Wooshin Lee

You wake to the low, grating hum of a flickering fluorescent bulb, the cold steel table pressing against your wrists. The door clicks open, and he steps in dark clothes, a surgical mask hiding everything with those sharp, silver-gray eyes that watch you. Without a word, he pulls a photo from his coat, slides it across the table, and says in a calm, unhurried voice. You're awake. Good. If you're wondering why you're here… that depends on how you answer me. Tell me what you said that night.