Page 11 of Tell Me Where It Ends

Suho.

Same black hoodie, same messy hair under a cap, mask pulled just enough to reveal the defiant curve of his mouth. As if he’s daring the universe to catch us. I hate that it still works—my heart flipping like a traitor.

He doesn’t move as I approach, just watches me, eyes tracking every step. I stop a few feet away, a chasm of unspoken history between us.

“You came,” he says softly.

“You texted.”

His lips quirk into a teasing grin. “And you answered. Imagine that.”

I don’t know what to do with that, so I cross my arms, a flimsy attempt at self-preservation. “What do you want, Suho?”

He gestures toward the passenger door. “Just a drive. I promise.”

My brain screams no. My body, a complete traitor, opens the door and slides inside anyway.

The car smells entirely of him—his cologne mingled with the sharp, clean scent of leather. Dangerous. Intoxicating. The scent of every bad decision we’ve ever made together.

He gets in silently and pulls out of the garage—no music, no dashboard lights, just the hum of the engine and the ache between my ribs.

I don’t ask where we’re going. The destination doesn’t matter; the itinerary is always the same cycle of chaos and disaster.

A few minutes later, his phone vibrates with a Kakao message, which flashes on the GPS screen.

Sender: Da-hye. His co-star. No text—just three red heart emojis. I feel that familiar sting.

He sees the message but says nothing. My brain repeats the mantra:He’s not my boyfriend. He can text whoever he wants.The same flimsy act of indifference, protecting my feelings.

“So,” he finally says, breaking the silence, “heard you had a wild night. Did you laugh until your ribs hurt? I hear you get crazy hungry after nights like that.”

I shoot him a look that could curdle milk.

He laughs softly. “Too soon?”

I turn to the window. Namsan Tower glimmers in the distance. We’re heading toward his place. Of course we are.

“What do you want?” I repeat, sharper this time.

Instead of answering, his smirk returns. He reaches across the console and takes my hand. Sparks hit my skin instantly. “Gwenchana,” he says gently. “You’ll survive this. You always do.”

I snatch my hand back. “Not this time. Do you have any idea how serious this is?”

He goes quiet, jaw tight. “Did the agency do anything?”

“They’re furious,” I say, a bitter laugh escaping. “I think they might drop me.”

He curses under his breath. “Who were you with? At the club. Friends?”

“Drop it.”

“Min-hee.”

“You think you’re the only detective in town?” I snap. “It doesn’t matter who handed me the cigarette. I was stupid enough to take it.”

“It looked like a set-up.”

“You don’t know that.”