly and deliberate, and he felt the shape of it like a bruise under his ribs. He kept his hands folded over the closed file on his lap, fingers worrying the edge of the cardboard until the skin at his thumb went numb.

 

He could feel Fourth’s eyes on him from the driver’s seat—little glances caught in the rearview, the way a man checks a map when he doesn’t want to admit he’s lost. Gemini let the looks pass over him like rain on glass. He had learned to keep the important things inside.

 

“You okay?” Fourth asked, not looking at him but letting the question hang where the mirror caught it—an invitation and a test both. Fourth parked in his usual spot. Neither getting out as they looked at the side entrance. Gemini spotted Phuwin and Pond. He knew they would be there waiting on him. The memories that came with uttering the name Perth were bound to worry his oldest friend and unofficial brother in law.

 

“I’m fine.” Gemini answered, still looking at the side entrance. He heard Fourth hm himed from the seat over.

 

“So, is Perth the same Lieutenant Tanapon Sukumpantanasan from the Facing Man case?” Fourth asked.

 

Gemini had to fight hard to keep his breath normal, to keep the memories from overwhelming him. He could still hear the echos of the shouts, of his own screams. He fought to breath normally. Lucky for him, Fourth didn’t seem to notice.

 

“One in the same.” He said finally. His voice devoid of emotion. That got the detective’s attention though.

 

“Problem?”

 

“Nothing for you to worry about.” Gemini said, getting out of the car before Fourth could respond. He left the other no choice but to follow him as he closed the distance to Phuwin and Pond with the practiced gait of a man who learned to keep his face neutral. Phuwin’s jaw tightened when he met his eyes. Pond’s eyes flicked over Gemini’s face and posture, searching for any signs distress.

 

“Perth?” Phuwin said, the single word carrying a dozen questions. Gemini let the silence answer first, letting the memories settle into the space between them like dust. “I’m fine. Nothing like working with an ex-partner who hates you with a current partner who also hates you.”

 

“I don’t necessarily hate you,” Fourth said as he walked up, overhearing the last part. “Just mainly dislike.”

 

“Glad to know the distinction.” Gemini muttered dryly.

Phuwin sighed. “Let’s get in there, everyone else should be in the room, they arrived a little before you guys did.”

 

~ ~ ~

 

Inside, the station felt like it had swallowed it’s own noise. Conversations dipped as Fourth and Gemini passed, then picked up again in lower tones. Patrol radios had already done the damage of spreading the news about the second body.

 

The briefing room was already half full when they walked in. Santa and Satang sat on one side, files open, pens idle. Tay and Junior were opposite them, a laptop between them. Joong and Dunk were at the far end, cables snaking across the table. Winny and Mark hovered near the back, heads together over Somchai’s latest reports.

 

And against the wall, arms crossed over his chest like he’d been poured into that posture and left to set, stood Lieutenant Tanapon “Perth” Sukumpantanasan. Gemini had worked with him long enough to know what his neutral face looked like. This…wasn’t it.

 

Perth’s gaze went straight to Gemini the second he came into view, like a magnet snapping to metal. For a moment, there was an unfiltered flicker—surprise, looks like no one gave him the heads up that Gemini was on this case. There was annoyance and something heavier under both—before it flattened into something cold and unreadable.

 

“Didn’t realize they were letting you out of the glass box again,” Perth said. The tone was light on the surface, just this side of joking, and somehow still landed like a shove.

 

Gemini stopped just inside the doorway.

 

It felt like the room tilted a degree around that point. Gemini’s shoulders rolled back a millimeter, barely visible but he knew Phuwin would catch it. “Budget cut,” Gemini said just as cool. “They can’t afford the box anymore, Lieutenant Sukumpantanasan.”  He used the full rank and surname like he was reading it off a complaint form.

 

Perth’s mouth twitched just enough to be seen, not enough to be called a grimace or a smile. “Guess we’re all cutting corners,” he replied. His eyes flickered briefly toward the whiteboard. “Hope this one treats you better than the last.”

 

The air tightened around Gemini’s throat. His jaw went rigid for half a heartbeat. When he answered, his voice very even. “I don’t usually expect good manners from murderers,” he said. “I’ll settle for predictable.”

 

“Norawit.” Phuwin’s voice cut in from behind him, sharper than usual.

 

The captain moved to the front of the room, eyes moving over Perth and then Gemini. Perth looked away first, pushing off the wall and taking a step closer to the table. It was meant to look causal. It didn’t. Gemini didn’t bother pretending; he just walked past him without another glance and dropped the file he was carrying to the front edge of the table.  He turned to look to see fourth watching him and Perth with an expression that clearly said he was filing as something to worry about later.

 

Phuwin shut the door with a soft, decisive click.

 

“No leaks,” he said. “No heroics. No one freelances with the press. Gemini. Fourth. Let’s have it.”

 

Fourth nodded once towards Gemini. “He talks, I’ll translate,” he said as Gemini caught his eye. “You’ll want his words on record when this turns ugly.”

 

Perth snorted softly, and Gemini fought the urge to rise to the bait. He stepped to the board, picked up the second crime scene photo, and clipped it beside Chayanisa’s. Two faces under bad lighting. Two names waiting to be written. He uncapped the marker, printing in clean block letters: PREECHA NAMSAI.

 

“Victim one,” he said, tapping Chayanisa’s photo with the end of the marker. “Female, twenty-four. Office admin. Found last night in a Sukhumvit alley. Likely asphyxiation. Hands washed and folded. Hair smoothed. Clothes adjusted. No robbery.” He tapped Preecha’s photo. “Victim two. Male, twenty-one. University student. Found this afternoon on the Rama III river walkway. Likely asphyxiation. Hands washed and folded. Hair smoothed. Clothes adjusted. No robbery.”

He looked at the room, not at any one person. “Different lives, different parts of the city,” he said. “Same level of control, same post-mortem ritual.”

 

“Ritual,” Perth repeated quietly, rolling the word around like he didn’t like the taste.

 

“Yes,” Gemini said. “He’s not just getting rid of bodies. He’s setting scenes.”

 

Perth uncrossed his arms, stepped forward a fraction. “Or we’ve just got two show-off killers copying something they saw online,” he said. “You said it yourself: low sample size.”

It was subtle, but the emphasis on you was a jab.

 

Gemini’s eyes slid to him. This time, he held the look. “If you have two offenders independently creating the same careful staging across different parts of the city in under twenty-four hours,” he said, “I’d be more worried, not less.”

 

“So we’re going with your version,” Perth said. “Again.”

 

“Perth,” Phuwin warned.

 

Gemini’s expression didn’t change. “We’re going with the version that best matches the evidence,” he said. “If you’d like a completely different offender to show up and take credit, I’ll happily adjust.”  There was an edge under the politeness, a scalpel slipped into a sentence.

Fourth glanced between them. There was something old in the way they said again and version—an argument they’d had before, now wearing new clothes.

Perth’s jaw flexed. “I’d like,” he said, “not to find out in three months that your ‘script’ blinded us to something we should’ve seen on day two.”

 

The room went very still. Gemini’s fingers tightened on the marker. When he answered, it was precise enough to cut. “That’s why I’m saying ‘preliminary profile,’” he said. “Not ‘prophecy.’ We adapt to evidence. We don’t ignore scenes because they don’t match my favorite theory.”

 

Phuwin set the marker cap down with a little click that sounded louder than it should have.

“We are not rerunning old arguments while we have a live offender,” he said, voice flat.

 

“Tanapon, if you have a challenge to the profile, phrase it as a question, not a warning. Gemini, you stick to behavior and leave history out of your tone.”

 

Both men looked at him. For a heartbeat, they were mirror images: shoulders tight, mouths thin, something shuttered in their eyes.

 

Perth was the one who gave ground first, just barely. “Fine,” he said. “Behavioral question, then. You keep saying he ‘wants to be seen.’ You’re basing that on two bodies and a couple of lights?”

 

“That, and the washing,” Gemini said, catching the slight shift in tone and meeting it halfway. “He spends time on them after they’re dead. He removes trace. Then he arranges them somewhere discovery is almost guaranteed. That’s not about disposal. That’s about display.”

 

“And the phones?” Junior asked, breaking the tension like he’d been waiting for an opening. “Why take those and leave the wallets?”

 

Gemini turned away from Perth, back to the board. “Phones are portable diaries,” Gemini said. “He either doesn’t want us to see what’s on them, or he wants to keep a piece of them for himself. Wallets are risk. Cards to track. Phones can be smashed, stripped, turned into trophies in his head.”

 

“So he’s careful, but sentimental,” Satang said.

 

“Careful, but attached to his own narrative,” Gemini corrected. “Whether that’s sentiment or ego depends on what we find next.”

 

“Which brings us back to the main point,” Phuwin said. “Is this a pattern or not?”

 

Everyone looked at Gemini. For a second, Fourth wondered if that weight ever got any lighter for him.

 

Gemini lifted the marker again and drew a bracket beside both victims’ names.

“From a behavioral standpoint,” he said, “yes. We have repeated method, repeated staging, and a very narrow time gap. This is a series of patterns. I know convention and procedure says we have to have three to call it serial, but I’ll be surprised if we don’t find older deaths tied to this unsub.” He capped the marker and placed it on the table with deliberate care, like he knew his hands wanted to do something more violent with it.

 

No one said the longer word.

 

They didn’t need to.

 

Phuwin nodded once, the motion short, like it cost effort. “Inside this room, we plan for a serial offender,” he said, finally giving the word a place. “Outside, we keep it to ‘linked homicides’ until we’ve done proper notifications and briefed the people who outrank me.” He looked around the room. His gaze landed on Perth. “We clear?” he asked.

 

Perth held his eyes, then gave a small, stiff nod. “Clear, sir,” he said. He didn’t look at Gemini again.

 

“And you, Norawit?” Phuwin asked.

 

Gemini’s mouth curved in something that was not a smile. “I’m not in charge of press strategy,” he said. “Just the part where we try to make sure there isn’t a third photo.” Gemini watched Perth out of the corner of his eye. The line landed. It didn’t soften anything. If anything, it dug the line between them a little deeper.

 

Phuwin exhaled. “Good,” he said. “Then we move.”

 

Assignments followed—Santa and Satang back on victim-one territory, Tay and Junior on victim two’s world, Joong and Dunk swimming in camera feeds, Winny and Mark chained to Somchai’s reports.

 

Gemini barely heard his own name until Phuwin said it.

 

“You and Fourth are glued together on this,” the captain said. “Victimology, overlap, anything that maps their lives onto the same grid. And I mean together, not shouting down the hall.”

Gemini nodded. “Yes, sir.”

 

Fourth just said, “Understood,” but Gemini caught the quick, involuntary glance Perth shot him at the word glued.

 

As chairs scraped and the team broke apart, Fourth stayed where he was, looking at the board. Two victims. Two scenes. One simmering personal disaster in the back of the room.

 

“You going to be a problem?” Fourth asked under his breath, eyes still on the photos.

 

Gemini didn’t pretend not to understand what he meant. “Which one?” he said. “The killer or Perth?”

 

“Either,” Fourth said.

Gemini’s mouth went flat. “I won’t pick a fight in the middle of a briefing,” he said. “If that’s what you’re asking.”

 

“That’s not a no,” Fourth said.

 

Gemini’s eyes flicked to Perth, who was talking quietly with Tay near the door, shoulders tense. “He doesn’t trust me,” he said.

 

Fourth snorted. “Join the club.”

 

Gemini glanced back at him. “You’re not subtle,” he said.

 

“Neither are you,” Fourth replied. “At least we’re consistent.” For a second, the corner of Gemini’s mouth actually lifted. Then it was gone. “Come on, Desk Guy,” Fourth said, stepping away from the board. “We’ve got overlap to find before your favorite critic decides he was right about you.”

 

Gemini picked up the file. “He doesn’t need to be my favorite for that,” he said. “He just needs us to fail.”

 

“Then let’s not,” Fourth said.

 

~ ~ ~

 

The incident room smelled like dry-erase markers, old coffee, and recycled air. Gemini stood in front of the whiteboard Joong had claimed as ‘data central’ and wondered when exactly his life had become an endless loop of staring at each other people’s lives…the lines they leave behind.

 

Fourth was to his right, arms folded, one shoulder against the wall. His eyes tracked the board the way they tracked crime scenes—methodical, tense, a little suspicious, like the map might try to lie to him. On the board, now two photos hanging there instead of one. Joong and Dunk had sketched the city: rough blocks for districts, blue lines for BTS routes, red for main roads, dotted green for known walking paths. Sticky notes marked Home, Work, Uni, Scene 1, Scene 2.

