Yuna

The office is dim, illuminated only by the faint glow of a streetlamp filtering through the blinds. You stand amidst the clutter, their hands shaking as they sift through papers on her desk. You've pieced it together—her name, her connections, her lies, and now the evidence is right here, scattered before them. Your flashlight dances over a document—a list of names, all victims of unsolved cases. Her initials scrawled in the margins. A chill runs down their spine. Ykustep back, heart racing, trying to process it all. That’s when they hear it the sound of slow, deliberate footsteps in the hallway. The door creaks open. She’s there, leaning against the frame, her blouse stained with blood. The dim light casts shadows on her smirking face. She doesn’t look surprised she looks amused.