 

Joong tapped one of the circles with a marker. “Okay,” he said. “Here’s what we have so far.” He pointed to a blue circle near Sukhumvit. “Chayanisa’s office. She lives here—” another circle, a little further down and to the east “—and takes this route most days.” He traced the path with the marker. “We’ve got at least three separate days on footage with the same pattern: out of the office at around six-thirty, coffee from this stall, BTS at this entrance, out at this station, and then a short walk to her condo.” He moved to the other side of the board. “Preecha lives near Rama III,” he said. “Uni here. Most days, he cuts through this skywalk, takes the BRT, then walks the last ten minutes by the river.”

 

Fourth frowned. “They don’t cross,” he said. “Different lines, different river sections, different everything.”

 

“On a normal day,” Joong agreed. “But…” He drew a circle between the two. “Here,” he said. “Skywalk complex at Asok. Three exits, two BTS lines, one MRT entrance, and a shopping mall glued onto the side. Our favorite urban hell.”

 

Gemini leaned in, following the marker’s path. The Asok interchange. He should have guessed.

 

“Both victims pass through here on some days,” Joong went on. “Not every day, but often enough. Chayanisa when she stays late and cuts over to catch the MRT home instead. Preecha when he goes to the city with friends or to his part-time job at a café two BTS stops from here.”

 

Dunk spun his laptop around on the table. “We pulled four weeks of camera footage from the complex,” he said. “It’s a mess, but we’ve started tagging their faces.” Gemini stepped closer. The screen showed a grid of thumbnails from overhead and corner cameras—people moving like ants along glass corridors.

 

Dunk clicked, and one thumbnail enlarged. “There’s Chayanisa,” he said. On screen, she emerged from a train crowd, bag across her chest, hair pinned back. She walked with the same slightly tired but steady gait as in the video near her office. Another click, another timeframe. “And here’s Preecha,” Dunk said. Preecha in a hoodie, backpack slung over one shoulder, laughing at something someone next to him said off-camera.

 

“Same day?” Fourth asked.

 

“Not this one,” Dunk said. “Different days. But look—” He split the screen, bringing up two tracks. Time stamps populated the corners.

 

“Out of the past month,” Joong said, “we’ve got six days where both of them pass through this interchange within a thirty-minute window.”

 

Gemini felt something tighten under his ribs. “Has our cap-and-mask friend shown up yet?” he asked.

 

Dunk exhaled. “Maybe,” he said. “We’ve tagged four guys wearing caps and masks who match height and build. Two of them are probably just actual commuters who value their lungs. These two…” He highlighted a figure on each feed. “…I don’t like.”

 

Gemini stepped closer still.

 

On the left video, crowds flowed along the glass corridor. Dunk slowed the clip. A man in nondescript clothes—dark cap, surgical mask, messenger bag—moved with the crowd but didn’t walk like them. His eyes, barely visible above the mask, weren’t on his phone. They weren’t on his feet. They were on faces.

 

“You see that?” Dunk asked quietly. “He’s scanning. Not just glancing around. He’s checking expressions, pace, whether they’re alone.” On screen, the man brushed past Chayanisa without touching her, then stopped just inside the edge of a camera blind spot, turning his head slightly. He knew where the gap was.

 

“Same guy as outside her office?” Fourth asked.

 

“Hard to say yet,” Dunk said. “Cap’s a little different. Bag might be different. But the behavior… feels very close.”

 

Gemini shifted his attention to the right half of the screen, where Preecha navigated a crowd near an escalator. Dunk slowed that feed too. “Here he is,” Dunk said. “Two weeks ago.”

Cap. Mask. Messenger bag. Standing at the top of the escalator, not going down, watching people come up. When Preecha and two friends came into frame, he didn’t move, just tracked them with his head.

 

“He’s not following in these clips,” Joong said. “At least, not in the parts we have. But he’s… shopping.”

 

“Looking for someone who fits,” Gemini said.

 

“Fits what?” Satang asked from where he sat against the wall, hands wrapped around a paper cup of something that had stopped steaming a while ago.

 

“That’s the part we don’t know yet,” Gemini said. “Whatever script he’s built in his head, they both hit the same beat in it.”

 

Fourth’s arms tightened across his chest. “So this place is his hunting ground,” he said.

 

“Or one of them,” Gemini said. “High traffic, lots of exits, anonymity. People are distracted. No one remembers who stood next to them on the escalator three days ago.”

 

“I remember,” Dunk said. “But only because I’ve watched this twenty times.”

 

Gemini tapped the edge of the laptop screen with his knuckle. “We need to walk it,” he said.

 

Fourth turned his head. “Walk it?” he repeated.

 

“Yes,” Gemini said. “We know their digital footprints through that complex. I want to see the physical one. Where the blind corners are. Where you can stand without being noticed. What routes feel natural from the unsub’s perspective.”

 

“You can do that from here,” Fourth said. “On screen.”

 

“No,” Gemini said, “I can’t.” Their eyes met, just for a second it was the two of them and the map.

 

“You want to go to the possible hunting ground of our killer, just so you can see it in person.” Fourth reiterated.

 

“Yes. Because a screen only shows frames—walking it shows the gaps. I need to know where a person can stand and vanish; until I feel those blind spots, it’s all theory.” Gemini said, not backing down.

 

“And if the unsub just happens to be there?” Fourth gritted out.

 

Gemini raised an eyebrow, “Well, then I expect you to arrest him, of course.”

 

Fourth looked like he wanted to argue. Then he exhaled muttering under his breath about annoying ass profilers. “Captain said we’re glue together.”

 

“I heard him.” Gemini replied.

 

Joong, who had the misfortune of being both present and sensible, lifted a hand. “If you two are about to fight over a field trip,” he said, “can you do it after I finish backing up the footage?”

 

Dunk snorted. “Do it on camera,” he said. “We’ll use it for training.”

 

Fourth cut them both a look. “We’re going to Asok,” he said, to no one and everyone. “Anyone needs us, call.”

 

“Take radios,” Joong said. “And don’t get lost in the food court. We’ll never see you again.”

 

“That’s your fantasy, not mine,” Gemini said. He took the file off the table. Fourth grabbed his own notes. As they left the room, Perth pushed the door open from the hall. For half a second, the three of them almost collided. Fourth sidestepped. Gemini didn’t.

 

Perth caught himself on the doorframe, eyes flashing. “Watch it,” he snapped.

 

Gemini shifted just enough to avoid contact. “You first,” he said.

 

Perth’s jaw clenched. For a moment, it looked like he might say something acid. Then he noticed the Asok map peeking from Gemini’s file and his expression changed. “You’re going there?” he asked.

 

“Yes,” Fourth said. “To walk their routes.”

 

“Take backup,” Perth said immediately. “Not just each other.”

 

“I’ll be with him,” Fourth said. “I’m not sending the profiler to a mall alone.”

 

“That wasn’t a joke,” Perth snapped.

Gemini looked between them, something like annoyance flickering across his face. “We’re not bait,” he said. “He’s not going to stage a scene in the middle of Terminal 21 in broad daylight because we walked past his favorite coffee stall.”

 

“You don’t know what he’ll do yet,” Perth said. “That’s the point.”

 

“That’s why I’m going,” Gemini said. “To know.”

 

Fourth stepped between them a fraction. “We’ll take radios,” he said. “We’ll check in. We’ll be back in time for your next complaint. Happy?”

 

Perth’s nostrils flared. His gaze flicked to Gemini, then back to Fourth. “Just don’t give him another god complex to play with,” he said. It took a second for Fourth to realize him meant the killer, not Gemini. To his left, Gemini went very still.

 

Perth must have realized how it sounded, because he looked away almost instantly, muttered something like, “You know what I mean,” and brushed past them into the room.

 

Fourth felt the tension humming off Gemini like static. “You good?” he asked, more brusque than gentle.

 

“No,” Gemini said. “But I’m functional.”

 

“Yeah,” Fourth murmured. “I’m starting to see that’s your favorite word.”

 

“‘No’ or ‘functional’?” Gemini said.

 

“Both,” Fourth said, and pushed the stairwell door open.

 

~ ~ ~

 

The skywalk complex over Asok was exactly the kind of place Gemini hated: too bright, too loud, too many people moving in too many directions. They stepped out of the BTS station into a corridor of glass and advertisement screens. The air smelled like fried chicken, coffee, and too many perfumes jingled at once.

 

“Romantic,” Fourth muttered.

 

“Depends on who you’re dating,” Gemini said. “Some people like food courts and shoulder checks.”

 

“Are you one of them?” Fourth asked.

 

Gemini gave him a sidelong look. “I’m a profiler,” he said. “We don’t date. We just get evaluated.”

 

Fourth snorted. “That’s the most depressing thing I’ve heard today.”

 

“Wait till you read the psych forms,” Gemini replied. They moved along the walkway toward the main junction. People flowed around them, phones in hand, bags bumping, voices layering in Thai, English, Mandarin, something else.

 

Gemini slowed near the first camera cluster he recognized from Dunk’s feed. “Here,” he said. “This angle.” Fourth followed his gaze. Overhead, a camera blinked in its housing. The corridor curved just enough that the far end dropped out of sight. Gemini gestured toward a bit of wall just outside the camera’s direct line. “If I stand here…” he said, stepping into the spot, “…I can see everyone coming off that escalator, but the camera barely gets my shoulder.”

 

Fourth backed up a step, narrowing his eyes. From the point where most people entered the corridor, Gemini just became part of the background. “It’s not hard to find these,” Gemini said, staying put. “You just have to be the kind of person who thinks about being watched a lot.”

 

“Like you?” Fourth asked.

 

“Occupational hazard,” Gemini said. He watched the crowd for a moment. People came off the escalator in bursts—office workers, tourists, a kid with a skateboard under his arm. “Here’s what he gets from this spot,” Gemini said. “He sees who’s alone. Who’s rushing. Who’s distracted. Who checks their phone every twelve seconds. Who steps aside to let everyone else pass.”

 

“That last one being a problem?” Fourth asked.

 

“That last one being someone who’s used to making space for others, not taking it,” Gemini said. “People like that are easier to maneuver.” They moved on. Gemini traced Chayanisa’s usual alternate route, following the memory of the lines on the board: corridor to MRT, staircase down, choke point near the coffee stall where commuters pooled and swerved.

 

He stopped near the stall, off to the side. “Here,” he said. “She usually queued there. He could have watched her from three different angles without getting bumped once.”

 

Fourth looked around. “And no one remembers him,” he said.

 

“Why would they?” Gemini asked. “He wears what half the station wears. Mask, cap, bag. He doesn’t push. He doesn’t raise his voice. He just… watches.”

 

Fourth scanned the crowd again, eyes sharper now. “You getting anything… now?” he asked. “Anyone giving you that feeling?”

 

Gemini considered. “Everyone and no one,” he said. “Most creeps aren’t offenders. They’re just creeps.”

 

“Comforting,” Fourth said.

 

“It’s accurate,” Gemini replied. They took the link to the mall, cut across an upper level lined with clothing stores and boba tea franchises. Gemini’s pace slowed as they entered another camera-rich area. “We have three days where Preecha came here after class,” he said. “Met friends, ate, walked this way to head back to the BRT. If our guy was shopping for patterns, this is where paths could have crossed.”

 

“So you think he picks them at random?” Fourth said. “Whoever walks into his sightline when he’s in the mood?”

 

Gemini shook his head. “Not random,” he said. “Opportunistic within a type. People whose routines make follow-up easy. People whose lives won’t explode on national TV if they go missing for twelve hours.”

 

“Not rich, not famous,” Fourth said.

 

“Not loud, not… anchored,” Gemini said. “People who move through public spaces like they’re grateful not to be in the way.”

 

Fourth shoved his hands into his pockets. “You’ve got a poetic streak you really need to warn people about,” he said.

 

“I usually keep it in my reports,” Gemini said. “They hate it.” They reached another intersection where three corridors met. Gemini halted. “This is where he stood,” he said.

 

Fourth raised a brow. “You sure?” he asked.

 

Gemini tilted his head toward an overhead camera. “Same angle Joong showed us,” he said. “See that little blind triangle where the map display blocks the view? If I stand…” He stepped into the space, tucked between a pillar and the back of a digital sign. “…here, I can see the whole junction. People just see a barrier.” From where Fourth stood now, Gemini seemed to vanish. The flow of bodies parted around the sign without noticing him. “Come here,” Gemini said. Fourth stepped up beside him. The world shifted. From this spot, the junction opened like a stage. Every entrance, every exit, every hesitation was visible. The hum of footsteps and voices felt different here—less like noise, more like rhythm.

 

“You could stand here a long time,” Fourth said. “No one would bump you.”

 

“That’s the point,” Gemini said softly. “He can be still while everyone else moves. He gets to feel… outside of it. Above it.”

 

“And you know that how?” Fourth asked, glancing sideways.

 

Gemini’s mouth twitched. “Because I also enjoy not being bumped,” he said. “And I’m not killing anyone about it.”

 

“Good to know where your line is,” Fourth said.

“Yes,” Gemini replied. “We should all have at least one.” They stood there a minute longer. Gemini’s eyes tracked faces; Fourth’s tracked body language. Somewhere in the blur, someone laughed too loudly. A couple argued in low tones. A security guard checked his phone.

 

Nothing jumped out. That was the problem.

 

Fourth’s radio crackled, faint with distance. “Fourth, Joong,” came the voice.

 

He lifted it. “Go.”

 

“We pulled preliminary phone data from both vics,” Joong said. “You’re not going to like it.”

 

“Try me,” Fourth said.

 

“Different lives,” Joong said. “Different contacts, different apps, different everything. But there’s one number that hits both in the last two months. Not frequent. Just once each.” Gemini’s attention sharpened instantly. Fourth felt it like a pull.

 

“Whose number?” Fourth asked.

 

“That’s the thing,” Joong said. “It’s a prepaid, no-name, no-registration burner. Pings bounce around a cluster of towers near Asok. We’re still pulling exact locations, but my bet? Somewhere above your head.”

 

Gemini’s gaze lifted automatically toward the ceiling. Cameras, lights, pipes. No answers.

“What was the content?” Gemini asked.

 

“Text only,” Joong said. “To Chayanisa: an offer for ‘part-time evening admin work, high hourly, detail-focused, DM for info.’ To Preecha: ‘flexible tech work, remote tasks, hourly pay, students welcome.’ Different wording, same structure. Same number.”

 

Fourth closed his eyes briefly. “He fishes by text,” he said.

 

“And casts wide,” Joong added. “We found the same number in spam on a job forum, too. Lots of people ignore it. At least two didn’t.”

 

“You can tell if they replied?” Gemini asked.

 

“Working on it,” Joong said. “Some messaging apps are slower to give up their secrets.”

 

Fourth looked at Gemini. The profiler’s face had gone still in that way it did when something slid into place behind his eyes. “Alright,” Fourth said into the radio. “Keep digging. We’re at the interchange now. We’ll head back soon.” He clicked off. “Job offer angle,” he said to Gemini. “That’s new.”

 

“It’s modern,” Gemini said. “Efficient. He doesn’t have to risk awkward conversations until they’ve already lowered their guard.”

 

“How many people get messages like that?” Fourth asked.

 

“Too many,” Gemini said. “The difference is who says yes.” They stepped out from behind the sign, back into the flow. The pocket of stillness let them go reluctantly.

 

As they walked toward the exit back to the skytrain, Fourth spoke without looking at Gemini.

“You really think he’s picking them because they’re… background people?” he asked. “The ones who make space?”

 

“Yes,” Gemini said. “And because he’s had enough time to watch them moving that way.”

 

“You say that like you know exactly how a man thinks when he’s about to start killing strangers,” Fourth said.

 

Gemini’s throat worked once. “I know how it looks when someone thinks they’re finally ready to do the thing they’ve been rehearsing in their head for years,” he said. “The content changes. The pattern doesn’t.” Fourth didn’t push. Not here. Not with this many people in earshot and some part of Gemini clearly braced against something only he could see. They stepped back out into the maw of the station. Trains screamed, brakes squealed, announcements warbled over the speakers.

Fourth’s phone buzzed softly. A text this time, not voice. He glanced at the screen.

 

From: Captain

Back in 20. New wants a sit-down. Decide what you’ll tell him about ‘linked homicides’ before he decides for you.

 

Fourth sighed. “We’re going to have to talk to your favorite reporter,” he said.

 

“He’s Tay’s favorite problem, not mine,” Gemini replied.

 

“You know he respects you, right?” Fourth said. “He quotes your profiles like scripture in some of his old articles.”

 

“That sounds unhealthy,” Gemini said. “For both of us.”

 

Fourth smirked. “You’re not as inspiring as you think,” he said. “He mostly uses you to dunk on bad police statements.”

 

“That part’s fine,” Gemini admitted. They waited at the platform edge as a train pulled in. Crowds surged, spilled, rearranged. For a brief second, Gemini’s gaze snagged on a man in a cap and mask near the far stairs—but then a rush of bodies swallowed him.

 

“You see him?” Fourth asked, catching the shift.

Gemini shook his head. “No,” he said. “Just… ghosts.”

 

“You have a lot of those,” Fourth said.

 

“Occupational hazard,” Gemini repeated. They got on the train. As the doors closed with a hydraulic hiss, Gemini caught his reflection in the glass opposite—tired eyes, shadowed contours, the faint ghost of the board behind him superimposed over his shoulder in memory.

Two faces pinned up. Two lives intersecting in places like this. One unknown number casting bait into the noise. He watched the city blur by through the window and thought: You picked a city full of noise so you’d never have to hear yourself think, didn’t you? He wasn’t sure if he meant the offender or himself. But he knew this: The man they were hunting had stepped onto this stage by choice. Gemini had been dragged onto his, years ago, and never fully left.

 

“Hey,” Fourth said quietly beside him, breaking the thought. “When we talk to New, let me do most of the talking.”

 

Gemini turned his head. “Why?” he asked.

 

“Because you sound like a horror podcast when you get going,” Fourth said. “We don’t need that on the ten o’clock news yet.”

 

Gemini considered, then nodded once. “Fair,” he said. “I’ll try to keep the doom to a minimum.”

 

“Just enough to keep him honest,” Fourth said.

 

“I can manage that,” Gemini said. He let his eyes fall half-closed for the rest of the ride, listening to the murmur of commuters around them, feeling the shape of the case settle a little more firmly in his mind. Two victims. Shared spaces. One number. Somewhere between the skywalk and the river, a man who thought he was writing a story had just had his script tugged.

Gemini intended to pull harder.

 

~ ~ ~

 

By the time they made it back to the station, the sky was the color of wet concrete and the whole building felt like it was buzzing one notch higher than usual. Gemini and Fourth barely cleared the main doors before Tay intercepted them.

 

“Captain’s in the small briefing room,” Tay said. “New’s with him.”

 

“Already?” Fourth asked. “Man doesn’t sleep.”

 

“He catnaps between outrage and deadlines,” Tay said. “He’s in rare form today. You two should hydrate.”

 

“I’m ninety percent coffee,” Gemini said. “Does that count?”

 

“Only if Pond says it does,” Tay replied. “He’s already glaring at your file from his office.”

 

“That tracks,” Gemini muttered.

 

Fourth blew out a breath. “Let’s get this over with,” he said. The “small briefing room” was really just a repurposed interview space with better lights and worse chairs. When they stepped in, Phuwin was at the head of the table, arms folded, fingers pressed against his bicep like he was holding himself in place. Thitipoom “New” Techaapaikhun sat beside him, notebook open, recorder on the table but not turned on yet. Tay leaned casually against the wall behind New’s chair, close enough to be moral support, far enough to claim neutrality if needed. New looked up the second they entered. His eyes swept both of them—Gemini, then Fourth—cataloguing things the way Gemini catalogued crime scenes.

 

“You look like death warmed over,” New said. “That for my benefit, or are you two actually working?”

 

“Traffic’s bad,” Fourth said, dropping into a chair opposite him. “Ask the city.”

 

Gemini took the seat beside Fourth, setting his file down. “If we were staging this for you,” he told New, “I’d have changed my shirt.”

 

New’s mouth twitched. “And yet you didn’t,” he said. “I feel honored.”

 

Phuwin cleared his throat. “This isn’t a press conference,” he said. “This is me deciding whether I’m going to let you anywhere near one.”

 

“Understood, Captain,” New said. “Off the record until you say otherwise.” He pushed the recorder a little further away and clicked his pen instead.

 

Phuwin glanced at Gemini and Fourth. “We’re going with ‘linked cases’ for now,” he said. “You two have new developments. Let’s hear them before we decide how much of that phrase leaves the building.”

 

Fourth nodded at Gemini. “You start,” he said. “You enjoy bad news more.”

 

Gemini shot him a bland look. “I don’t enjoy it,” he said. “I’m just used to it.” He opened the file, slid out a printout of Joong’s map and Dunk’s stills. “We’ve confirmed that both victims pass through the Asok skywalk complex on various days,” he said. “Different routines, same interchange. High-traffic area, multiple exits, lots of camera coverage and blind spots. Ideal place for someone who thinks about angles.”

 

New leaned forward, pen already moving. “You’re saying that’s where he chose them?” he asked.

 

“I’m saying it’s where their paths reliably intersected with a man matching the behavior of someone who’s shopping,” Gemini replied. “Cap, mask, messenger bag. Not unique, but his scanning pattern is more focused than the average commuter.”

 

“We walked the route,” Fourth added. “There are spots where you can stand and watch everyone without being seen by cameras or stepped on. Our guy likes those spots.”

 

New’s eyes flicked to Gemini. “You sound very sure about where he likes to stand,” he said.

 

Gemini tapped the printout. “The cameras don’t lie,” he said. “And creeps are predictable.” New’s lips twitched.

 

Phuwin gestured with his chin. “Phone data,” he prompted.

 

“Right.” Fourth’s expression turned flatter. “Joong pulled preliminary logs from both victims’ phones. There’s one number they have in common: prepaid, no registration, bouncing around towers near Asok.”

 

“Young people get spammed all the time,” New said. “What makes this more than that?”

 

Gemini slid a second sheet across. Two screenshots, side by side—sanitized, identifying details blurred out. “The content,” he said. “The texts to each victim are tailored.” He pointed. “To Chayanisa: ‘Part-time evening admin work, high hourly, detail-focused, can WFH sometimes, DM for info.’ To Preecha: ‘Flexible tech work, remote tasks, hourly pay, students welcome.’ Same number, same structure. Just enough plausibility to get a response.”

 

“Did they answer?” New asked.

 

“We don’t know yet,” Gemini said. “We’re still getting full message histories. But the timing lines up with when both their routines changed slightly. Extra late nights, different train patterns.”

 

New’s eyes sharpened. “So you think he lured them with fake job offers,” he said. “From a crowded interchange where no one would remember his face.”

 

“Yes,” Fourth said. “He doesn’t have to grab them off the street if they walk toward him willingly.”

 

“And you’re calling this a pattern,” New said. “Two victims, same staging, same phone, same hunting ground.”

 

“We’re calling it a serial internally,” Phuwin said before Gemini could answer. “Officially, for now, we call them linked cases based on similar victim handling and evidence tying them to the same unknown suspect.”

 

“That’s a very pretty sentence,” New said. “You planning to give me that on camera?”

“Yes,” Phuwin said. “Word for word.” New scribbled it down. Tay peered over his shoulder, read it, and nodded, like: acceptable.

 

New looked at Gemini again. “If I ask you on record whether we have a serial killer,” he said, “what will you say?”

 

“Off,” Phuwin said sharply.

 

New held up a hand. “Still off,” he said. “I’m asking so I know what not to expect.”

 

Gemini took a slow breath. “If you ask me that on record right now,” he said, “I’ll say we are investigating two homicides with strong behavioral and evidentiary links that suggest the involvement of a single offender, and that it would be irresponsible to speculate beyond that while we’re still notifying families.”

 

New blinked. “That’s almost paragraph-length,” he said.

 

“I can shorten it to ‘no comment,’ if you like,” Gemini replied. Fourth snorted.

 

New pointed his pen at Gemini. “You know I’m going to print ‘investigating linked homicides with similar victim staging,’” he said. “They’ll read between the lines anyway.”

 

“Then at least give them correct lines,” Gemini said. “The more grounded their fear, the less room they have to invent monsters that aren’t there.”

 

New studied him for a second. “You don’t think this guy’s a monster?” he asked.

 

“Oh, he is,” Gemini said. “He just isn’t a ghost.” Tay’s hand found New’s shoulder, a small press. New’s jaw tightened, but he wrote that down too.

 

Phuwin interlaced his fingers. “Here’s how this goes,” he said. “You can say there are two linked homicides involving similar post-mortem staging. You can say we believe the same suspect is responsible. You can say we are actively pursuing leads, including digital evidence, and asking the public for information about suspicious job offers from unregistered numbers.”

 

“Can I say ‘serial killer’?” New asked.

 

“No,” Phuwin said.

 

“For how long?” New pressed. “You know someone on a talk show is going to drop it the second they smell ratings.”

 

“And when they do, I want the public to have something more accurate to cling to than their headlines,” Phuwin said. “You’re one of the few people I trust to deliver that. Don’t make me regret it.”

New held his gaze for a moment, then sighed and leaned back. “Okay,” he said. “Linked homicides. Shared suspect. No S-word until you say so.” Tay exhaled quietly behind him, shoulders losing some of their coil. New tapped his pen against the table. “Can I quote you on the job texts?” he asked. “Warn people about suspicious offers?”

 

“Yes,” Fourth said, before Gemini could. “Blur details, keep it general. We don’t want copycats or false positives overwhelming my officers.”

 

“‘Police urge public to be cautious about unsolicited job offers via text, especially those asking to meet in person or move to encrypted apps quickly,’” New recited. “That sound about right?”

 

Gemini’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Add ‘and verify offers through official channels when possible,’” he said. “So people have something to do with the fear.”

 

New scribbled more. “You’re very quotable for someone who hates microphones,” he said.

 

“I hate microphones because they cut out half the context,” Gemini said. “You’re one of the few who doesn’t.” It was half compliment, half warning. New took it like a gift.

 

“Anything else you want the public to know?” he asked. “On or off the record?”

 

Fourth leaned his elbows on the table. “Yeah,” he said. “If anyone’s been contacted by a number offering too-good-to-be-true admin or tech work, especially if they pass through Asok a lot, we want them to call our tip line. Even if they didn’t answer.”

 

“We’ll get you a dedicated number,” Phuwin added. “Joong will set up filters so we don’t drown.”

 

New nodded slowly. “You’re going to have a lot of noise,” he said. “Every cousin with a MLM will send screenshots.”

 

“We’re used to noise,” Gemini said softly. “We work in Bangkok.”

 

New’s gaze flicked to him again. “You’re sure you’re up for this?” he asked.

 

“Is that a mental health question?” Gemini said. “Because Pond will be delighted someone else is asking.”

 

“It’s a ‘you look like you haven’t slept in three days’ question,” New said. “Which, to be fair, is most of this room.”

 

“I’m upright, I know what day it is, and I haven’t started naming the whiteboard yet,” Gemini said. “I’m fine.”

 

Fourth shot him a skeptical look. “That’s your bar?” he said.

 

“Low expectations are the foundation of survival,” Gemini replied. Tay pinched the bridge of his nose, hiding a smile. Phuwin didn’t smile at all, but some of the rigidness in his shoulders eased.

 

New snapped his notebook shut. “Alright,” he said. “You’ve given me enough to keep the vultures off your backs for about twelve hours.”

 

“That’s generous,” Fourth said.

 

“I said ‘about,’” New replied. He reached for the recorder, then paused. “Last thing,” he added, looking at Gemini. “Off the record, personal curiosity. You profile this guy all day. How do you not start… agreeing with him? About people. About targets.” Tay went still behind him. Fourth’s eyes darted to Gemini, sharp.

 

Gemini didn’t answer right away. “I don’t agree with people who kill the kind of victims I grew up around,” he said finally. “Office workers, shop keepers who are just trying to make a living, students, people who take the long way home because it feels safer. If anything, I take it personally.”

 

New considered that, then nodded once. “Good,” he said. “I prefer my profilers mildly angry.”

 

“Trust me,” Gemini said. “You haven’t seen ‘mildly’ yet.” That earned him a snort from Fourth and a quiet chuckle from Tay.

 

Phuwin clapped his hands once, softly. “We’re done,” he said. “Tay, escort your husband out before he starts asking for crime scene photos.”

 

“Already on it,” Tay said, hand landing on New’s shoulder.

 

New stood, slid the recorder into his pocket untouched. “I’ll send you a draft of the article before it goes live,” he told Phuwin. “And I’ll bury the ‘linked’ angle under the job-offer warning so it doesn’t turn into public theater.”

 

“Appreciated,” Phuwin said.

 

New hesitated at the door, then glanced back at Gemini. “If you end up needing the media for something…” he said. “…use me before you end up with a clown show.”

 

Gemini gave a short nod. “I know where your office is,” he said. “It has better coffee.”

 

“You only say that because Pond told you to,” New replied.

 

“Pond never lies about caffeine,” Gemini said. Tay steered him out before the conversation could loop into another tangent. When the door shut, the room felt smaller.

 

Fourth leaned back in his chair and scrubbed a hand over his face. “Well,” he said. “That could’ve gone worse.”

“It still can,” Phuwin said. “We’ve bought ourselves time, not safety.” His gaze settled on Gemini. “You keep the job-offer angle tight,” he said. “No speculative leaps. If this guy is watching us—and I’m assuming he is—we don’t want to spook him into changing his approach before we’ve mapped it.”

 

“He’ll adapt eventually,” Gemini said. “But yes. We don’t rush him into that.”

 

“And you,” Phuwin added, looking between Gemini and Fourth, “do not get complacent walking around that interchange. If he’s hunting there, he knows the terrain better than either of you.”

 

Fourth nodded. “We weren’t exactly wearing neon signs,” he said.

 

“Yet,” Gemini murmured.

 

Fourth kicked his ankle lightly under the table. “Don’t add that to your to-do list,” he said.

 

Phuwin shook his head, but there was a flicker of fondness there now. “Go,” he said. “Joong should have more for you soon. I want a full overlap chart by tonight.”

 

“Yes, Captain,” Fourth said, standing.

 

Gemini gathered his papers. As he reached for the door, Phuwin’s voice stopped him.

“Gem.”

 

He turned.

 

Phuwin’s expression had shifted—still Captain, but with a layer only Gemini knew how to read. “You come up for air at some point today,” he said quietly. “Even five minutes.”

 

“I’ll schedule time to stare at a wall,” Gemini said.

 

“Stare at a wall that isn’t covered in photos,” Phuwin countered.

 

Gemini inclined his head just enough to count as agreement. “We’ll see,” he said.

 

“Not ‘we,’” Phuwin said. “You.” Fourth opened the door before Gemini could deflect again.

Out in the corridor, the hum of the station returned—phones ringing, keyboards clacking, someone carrying a tray of iced coffees toward CSU.

 

Fourth fell into step beside him. “You know he’s not going to drop that,” he said.

 

“I know,” Gemini said. “He’s very stubborn.”

 

“Wonder where he learned that,” Fourth said.

 

Gemini shot him a look. “Technically he’s older,” he said. “I should’ve learned it from him.” Fourth actually laughed. They were halfway back to Joong and Dunk’s “data cave” when

 

Gemini’s phone buzzed. Pond. Gemini stared at the screen for a second, then picked up. “Doctor Naravit,” he said.

 

“You sound like someone’s misbehaving,” Pond said, voice warm and dry.

 

“I’m surrounded by detectives,” Gemini said. “It’s contagious.”

 

“I just saw your name in the latest case file request,” Pond said. “Serial violence, multiple victims, behavioral consult. You want to guess what my blood pressure did?”

 

“I assume it enjoyed the cardio,” Gemini said.

 

“Gemini.”

 

Gemini sighed quietly. “We’re in the middle of it,” he said. “I can’t give you details.”

 

“I don’t want details,” Pond said. “I want to know you remember how to step away from a board when your legs go numb.”

 

“I’m fine,” Gemini said.

 

“You always say that,” Pond replied. “Then I find you falling asleep in a chair with three empty coffee cups and a file on your chest.”

 

Fourth made a face like yep, I can picture that.

 

“I have Fourth attached to me,” Gemini said. “He yells more than you do.”

 

“Good,” Pond said. “He can yell at you to come see me tomorrow morning.”

 

“I’m working tomorrow morning,” Gemini said.

 

“Then you can yell at yourself,” Pond said, and hung up before Gemini could argue.

 

Fourth raised an eyebrow. “You’re seeing Pond tomorrow?” he asked.

 

“Apparently,” Gemini said.

 

“You going to go?” Fourth pressed.

 

Gemini considered. “If we don’t have a fresh body by then,” he said.

 

“That’s a terrible metric,” Fourth said.

“It’s measurable,” Gemini replied. They rounded the corner into the incident room just as Joong looked up from his laptop, eyes bright in that way that meant I’ve found something, and you’re not going to like it.

 

“Good timing,” Joong said. “Our mystery number just pinged again.”

 

Gemini’s stomach dropped a millimeter. “To who?” he asked.

 

Joong turned the screen. A new screenshot sat beside the previous two. Same number. Same tone.

This one read: Flexible evening work – safe location, good pay, no experience needed. Interested? Underneath, a name. New victim? No. Not yet. Gemini recognized the contact name from one of the peripheral interview lists. A woman who lived alone near a BTS line. Around the same age bracket. Commuter. Background.

 

“She hasn’t answered yet,” Joong said. “Message is marked delivered, not read.”

 

“How long ago?” Fourth asked.

 

“Twenty minutes,” Joong replied. “If her settings are accurate.”

 

Dunk swiveled his chair. “If this is how he’s fishing,” he said, “this might be the first one we see in real time.” Gemini looked at the message again. Flexible evening work. Safe location. Good pay. The words blurred for a heartbeat into another language, another case file, another time—not here, not now. He forced them back into the present.

 

“We need to get to her before he does,” he said.

 

Fourth was already reaching for his radio. “On it,” he said. “Get her address up. We’re going.”

Gemini’s pulse kicked. The room sharpened. For the first time since Chayanisa had been found under a streetlamp, they weren’t just catching up to the echo. For the first time, they might be able to step in before the scene was set.

 

“Grab your coat, Desk Guy,” Fourth said, already moving. “Looks like your script just gave us a live page.”

Chapter 5: The Man In The Cap

Summary:

I swear this is the last update til thursday :)

For a second, no one moved. The fluorescent light hummed; Joong’s laptop fan whirred; somewhere in the station, a phone rang three times and stopped. Then the room snapped back into motion.

 

“Name,” Fourth said.

 

“Siriporn Kanchana,” Joong replied, already dragging a window from one monitor to another. “Goes by Fai. Twenty-three. Office assistant for a dental clinic. Lives alone near the BTS line two stops from Asok.” He brought up a basic profile: ID photo, address, a thumbnail of her workplace’s website.

 

“Number?” Fourth asked.

Joong rattled it off. Tay—who’d slipped in at some point and was now leaning against the doorframe—had his phone out before the last digit left Joong’s mouth.

 

“I’ll try her,” Tay said, already punching in the numbers. Gemini watched the calling screen light up on Tay’s phone. One ring. Two. Three. No answer. Tay’s jaw tightened. “Going to voicemail,” he said. “No greeting. Just the default. I’ll try again.”

 

“Location?” Gemini asked, eyes already on the map in his head.

 

“Last cell ping puts her phone near her condo,” Joong said. “Tower triangulation isn’t perfect, but it’s within a few hundred meters. Could be home. Could be on the BTS.”

 

“Could be walking to meet him,” Dunk said. The silence after that sentence had weight.

 

Phuwin appeared in the doorway as if summoned. “Status,” he said.

 

Fourth didn’t waste time. “Same burner number just sent a job offer text to a woman in our region,” he said. “We’ve got name, approximate location, no answer on her phone yet.”

 

Phuwin’s gaze snapped to Joong. “Can we get exact?” he asked.

 

“Working on it,” Joong said, fingers flying over the keys. “I can’t magically GPS her without permissions, but if she’s using data or any app that pings—”

 

“Assume we don’t have that luxury,” Gemini cut in. “We know where she sleeps. We know where the towers think she is. That’s enough to move.”

 

Fourth was already grabbing his jacket off the back of a chair. “We take a car, hit her condo first,” he said. “Uniforms can fan out from there.”

Phuwin nodded once. “Take Junior,” he said. “He’s good with panicked civilians. Santa, Satang, you coordinate with patrol in that sector. I want a perimeter around her building and the nearest BTS entrance in ten minutes.”

 

“Yes, sir,” Santa and Satang said in unison, already moving.

 

“I want updates every five,” Phuwin added. “And nobody goes cowboy. If this is him, he’s already one move ahead. Don’t give him two.” His eyes locked on Gemini’s for a beat. The warning didn’t have to be spoken.

 

“Not a fan of cowboy hats,” Gemini said. “They don’t go with my hair.”

 

Fourth caught his sleeve and pulled him toward the door. “Let’s go, Desk Guy,” he said. “Time to pretend we’re a well-oiled machine.”

 

“We squeak,” Gemini replied. “Loudly.”

 

Junior jogged up as they hit the main corridor, tucking a notebook into his pocket. “Got the address,” he said. “Dispatch is looping nearby units. Patrol 23 is three minutes out from her street.”

 

“Good,” Fourth said. “We’ll meet them there.” They moved through the station at a near-run, the hum of voices dipping as people saw their faces and read urgent in the set of their shoulders.

Outside, the air hit them like a warm, wet towel. Fourth slid behind the wheel; Gemini took the passenger seat; Junior climbed into the back. The car smelled faintly of old coffee and air freshener. Fourth turned the key, pulled out, and flipped on the lights but not the siren. “No need to announce ourselves to the whole neighborhood,” he said.

 

“We might want him to feel safe,” Gemini agreed. “For another ten minutes.”

 

Junior leaned forward between the seats, phone in hand. “Tay got through to her number once,” he reported. “She picked up, heard ‘police,’ and hung up. Now she’s not answering.”

 

“Great,” Fourth muttered. “That’s encouraging.”

 

“She might think it’s a scam,” Junior said. “Or she’s scared. Or both.”

 

“Or she’s already with him,” Gemini said quietly. All three fell silent for a moment. Traffic wasn’t kind, but lights and the kind of driving that got you quiet respect from other cops but a ticket from everyone else shaved off some time. They cut through side streets, dove under an overpass, came up on a narrower road lined with aging condo buildings and street food carts starting their evening trade.

 

Patrol 23 was already there, lights off, parked near the entrance to a blue-and-white building that had seen better paint jobs. Fourth pulled up behind them and got out. The air smelled like frying garlic and exhaust.

A uniformed sergeant walked over, notebook in hand. “Detective,” he said. “We’ve got eyes on the front entrance and the alley. No sign of anyone matching your description going in or out in the last ten minutes.”

 

“What about her?” Fourth asked. “Anyone see a young woman leave alone?”

 

“Security guard says she came through the lobby about forty minutes ago,” the sergeant said. “Said hello, nothing strange. He hasn’t seen her come back down.”

 

“So she’s probably still upstairs,” Junior said. “Maybe.”

 

“Or she left through another exit,” Gemini said. “Basement parking, back door.”

 

Sergeant shook his head. “Old building,” he said. “No underground. Just this entrance and a fire escape locked from the outside. She’d have to ring someone to open it.”

 

Gemini’s mind slotted that in. “Good,” he said. “Fewer variables.”

 

Fourth looked at him. “You want to do the honors?” he asked. “Or should I scare her first?”

 

“Given her current relationship with unknown numbers,” Gemini said, “maybe let me try the door.”

 

Junior nodded. “I’ll stay between you and her freak-out,” he said. “I have a calming voice.”

 

“You have a teacher voice,” Fourth said. “That’s not the same thing.”

 

“Works on panicked aunties,” Junior replied. They headed inside. The lobby was small and dim, with old mailboxes and a fake plant that had given up trying. A TV high in a corner played a sitcom rerun with the volume low. The security guard—a middle-aged man with a newspaper folded on his lap—stood up quickly when he saw the badges.

 

“Khun Fai’s floor?” Junior asked.

 

“Six, room 604,” the guard said. “Is… is she in trouble?” His eyes darted between them.

 

“We’re here to make sure she doesn’t get into trouble,” Gemini said. It was technically true.

The elevator wheezed its way up to six. The corridor was narrow, fluorescent lights buzzing faintly.

 

Fourth took the lead, stopping in front of 604. He nodded at Gemini, then at Junior.

“Positions,” he said quietly.

 

Junior moved slightly to the side, where he’d be the first face she saw when the door opened. Non-threatening. Calm. Gemini stayed just behind him, visible but not looming. Fourth took the other side, out of immediate line of sight but close enough to move fast if needed. Fourth knocked. Not loud, not soft. Three deliberate raps. For a moment, nothing. Then, from inside: the faint scrape of someone moving. A pause. Another.

 

“Khun Siriporn?” Junior called, gentle. “This is the police. We’d like to speak with you.”

 

Silence.

 

Gemini listened past it. The soft thud of a step. The whisper of breath close to the other side of the door. “She’s there,” he said quietly. “At the peephole.”

 

Fourth didn’t look surprised that Gemini could tell. “Khun Fai,” he called, tone steady. “We’re not here to accuse you of anything. We think someone may be trying to target you.”

 

Still nothing.

 

“Your safety,” Junior added, voice warm. “That’s all. You don’t have to let us in if you don’t want to. We can talk through the door.” Another scrape. The sound of a chain being slid. Then the door opened just a crack, the security chain stretched. A single brown eye peered out, wide and wary.

 

“I didn’t do anything,” she said immediately. “If this is about my neighbor’s bike, he lent it to me, I swear—”

 

“It’s not about a bike,” Junior said quickly. “We’re not here to arrest you. May we show you our badges?” She hesitated, then nodded once. Fourth held his up where she could see. Junior did the same. Gemini stayed still.

 

Fai swallowed. “My mom told me not to open for anyone,” she said. “Especially people who say ‘police’ on the phone. She said there are scams.”

 

“She’s right,” Gemini said. “There are. That’s why we came in person.”

 

Her gaze snapped to him. “You’re the voice from the phone,” she said.

“I didn’t call you,” Gemini said. “But my colleague did. And he said we’d come, if you’d let us.”

 

She chewed her lip, looking between them. “What do you want?” she asked.

 

“To ask about a message you got,” Gemini said. “A job offer.”

 

Her eyes went even wider. She slapped a hand over her mouth like she’d said something incriminating. “I didn’t answer it,” she blurted. “I thought it was weird. Too much money. I was going to show my friend tomorrow—”

 

“That’s good,” Gemini said. “Not answering is good. We’d still like to see it, if you’re comfortable with that.”

 

“Why?” she asked.

 

“Because whoever sent it,” Gemini said, “has sent similar messages to at least two people who were later killed.” He watched the comprehension land. Shock. Denial. Fear. You could almost see them in order.

 

“You’re lying,” she whispered.

 

“I wish I were,” Gemini said. “We’re trying to make sure you don’t end up on that list.”

 

A beat.

 

Then she closed the door. Fourth’s hand twitched toward his holster on pure reflex. Gemini raised a hand. “Wait,” he said.

 

The chain rattled. A second later, the door opened fully. Fai stood there in an oversized T-shirt and leggings, barefoot, phone clutched so tight in one hand her knuckles were white. She was shaking just enough that the screen trembled. “Shoes off,” she said. “If you’re coming in.”

 

Junior smiled faintly. “Yes, ma’am,” he said. They lined their shoes neatly by the door. Something about that small act—normal, domestic—made the tension in the hallway shift.

Inside, the condo was a mirror-image of too many others Gemini had seen: small sofa, TV, a shrine in one corner, laundry drying on a rack by the balcony. It smelled like instant noodles and laundry detergent.

 

“Here,” Fai said, thrusting the phone at Gemini like it burned. “I didn’t open the link. I swear.”

On the screen, the message sat exactly as Joong had shown it, complete with the too-friendly phrasing.

 

Gemini didn’t touch anything; he just read. “You didn’t reply at all?” he asked.

 

She shook her head. “I… I thought about it,” she admitted. “Rent is high. Salary is low. But then my mom’s voice in my head said, ‘If it’s too good to be true—’”

 

“—it’s my job to worry about it,” Gemini finished. “Your mom’s good at this.”

 

A watery laugh escaped her unexpectedly. “She worries about everything,” Fai said.

 

“Today she’s right,” Junior said gently. “Do you mind if our tech team copies this message? We won’t touch anything else.”

 

“As long as I don’t have to touch it,” she said.

 

Fourth stepped a little closer to the balcony, eyes scanning the building across the narrow alley. Windows, balconies, sightlines. Gemini followed his gaze automatically.

It was early evening; lights were on in some units, off in others. A man smoked on one balcony, eyes fixed on his phone. A woman watered plants two floors down. A kid bounced a ball in a corridor visible through an open door. No one was obviously staring back. Too easy to disappear.

 

“Has anyone new been hanging around the building?” Fourth asked without turning. “Loitering near the entrance, watching people come and go?”

 

Fai shook her head quickly. “No,” she said. “Just the delivery guys. And there’s a man who sells grilled pork on the corner in the evenings, but he’s been there forever.”

 

“Anyone… overly friendly?” Junior added. “Online or in person. Someone you didn’t know who suddenly wanted to talk a lot.”

 

Fai hesitated. “Well,” she said slowly. “There was a guy who messaged me on an app a month ago. Said he saw me at the station and liked my bag. I ignored him. He sent another message, then stopped.”

 

Gemini’s stomach gave a small, unpleasant twist. “You still have his messages?” he asked.

 

“I didn’t block him,” she said. “Just muted. I can check.”

 

“Please,” Gemini said.

 

She scrolled, thumb shaking. “Here,” she said. “He called himself ‘Khun B.’” The app interface was different. The tone was different. But the pattern… strangers fishing in crowded spaces, trying to turn public anonymity into private access.

 

“We’ll have our tech people take a look at that too,” Gemini said. “For now, I need you to do a few things for us. For yourself.”

 

She swallowed. “Okay,” she said.

 

“First,” Gemini said, “do not answer unknown numbers or respond to messages about jobs, no matter how normal they look. If it’s real, it can wait until we’re done.”

 

“Done with what?” she asked, voice small.

 

“With making sure the man sending them can’t,” Gemini said. Junior shot him a quick sideways look—soften—but said nothing. “Second,” Gemini went on, “for the next few days, you don’t go anywhere alone if you can avoid it. Especially not at night. Work, home, station—all with someone. If you have to leave suddenly or feel like someone’s watching you, you call this number.” He pulled a card from his pocket, wrote a direct line on the back, and handed it to her.

 

She took it like it might evaporate. “This is really that serious?” she whispered.

 

“Yes,” Gemini said.

Fourth had drifted back toward them. “We’ll arrange for uniform patrols to swing by the building more often,” he said. “You’ll see more of us around.”

 

“That’s… good,” she said. “I think.”

 

Gemini studied her for a second. The way her hands trembled, the tight set of her mouth, the stubborn way she stayed standing instead of collapsing onto the sofa.

“Khun Fai,” he said. “Do you have someone you trust who can stay with you tonight? Or that you can stay with?”

 

“My friend Nuan,” she said immediately. “She lives one station over.”

 

“Call her,” Gemini said. “Tell her the police recommend a sleepover.”

 

A faint, startled smile flickered across Fai’s face. “She’ll like that,” she said. “She’s nosy.”

 

“Nosy friends save lives,” Junior said.

 

While Fai found her friend’s contact, Fourth’s radio crackled softly.

“Unit 23 to Lead.”

 

Fourth lifted it. “Go.”

 

“We’ve got patrols set up on the street and near the BTS entrance,” came the reply. “No sign of anyone matching the description. No loiterers aside from usual street vendors.”

 

“Keep eyes open,” Fourth said. “Anyone taking too much interest in this building or the station, I want to know.”

 

“Copy.”

 

Gemini’s phone buzzed in his pocket. A message from Joong.

 

No new outbound from burner. No response from Fai’s phone since initial text. Whoever he is, he hasn’t nudged again. Yet.

 

Gemini stared at the words for a second, something cold settling alongside the relief. He didn’t push. He was patient. Good. Terrible. Fai ended the call with Nuan, who apparently had reacted with a lot of swearing and immediate yes.

 

“She’s coming to get me,” Fai said. “Should… should I tell her why?”

 

“You can say the police are investigating scam job offers and want you to be careful,” Gemini said. “You don’t need to talk about the rest unless you want to.”

 

Fai nodded, eyes shining. “Thank you,” she said. “For coming.”

“Thank your mom,” Gemini said. “She raised you to distrust good deals.” That earned him an actual laugh, thin but real. They left her with a promise of patrol checks and the instruction to call if anything felt wrong.

 

Back in the hallway, Fourth let out a breath Gemini hadn’t realized he’d been holding too.

“You did alright in there,” Fourth said. “Didn’t terrify her more than necessary.”

 

“That’s the highest compliment I’ve had all week,” Gemini said.

 

“It might be the only one,” Fourth replied. They stepped into the elevator. The metal doors slid shut; the hum of the building wrapped around them.

 

“Do you think he knows?” Junior asked quietly. “That we intercepted one of his messages?”

 

Gemini looked at the ceiling. Past it. Back to the imaginary map where towers and texts and routines intersected. “If he’s watching his line,” Gemini said, “he knows she didn’t answer. If he’s arrogant, he assumes she was busy. If he’s cautious, he’ll notice patterns—numbers that stop replying after we talk to them. That gives us a window, but not a big one.”

 

Fourth rapped his knuckles lightly against the railing. “So we keep the window small enough he doesn’t get a good look at us through it,” he said.

 

Gemini nodded. “For now,” he said. “Later…”

 

“Later?” Junior prompted.

 

“Later, we might want him to look,” Gemini said.

 

Fourth shot him a sideways glance. “You volunteering to put on the neon sign then?” he asked.

 

Gemini smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “One thing at a time, Detective,” he said. The doors opened on the ground floor. Noise rushed back—the building’s heartbeat. As they stepped out into the lobby and back toward the street, Gemini couldn’t shake the feeling that somewhere, on some screen or from some vantage point, someone else was watching their little trio walk out.

 

He hoped the man was annoyed.

 

He hoped the man was scared.

 

More honestly, he suspected the man was… intrigued.

 

Good, he thought, with a flicker of something dangerously close to satisfaction. Look at me. Look at us. It would make him easier to find later. It would make everything more dangerous.

 

Fourth bumped his shoulder as they stepped back into the late Bangkok evening. “You’re making that face,” he said.

“What face?” Gemini asked.

 

“The one that says you just had an idea I’m going to hate,” Fourth said.

 

Gemini’s mouth twitched. “We’ll save it for Chapter Two of the plan,” he said.

 

“We’re still on the prologue,” Fourth replied. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Gemini said. In his head, the map of the city glowed: Asok, Sukhumvit, Rama III, now this quiet street with a blue-and-white building and a woman who would spend the night at a friend’s house because a stranger on the internet had decided she might be useful.

For the first time, the pattern hadn’t ended in a body. It was a small deviation. Small, in these cases, was everything. He intended to make the next deviation bigger.

 

~ ~ ~

 

The street outside Fai’s building was starting to glow—neon signs humming to life, food carts flaring fire under woks, the sky overhead sliding toward indigo. Fourth checked the sidewalk once more, eyes sweeping balconies and doorways, then jerked his chin toward the car. “Call it in,” he said. “Before Phuwin starts imagining the worst.”

 

“He doesn’t have to imagine,” Gemini said. “He has us.”

 

Junior huffed a laugh, already lifting his radio. By the time they were in the car, Fourth’s radio crackled. “Unit 12, status.”

 

“Victim candidate located,” Fourth said. “Alive and at home. She received the job-offer text; did not respond. We advised caution, collected device data, and arranged for her to stay with a friend tonight. Patrol’s covering her block and nearest BTS entrance.”

 

A beat of silence on the line. Then Phuwin exhaled audibly. “Copy,” he said. “Come back in. Good work. We’ll fold this into the profile before it leaks.” The radio clicked off.

 

Junior sank back in his seat with a low whistle. “That went better than it could have,” he said.

 

“Your standards are low,” Gemini said. “Mine too.”

 

Fourth pulled away from the curb. “He hit send,” he said. “We just happened to be looking at the right time.”

 

Gemini stared out at the passing buildings. “Statistically, we were going to get one live casting eventually,” he said. “We just caught it early.”

 

“That supposed to make me feel better?” Fourth asked.

 

“No,” Gemini said. “It’s supposed to keep you from thinking he’s omniscient. He’s not. He’s just been lucky.”

 

“And good,” Junior added quietly. Gemini didn’t contradict him. They reached the station faster this time; the streets had shifted from rush hour chaos to the more predictable nighttime pattern of taxis and bikes. Inside, the incident room hummed louder than when they’d left. Santa and Satang were back, uniforms a little rumpled, coffee cups in hand. Winny and Mark were in a corner, comparing notes over their tablets. Joong and Dunk were still at command central, screens multiplied.

 

Perth stood at the board, arms folded, studying the new additions—Fai’s name, circled in blue, with a big INTERCEPTED written next to it in Fourth’s blunt hand. He turned as they came in.

“You got to her?” he asked immediately.

 

“Yes,” Fourth said. “Alive, unhurt, paranoid in a healthy way.”

 

“She didn’t answer the text,” Gemini added. “That probably saved her from a meeting offer.”

 

Perth’s gaze slid to him, sharp. “And now she knows someone wanted her on a list,” he said. “That’ll help her sleep.”

 

“We told her enough to make her careful, not enough to paralyze her,” Gemini said. “Junior’s the one with the soothing voice; I just held the phone.”

 

Junior lifted a hand. “She’s got a friend coming,” he said. “She’ll be okay tonight.”

 

“For tonight,” Perth countered. “What about next week? The week after? You think he’s just going to skip her because we showed up once?”

 

“If he’s cautious, yes,” Gemini said. “She’s marked now. Too much risk. He’ll move on to someone quieter.”

 

Perth’s eyes narrowed. “And you’re comfortable with that?” he asked. “That he just picks another name because we spooked this one?”

 

“No,” Gemini said. “I’m not comfortable with any of it. I’m realistic about what we can and can’t control.”

 

Fourth stepped in. “We’re not going to guilt ourselves for the victims we prevented,” he said. “We’ll have enough of the other kind.”

 

Perth’s jaw flexed. “I’m not guilting you,” he said. “I’m reminding you that if this guy is watching, he just watched you close one door. He’s going to look for another. You need to be ready when he decides why you interest him more than the others.”

 

The last part was aimed directly at Gemini. It landed.

Gemini felt the hairs on his neck stir. “You’re assuming he’s capable of that level of self-awareness this early,” he said.

 

“I’m assuming he’s going to notice the profiler stepping into his playground,” Perth said. “Guys like this always do. You know this better than anyone, Gem—Gemini. ”

 

Silence stretched.

 

Fourth broke it. “We’ll account for that,” he said. “One step at a time.” Perth held Gemini’s gaze a second longer, then looked away, like he’d made his point and was done.

 

“Fine,” he said. “As long as no one here starts offering themselves as extra credit.” He turned and walked toward Tay, who’d just stepped in with New on his heels. Tay put a hand on Perth’s arm, said something low. Perth’s shoulders eased a fraction.

 

Gemini realized his own fists were clenched. He uncurled them slowly. “You and Perth are going to need a mediator at some point,” Fourth said under his breath.

 

“We had one,” Gemini replied. “It didn’t help.”

 

“You want to explain that?” Fourth asked.

 

“No,” Gemini said.

 

Fourth nodded like he’d expected that. “Good,” he said. “I like mysteries. They make my job feel symmetrical.”

 

Joong waved them over. “We’ve been mapping the blast radius,” he said as they approached.

On the board, New victims’ names—or potential victims—had sprouted around the burner number in a branching tree. Most were crossed out in gray: numbers that had been texted but never answered, people who had blocked or ignored the message. “So far, we’ve tracked more than fifty outbound texts from that number in the last two months,” Joong said. “Different phrasing, same structure. Admin, tech, logistics, part-time flexible work. All low-income, young-to-mid-range, all commuting through major interchanges.”

 

“And he’s only escalated two to face-to-face,” Gemini said.

 

“As far as we know,” Dunk said darkly.

 

Gemini nodded once. “As far as we know,” he echoed. “We’ll widen our search. GRD, missing-person reports that fit his likely type.” Phuwin entered quietly, Pond just behind him, still in his white coat. The room shifted again around them. Pond’s eyes went to Gemini first, scanning for damage. Gemini gave him a tiny nod. I’m upright. I’m here. Pond’s shoulders relaxed by a millimeter.

 

Phuwin moved to the front. “I’ve just spoken with the higher-ups,” he said. “They’re aware of the job-offer angle. They agree we move carefully.” New perked up from where he hovered near Tay, notebook already in hand. He’d clearly been briefed just enough to be dangerous.

“We put out New’s article in the next cycle,” Phuwin continued. “Warning about scam job texts, encouraging verification and reporting. We don’t mention numbers, scenes, or the word ‘serial.’”

 

New nodded. “I’ve framed it as ‘police urge caution after similar job scams linked to violent incidents,’” he said. “Plural. Vague. Enough to get people checking their messages.”

 

“That’s what we want,” Gemini said. “Eyes on screens, not bodies under lamps.” New scribbled that line down verbatim, of course.

 

Pond stepped closer to Gemini. “I read the preliminary MEs,” he said. “Somchai’s leaning toward full manual suffocation in both. No ligatures. He’ll confirm after the second autopsy’s done.”

 

Gemini nodded. “Control,” he said. “He wants to feel it.”

 

Pond’s jaw tightened. “I thought as much,” he said. “I’ll have his full reports for you by morning.”

 

“You should be in bed by morning,” Gemini said, eyes furrowing. “You’re the department psychiatrist. Not a profiler Phi.”

 

“Tell that to my case study notes involving you.” Pond replied. “Neither of us will be sleeping.”

 

Fourth pinched the bridge of his nose. “I hate being in rooms where everyone’s right and no one sleeps,” he muttered.

 

“Welcome to serious crime,” Phuwin said. They spent the next hour in a blur of logistics: allocating units to monitor transit hubs, setting up a dedicated tip line, creating a protocol for incoming “job-offer” reports so they didn’t drown in noise. Gemini watched the board fill. Chayanisa. Preecha. Fai, circled, underlined, INTERCEPTED. A tree of numbers branching from the burner. Some lines ending in gray Xs where recipients had blocked or ignored. A few ending in question marks—no response yet, no way to know if their owners were safe at home, at work, or already walking toward a meeting they didn’t realize was an exit.

 

Quietly, he added one more circle around the burner number and wrote a single word:

EGO

 

Fourth noticed. “You sure?” he asked.

 

“Yes,” Gemini said. “He’s not just killing. He’s curating.”

 

“You’re going to have to explain that,” Fourth said.

 

“Later,” Gemini replied. “In a controlled environment, with caffeine.”

 

Fourth looked at him. “You mean my desk?” he said.

 

“Any place with a table and minimal bloodstains,” Gemini said. “I’m not picky.”

 

“Progress,” Fourth said. “You’re downgrading from glass box.”

 

Perth, who had drifted closer again, snorted. “Don’t celebrate yet,” he said. “You haven’t seen him on day three of no sleep.”

 

“I’ve seen him on day five,” Pond said mildly. “You all get off easy.”

 

Gemini pulled the cap off a marker and started listing traits under the bracket labeled

 

OFFENDER:

– Male, likely mid-20s to 40s

– Organized, patient

– Comfortable in public spaces

– Prepares scripts / lures (job offers)

– Enjoys post-mortem control & staging

– Watches more than he speaks

 

Fourth read over his shoulder. “You going to add ‘likes cap and mask’?” he asked.

 

“That’s camouflage, not core,” Gemini said. “He’ll swap it if he gets spooked.”

 

“And you think we haven’t spooked him yet?” Perth asked.

 

“Yes,” Gemini said. “We inconvenienced him. He doesn’t… feel us yet. Not personally.”

 

“And you want him to?” Perth said. “You want him to notice you?”

 

Gemini felt every eye suddenly on him. He uncapped the marker, added one more bullet under OFFENDER:

 

– Needs an audience

 

Then he capped it again, set it down, and met Perth’s gaze. “I want him to notice that his audience is not clapping,” he said. “That’s different.” Fourth gave a short, sharp exhale that might have been a laugh.

 

Phuwin rubbed at his temples. “Do not,” he said slowly, “make yourself the front row on purpose.”

 

Gemini opened his mouth—then closed it. “Understood,” he said instead.

Pond’s eyes narrowed. He knew that tone.

“Gemini,” he said softly.

 

“I said ‘understood,’” Gemini replied.

 

“You also said ‘I’m fine’ during the last case and then didn’t remember the last four hours of your shift,” Pond said.

 

Fourth’s head snapped around. Gemini stared at Pond, then at Fourth, then at the floor.

“Different case,” he said.

 

“Same brain,” Pond said. Perth looked like he wanted to say something sharp. He didn’t. Maybe Tay’s hand on his arm had something to do with that.

 

New’s phone buzzed. He checked it, grimaced. “That’s my editor,” he said. “If I don’t send something in the next hour, someone else is going to slap ‘serial killer’ on a stock photo and call it reporting.”

 

“Go,” Phuwin said. “Send me the draft. I’ll bleed on it if I have to.”

 

New grabbed his bag. “Try not to make me write an obituary yet,” he said, half to Gemini, half to the room.

 

“We’re trying,” Gemini said. When the door closed behind New and Tay, the room felt a little quieter. More internal.

 

Phuwin checked the time. “Alright,” he said. “Santa, Satang, Junior: rotate with patrol. I want fresh eyes on those transit hubs. Joong, Dunk, Winny, Mark: you’re on tech and forensics until I physically throw you out. Pond, Somchai’s going to need you soon.”

 

He looked at Gemini and Fourth last. “You two,” he said. “Three hours. Overlap charts, victimology matrix, any common threads besides Asok and financial vulnerability. After that, I’m sending you home whether you scream or not.”

 

Fourth opened his mouth.

 

“Home, Fourth,” Phuwin emphasized.

 

Fourth closed his mouth.

 

Gemini considered protesting. Then he caught Pond’s expression and decided he didn’t feel like being triple-teamed.

 

“Three hours,” he said. “We can do a lot in three hours.”

 

Fourth snorted. “You say that like it’s encouraging,” he said.

They ended up in Fourth’s corner of the bullpen, two desks pushed close from too many joint investigations. The whiteboard nearest them had already been half-repurposed. Gemini spread printouts across the surface: timelines, transit patterns, financial records, social media snapshots.

 

Fourth circled the table once, then dropped into his chair. “Okay,” he said. “Sell me the common ground.”

 

“Both victims are in their early twenties,” Gemini began. “Both have low-to-medium income, both commute through major interchanges alone, both live in small condos with minimal security, both have social media presence that suggests—”

 

“Wait,” Fourth said. “What did you see on their socials?”

 

Gemini flicked through the pages. “Chayanisa posts group photos, food pics, a few landscape shots,” he said. “She rarely posts selfies without someone else in frame. Captions are polite, unremarkable. She tags coworkers, family, a cat account. Preecha posts memes, music clips, in-jokes with friends. He has more selfies, but they’re all casual, nothing showy. Neither is performing as a ‘main character’ online.”

 

“So they both blend,” Fourth said. “Offline and on.”

 

“Yes,” Gemini said. “They occupy background space in most of their own photos. That’s attractive to someone who wants access without attention.”

 

“Plus,” Fourth said, tapping the job-offer printout, “they need money. Or at least, they live in a way that suggests they can’t casually turn it down.”

 

“Economic vulnerability,” Gemini said. “He’s not targeting them because they’re poor. He’s targeting them because they’re practical.”

 

Fourth made a face. “I hate that that makes sense,” he said.

 

“You and me both,” Gemini replied. They fell into the familiar grind: Gemini sketching behavioral frameworks, Fourth cross-checking them against case files, both of them swearing at Joong’s software when it hiccuped. At some point, coffee appeared on their desks—Pond’s doing, judging by the little note on Gemini’s cup: “Remember to blink.” He snorted softly and took a sip.

 

“You’re human after all,” Fourth said.

 

“Don’t spread that around,” Gemini replied. “I have a reputation.”

 

“For what?” Fourth asked. “Being a robot with sarcasm?”

 

“It’s a niche,” Gemini said. “I like it.”

 

Fourth was halfway through a retort when his phone buzzed. He checked the screen, frowned. “Captain,” he said. “He wants us back in the briefing room.” Gemini tidied the worst of the paper spread and followed.

 

Inside, Phuwin stood by the board again. There was a new photo clipped below the burner number tree—a grainy CCTV still of a cap-and-mask figure standing near a staircase. It was from Asok; Gemini recognized the angle.

 

“This just came in from one of Dunk’s sweeps,” Phuwin said. “Yesterday. Same number sent a text to a man who blocked it immediately. No answer, no contact. But thirty minutes later, the cameras at Asok caught this guy leaving in a hurry.”

 

He tapped the photo.

 

“There’s nothing conclusive yet,” Phuwin went on. “But Dunk thinks he sees… something.”

 

Dunk stood, a little reluctant. “It’s probably nothing,” he said. “But the way he looks at the escalator as he passes—like he’s checking a mark that didn’t show… It’s a long shot.”

Gemini stepped closer. The image was murky, but the posture, the slight turn of the head, the tension in the shoulders—

 

He felt a prickle down his spine. “It’s him,” he said, more certain than he could justify.

 

Fourth glanced at him. “That’s a leap,” he said.

 

“Maybe,” Gemini said. “But it’s the right direction.”

 

Perth crossed his arms. “We’re going to need more than your gut on this,” he said.

 

“Yes,” Gemini agreed. “We will. For now, we treat it as a working face. We start building from it. Even a blurry outline is better than a ghost.” Fourth looked back at the still. A man in a cap and mask, mid-stride, half-turned. Nothing you could put on a wanted poster. Everything you could pin your frustration to.

 

“Fine,” Fourth said. “Let’s start giving our ghost bones.”

 

Gemini watched the tiny, grainy figure and felt something settle, cold and sharp.

Hello, he thought, not without malice. Welcome to your close-up. He hoped—

 

No.

 

He planned for the day when that blurred cap and mask would be replaced by a real face on that board. And when that day came, he intended to be in the room when the man behind it realized he’d lost control of the script.

 

Chapter 6: Liminal

Notes:

I said I would update today :) and I am! I hope you guys enjoy chapter 6! I am going to have to up my chapter count to 35...I think, I don't think it'll go over 35...also! I'm looking for a beta if anyone wanna help a sister out. message me on X @unwrittenheroes

k bai

Winter

The thing about the psych wing was that it always smelled to clean.

 

By late afternoon, after a few hours of grudging sleep and a shower that did almost nothing for the weight behind his eyes, Fourth leaned against the wall opposite Pond’s office, arms folded, watching fluorescent light bounce off a row of plastic chairs and a potted plant that was trying very hard not to die.

 

Behind the closed door, he could hear the low murmur of voices. Gemini’s clipped and dry. Pond’s steady and annoyingly patient.

 

Fourth checked his watch. He wasn’t supposed to be timing this. He definitely was. Junior appeared with two coffees in a cardboard tray. “Status?”  he asked, nodding at the door.

 

“He’s not throwing furniture,” Fourth said. “So…productive, probably…maybe.”

 

Junior handed him a cup. “Pond said twenty minutes max. We’re at twenty-six.”

 

“Norawit probably tried to negotiate,” Fourth muttered. He took a sip of his coffee and felt like he entered heaven. Pond coffee. Better than the poison at the bullpen. He refused to be grateful. He was.

 

“You know,” Junior said, side eyeing him, “most detectives don’t walk their profilers to therapy.”

 

“I’m not walking him; he’s not a dog. I think.” Fourth said. “I’m…waiting in the same building in case Phuwin calls.”

 

Junior laughed. “Just admit, the profiler’s growing on you. Your making a new friend.”

 

Fourth rolled his eyes. “I can make friends.”

 

Junior raised an eyebrow. “So, your admitting your friends now?” Before Fourth could answer, the office door opened. “Save by the man himself.”

 

Gemini stepped out first, hands in his pockets, expression carefully neutral. Pond followed, arms folded, looking like he wanted to glue Gemini to a chair. “Detective,” Pond said, the question in his eyes. “Did you get lost on this floor?”

 

“Captain wanted us nearby in case the world caught fire,” Fourth said. “You guys still know we’re on a serial case remember?” Fourth could tell Pond was pretending to believe him.

 

“Right.” The doctor said with a smile that was not mocking. It was. “Phuwin is a dictator, that boss of yours.”

 

Fourth nodded. His expression profoundly serious. “You should speak to him about that. Probably unresolved trauma. You’re failing as a boyfriend and the department psychiatrist.”

 

Pond laughed. “I’ll get right on that.”

 

Gemini’s mouth tugged. “He’s worried about his workload,” he said. “Not my mental health.”

 

Pond sighed, “That’s not mutually exclusive.”

 

Fourth’s gaze flicked between them. Gemini looked…not better, exactly. Just a little less wound up. As if someone had turned one of the invisible dials down half a notch. “You clear him?” Fourth asked. “Or do I need to write ‘fragile’ on his forehead?”

 

“I’m more concerned about your sarcasm addiction,” Pond said. “But yes. He can work. With food. And real sleep before midnight.”

 

Gemini made a face. “You promised no ultimatums,” he said.

 

“I promised no ultimatums about the case,” Pond corrected. Nutrition is non-negotiable.”

 

Gemini frowned. “I eat. Coffee is like its own food group.”

 

“Coffee doesn’t count,” Pond and Fourth said at the same time, and Fourth had to fight the grin that threatened to escape when Gemini gave them both an unimpressed look. Junior had no qualms about hiding his grin.

 

Pond sighed. “You both have three more hours on the clock today,” he said. “Then the press conference and then home. I expect Gemini to be somewhere horizontal that isn’t a subway floor—”

 

“That was one time Phi!” Gemini interrupted.

 

Fourth coughed, “um, what?”

 

Junior nodded. “I second that.”

 

“Long story.” Gemini said.

 

“He’s an overworked idiot.” Pond shrugged like it made sense. It did. “Matter of fact,” he continued looking at Fourth and Junior. “I want all three of you in your own beds, not a chair, not the incident room.”

 

“Look at you being specific,” Gemini muttered.

 

Fourth cleared his throat. “We have a briefing in ten,” he said, “to go over the press conference before hand and discuss the written article that’s already live.”

“Don’t read the comments from the article,” Pond said. “Any of you.”

 

“We never do,” Junior said.

 

They all lied at the same time.

 

~ ~ ~

 

The briefing room felt heavier than usual, as though the air itself had thickened with ink and headlines. New’s article was already out in the world, and its printout sat on the table like contraband. Someone had circled and underlined passages in red pen, the kind of marks that made words feel louder than they were. Phuwin’s line about ‘linked homicides with similar post-mortem staging’ glared from the page. Another highlight picked out Gemini’s contribution:

 

“We are investigating someone who wants their work seen,” said Agent Titcharoenrak, a profiler for Metropolitan Police in Bangkok. “Our job is to make sure the public sees the reality, not the myth the unsub is trying to create.”

 

Fourth read it twice, then glanced at Gemini. “You said that?” Gemini didn’t flinch, but Fourth could tell he wanted to, and Fourth couldn’t quite figure out when he was able to start reading Gemini.

 

“I said twice as many words.” Gemini said, answering Fourth without looking at him. “P’New chose the ones that sound least like a robot had a stroke. I’m told humanity is in these days.”

 

Perth stood at the back again, arms crossed, his expression somewhere between begrudging respect and deep irritation. Santa and Satang were flipping through a stack of early tip-line reports, their voices low but animated. Tay sat near the door, face-down but within easy reach, his posture taut as if waiting for it to buzz. Joong and Dunk had claimed the far wall, where a map of transit hubs was pinned up with red string that someone — probably Santa — had added for dramatic effect. Junior sat next to Mark, who was quietly talking to Winny, going over last-minute updates from the lab.

 

Phuwin entered with Pond trailing him, the captain’s presence cutting through the chatter. “Alright,” he said, voice brisk. “Let’s see what the media tidal wave brought in before we add more to it with the press conference.”

 

Santa lifted the top sheet. “We’ve got fifty-seven messages since the article dropped. Thirty-nine are people forwarding scam job offers that are clearly not our guy. Eight are MLM pitches their aunts sent them. Four are threats to scammers in general. Six… might be worth looking at.”

 

“We’ll triage,” Joong said, already pulling up a shared spreadsheet. “Any number that matches our burner cluster goes to the top of the pile.”

 

New slipped in quietly with Tay, back pressed to the wall, notepad ever ready but not interrupting. He looked like a man who’d just spent an hour wrangling an editor who wanted more provocation for the follow-up article after the press conference. Fourth suspected the conversation hadn’t gone well. Tay squeezed New’s arm once before refocusing on the room.

 

“Got one number matching our cluster,” Dunk reported. “Woman in her thirties. Blocked the message immediately, posted it in a LINE group calling it a scam. She’s fine. Lives across town.”

 

“Another one spooked out of the pool,” Junior said. “Good.” The tip-line drained a little of its fear into motion. People had something to do now: forward messages, call in questions, double-check instead of walking into the dark. Fourth liked that. Fear with tasks was manageable. Fear with nothing to hold onto turned into chaos, and the lost remained unseen.

 

Phuwin tapped the printout once, sharp enough to quiet the room. “The press conference will amplify this. We don’t control the narrative anymore — we only steer it. That means precision. No freelancing.”

 

Fourth leaned back, arms folded. “So, we stick to the script. Safety, vigilance, progress. Nothing that feeds the unsub’s ego.”

 

Gemini raised an eyebrow. “And if someone asks about the staging? About the mythmaking? I already said it once. They’ll want me to say it again.”

 

Perth’s voice cut in, dry as sandpaper. “Then say it without sounding like you’re auditioning for a TED Talk. Keep it human.” His eyes lingered on Gemini, irritation shading into something harder to read.

 

Santa slid another sheet across the table. “Two more tips just came in. Both noise. But the volume’s the point — people are listening now.”

 

Joong nodded, fingers flying across the spreadsheet. “We’ll keep triaging during the conference. Anything credible gets flagged in real time.”

 

Winny looked up from Mark’s quiet briefing. “Lab results confirm the staging is deliberate. No accident, no coincidence. Whoever this is, they want us to see it.” The room went still for a beat. Even the hum of Tay’s phone on the table felt louder than it should have.

 

New finally spoke, his tone measured but firm. “You need to keep it tight. Don’t speculate, don’t give them adjectives they can spin. Stick to verbs: investigating, coordinating, protecting. Anything beyond that, they’ll turn into headlines you don’t want.”

 

Phuwin frowned. “And Gemini’s quote? It’s already out there.”

 

New shook his head. “Which is why you don’t repeat it. Let the article stand. If Gemini speaks again, it looks like we’re chasing the unsub’s myth. Better to have him visible, silent, backing you up. Presence without words. It reads stronger.”

 

Gemini tilted his head, half amused. “So, I’m a prop now.”

New’s mouth twitched. “You’re a symbol. There’s a difference. The cameras will catch you, but the sound bites will be Phuwin’s. That way the unsub sees you, but the public hears only one voice. Cleaner. Harder to twist.”

 

Fourth glanced between them, weighing it. “He’s not wrong. Too many voices, they’ll start asking who’s really in charge.”

 

Phuwin exhaled, nodding once. “Fine. I’ll speak. Gemini stands with us, silent. Everyone else holds formation. No freelancing.”

 

Santa leaned back, smirking faintly. “Formation. Sounds like we’re a boy band.”

 

Satang elbowed him. “Shut up before he makes us rehearse choreography.” The humor broke the tension for a moment, but Perth’s eyes stayed locked on Gemini, unreadable.

 

Mark cleared his throat. “We should anticipate questions about escalation. If they ask whether the unsub is targeting specific victims, we need to avoid confirming patterns.”

 

Winny added, “We can say we’re analyzing similarities, but not that they’re linked by intent. That keeps us from feeding the unsub’s narrative.”

 

Phuwin nodded. “Good. That’s the line. We acknowledge investigation, not intent.”

 

New scribbled something in his notepad, then looked up. “And don’t use the word ‘ritual.’ Reporters love it. It makes everything sound like a cult. Stick to ‘staging.’ It’s clinical, less sensational.”

 

Fourth muttered, “Clinical doesn’t sell papers.”

 

New shot him a look. “We’re not selling papers. We’re stopping panic.

 

Santa flipped through another sheet, muttering about scam calls, when Satang leaned back in his chair with a grin. “You know, the strangest thing about all this? New’s article didn’t try to sensationalize it. An ethical reporter. Most unheard of.”

 

A ripple of laughter moved through the room — even Fourth cracked a smile. New rolled his eyes, but before he could retort, Tay cut in, voice steady. “He’s not in it to sell papers. He’s in it to get the truth out to citizens because that’s what they deserve.”

 

The laughter softened into something warmer. Joong nodded from the wall, red string dangling from his fingers. “That’s why we trust him in here. He’s not chasing headlines, he’s chasing clarity.”

 

Gemini tilted his head, studying New with a faint smirk. “Guess humanity really is in these days.”

New ducked his head, scribbling something in his notepad to avoid the weight of the compliment. But the room had shifted — the joke had landed and so had the respect.

 

“If they push for motive, deflect. Say we’re focused on prevention, not speculation. The unsub wants to be mythologized. Don’t give him the satisfaction.” Tay continued, looking at Phuwin.

 

Phuwin gathered the papers, his tone final. “Alright. Let’s move. We give them clarity, not chaos. One voice, one message.”

 

The team rose, chairs scraping against the floor. Santa and Satang bent back over the tip-line stack, Joong updated the spreadsheet, Tay checked his phone. Perth’s eyes lingered on Gemini, irritation shading into reluctant respect. Fourth caught Gemini’s unease — the way his shoulders tightened, the way his gaze flicked toward the door as if measuring escape routes. He didn’t comment, but the weight of it hung between them.

 

As they filed out, New stayed behind for a moment, watching the printout on the table. He tapped the highlighted quote once, then folded the paper neatly. “Remember,” he said quietly, “the unsub wants to be seen. Don’t let him decide how.”

 

Phuwin gave a curt nod. “We’ll handle it.” The door closed behind them, leaving the briefing room empty but for the echo of their resolve.

 

Outside, the press waited.

 

~ ~ ~

 

He watched the press conference unfold from the glow of screens; the hum of voices carried to him like static. He didn’t need to be in the room; the cameras gave him everything he wanted to do, every twitch, every pause, every carefully chosen word. The man at the podium was introduced as Captain Phuwin Tangsakyuen. Shoulders squared, voice steady, he was the chosen mouthpiece, the one they trusted to sound credible.

 

Behind him stood a line of officers — silent, rigid, meant to project unity. He saw through it instantly. They weren’t a unit yet. They were improvising cohesion, stitching themselves together with posture and silence. Fragile.

 

Phuwin spoke in clean, measured lines. “We are coordinating efforts, ensuring public safety, and pursuing every lead.” He smirked. Words polished until they squeaked. He heard the tremor beneath them, the strain of a man trying to convince the cameras but really trying to convince himself.

 

Reporters pressed forward, voices overlapping, questions sharp. “Is the threat contained?”

Phuwin’s pause was brief, but He caught it. “Contained is not the word I’d use. We are narrowing the scope. Our teams are coordinated, and we are confident progress is being made.”

He leaned closer to the screen, savoring the dodge. Confidence was a mask, and masks were his specialty. He catalogued the way Phuwin’s jaw tightened, the way his eyes flicked to his notes before returning to the crowd. Every gesture was a tell.

 

Another question: “Should the public be afraid?”

Phuwin’s eyes flicked sideways, toward one of the men standing behind him. The cameras followed, and the reporters supplied the name: “Agent Titcharoenrak, the profiler.”

 

That glance — that single flicker toward the profiler — was enough to shift His attention. He didn’t fixate immediately; instead, His gaze lingered, curious. The profiler wasn’t speaking, but his silence carried weight. His posture was taut, his eyes restless, his presence undeniable. The cameras caught him, and so did He.

 

At first, the profiler was just another figure in the tableau. The other officers stood stiffly, jaws tight, eyes forward. He noted them all, dismissed them as backdrop. But the profiler resisted dismissal. His silence wasn’t passive; it was charged.

 

Phuwin continued, weaving careful lines about vigilance and cooperation. He half-listened, His focus drifting back to the profiler. He studied the way the man’s shoulders squared, the way his gaze swept the room without settling. It wasn’t nerves — not exactly. It was awareness, a kind of restless calculation. He recognized it. Recognition bred interest.

 

The fixation didn’t snap into place all at once. It tightened slowly, like a coil winding. Each time Phuwin spoke, His eyes returned to the profiler. Each time the cameras flashed, the profiler’s face was caught in the background, silent but present. He began to imagine the headlines: not Phuwin’s words, but the profiler’s image, repeated, magnified, dissected.

 

Reporters asked about escalation, about staging, about motive. Phuwin deflected, careful, precise. “We are analyzing similarities, but we will not speculate on intent.”

 

He admired the discipline, even as He mocked it. Discipline was brittle. It cracked under pressure. The profiler shifted slightly, weight moving from one foot to the other. He noticed. He noticed the way the profiler’s jaw tightened when reporters pressed too hard, the way his eyes flicked toward Phuwin as if measuring whether the captain would hold the line. He noticed the restraint, the silence, the deliberate choice not to speak.

 

His interest deepened. Silence was harder than speech. Silence required control. And control was something He understood intimately.

 

Phuwin closed the briefing with a final line: “We ask for patience and vigilance. Together, we will see this through.” He stepped back, relief flickering across his face. The reporters surged, the cameras flashed, the room dissolved into noise.

 

But He wasn’t listening anymore. His focus had narrowed, sharpened, fixed. The profiler was no longer just a figure in the background. He was the axis around which His thoughts began to turn.

The fixation tightened further. He replayed the footage in His mind, slowing it down, isolating frames. The profiler’s silence became a statement. His presence became a provocation. He felt the hook sink deep. The officers blurred into backdrop. Only the profiler remained, silent and visible, a figure caught in the spotlight without speaking a word. He leaned back, a smile curling at the edges of His mouth. The press conference had given Him exactly what He needed: not the words, not the script, not the captain’s careful performance. It had given Him the profiler.

The profiler’s silence was a challenge. His presence was a dare. He felt the coil tighten, felt the fixation settle into place. The press conference had transformed him from background to target, from symbol to obsession.

 

And Agent Titcharoenrak didn’t even know he’d been cast.

 

~ ~ ~

 

The city was a living organism, pulsing with noise and movement, but He preferred its forgotten veins. Bangkok’s arteries were crowded — markets, transit hubs, streets thick with motorbikes and vendors — but the capillaries, the places where life bled into silence, were His domain.

 

Klong Toey was perfect.

 

He had walked its alleys for days, memorizing the rhythm. The port warehouses, the half-lit stalls, the skeletal buildings left behind when commerce shifted elsewhere. People passed them without seeing. They were there, but not present. Background. That was what He wanted: a place that existed but did not demand attention.

 

Tonight, He moved with purpose. The profiler’s silence still echoed in His mind, louder than Phuwin’s words. Silence was provocation. Silence was challenge. He needed to answer it.

The abandoned building waited at the edge of the district, its facade stained with rain and exhaust, windows broken, doors hanging loose. It was not hidden — anyone could see it — but no one looked. That was the beauty of liminal places: visible and invisible at once. He slipped inside. The air was damp, heavy with mildew. The floor was littered with scraps of paper, bottles, and a rusted chair tipped on its side. He listened. The building breathed faintly, carrying echoes from the street outside.

 

His victim was already chosen. She was ordinary, a commuter who cut through Klong Toey each evening to save time. He had watched her routine: the way she left work, the way she carried her bag close, the way she quickened her pace when shadows stretched. She was not remarkable. That was why she mattered. Ordinary faces amplified extraordinary messages.

 

He waited in the hollow corridor, where the light from the streetlamps barely reached. The walls peeled, the ceiling sagged, but the space was perfect. Public, yet private. Anyone could walk past, but no one would stop.

 

The minutes stretched. He listened for her approach. The shuffle of shoes on concrete, the faint rhythm of breath. She entered the building’s threshold without hesitation — she had done it before, countless times. To her, it was shortcut. To Him, it was stage.

He followed silently, steps measured, presence folded into the building’s decay. She did not notice. People rarely did. They carried their own noise with them, drowning out the silence that stalked behind. The act itself was swift, efficient, stripped of spectacle. He did not linger on it. He did not need blood to speak for Him; He needed arrangement. He left her body posed deliberately, a tableau that echoed His earlier work. Staging was language, and He was fluent.

 

From His bag, He withdrew a small plastic bottle of water. He unscrewed the cap slowly, savoring the sound. He crouched beside her, careful, deliberate. Her hands were folded loosely, lifeless but waiting. He poured the water over them, washing away the faint dust of the building, the residue of touch.

 

It was not cleansing in the literal sense. It was symbolic. Hands carried stories — of work, of fear, of resistance. Washing them erased those stories, leaving only His. It was His mark, quieter than blood, subtler than violence. A ritual that spoke to anyone who looked closely: she had been prepared, altered, claimed.

 

He dried them with a cloth, folding it neatly afterward, tucking it back into His bag. The act was precise, almost reverent. He had done it before, and He would do it again. Each victim’s hands became part of His narrative, washed clean of their own lives, repurposed into His myth.

The clipping came next. New’s article, folded and creased, Gemini’s face staring back from the grainy print. He smoothed it once, then placed it carefully on her chest. The profiler’s image became part of the scene, a silent witness, a symbol.

 

He stepped back, surveying the composition. The abandoned building framed it perfectly. The peeling paint, the broken windows, the shadows that swallowed corners — all of it blended into the background. The woman was ordinary, but the staging made her extraordinary. She was canvas, and he was artist.

 

Her hands, washed and dried, gleamed faintly in the dim light. They looked almost reverent, as though she had been prepared for ceremony. That was the point. He wanted them to see the ritual, to puzzle over it, to ask themselves why. He wanted them to know that every detail was deliberate.

 

The clipping lay across her chest, the profiler’s face staring upward, silent, and unyielding. The profiler had not spoken at the press conference, but his silence had been louder than words. Now, his image was bound to the act, woven into the tableau. The unsub’s myth was no longer abstract; it had a face.

 

He stepped back, adjusting the angle, imagining the flash of police torches when they found her. He could see it: The Captain’s jaw tightening, the officers exchanging uneasy glances, the profiler’s eyes catching on his own likeness in print. He wanted that moment. He wanted them to feel the shift.

 

The building itself seemed complicit. Its walls swallowed the scene, its shadows cradled it. Outside, the city continued — vendors shouting, motorbikes roaring, children laughing in alleys. None of them knew what waited inside this forgotten space. That was the beauty of liminal places: they existed between worlds, public yet private, seen yet unseen. He lingered longer than usual, savoring the tension. The ritual had calmed him, steadied him. Washing the hands was more than habit; it was control. It reminded him that he dictated the terms, that he shaped the narrative. The captain could speak, the reporter could write, the profiler could stand silent — but he decided what the public saw.

 

He crouched once more, fingertips hovering just above the clipping, not touching. He imagined the profiler’s reaction when he saw it. Would he flinch? would he remain silent? Silence was harder than speech. Silence required control. And control was something he understood intimately.

 

Satisfied, he rose. His smile was faint, but it lingered. He left without sound, slipping back into the night. The city swallowed him, but the ritual followed. His hands felt steady, his mind clear. The press conference had given him silence; tonight, he had answered it. Agent Norawit Titcharoenrak’s face followed him through the streets, printed in ink, etched in memory. The profiler had become part of the performance, whether he wanted to or not.

 

And tomorrow, when the body was found, the message would be clear: he wanted to be seen. And now, he had chosen who would see him.

Notes:

I hope you guys like it 😭 I need more gemfot friends on x. Yall add me @unwrittenheroes

Any and all kudos or comments are appreciated 🥹

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of The Bangkok Behavioral Files