older_bro: You shouldn't have to. No one deserves that.
min98: It's my mom I worry about
older_bro: I understand. When I was your age, I felt the same way
The pattern continued. The unknown user offering understanding, validation, protection. Building trust. The pattern I'd seen too many times before. But something was off. No push to meet in person. No requests for photos. Nothing sexual.
older_bro: Sometimes the bravest thing is finding somewhere safe
min98: There's nowhere to go
older_bro: There's always somewhere. You just have to look
The last message was from two days ago, when Min disappeared.
min98: I can't stay here anymore. Not after last night.
older_bro: Trust your instincts. Find somewhere safe. I believe in you.
No meeting arrangement. No "come to me" directive. Just encouragement to escape. Something about it pulled at me. Uncomfortable. The desperation. The need to disappear.
I'd felt that once.
Behind me, the questioning continued. "That bruise on your wrist... did you get that the same night Min disappeared?"
My attention sharpened at the directness. Most officers came at domestic violence sideways. Afraid of spooking victims.
"I... I'm clumsy." The automatic response came quickly. "Hit it on the entryway."
"Of course. Doorways can be dangerous."
He didn't challenge the obvious lie. The careful way she deflected reminded me of conversations I'd had before. Victimswho protected their abusers out of fear or shame or misplaced loyalty. I'd witnessed this dance too many times.
Heavy footsteps in the hallway announced the stepfather's return. The shift was immediate. Mi-hee's spine stiffened. Her movement went still. Her gaze dropped to the floor.
Carlson's transformation was just as striking. He rose to his feet, smooth. His posture straightened. When he spoke, his authority carried just enough weight to set position without triggering the man's temper.
"Mr. Lee, we've gathered some useful information that should help us locate Min quickly."
The stepfather snorted. He lit a cigarette despite the no-smoking sign on the boy's wall. "Told you, he's just being a brat."
"I found GPS data from his last login." I avoided Carlson's surprised glance. Safer than acknowledging competence, which felt too much like connection. I focused on the phone in my palm instead. "The coordinates point to an area near Yonge-Dundas Square. Several gaming cafés in that vicinity."
"We'll start there." Carlson, professionally crisp now. "We'll contact you as soon as we have information."
As we prepared to leave, I gathered my notes while Carlson said final reassurances to Mi-hee. His body partly blocked my view. I caught the subtle movement. He slipped a small card into her palm. Not a business card. Something else. She tucked it into her pocket without looking at it.
Only when we reached the stairwell did the understanding click into place. The card carried the logo of a domestic violence support center. So practiced. So subtle. It told a history of similar moves.
For the third time today, my assumptions about the "poster boy" needed reassessment. The performance I'd dismissed as shallow charm covered something deeper. A real understanding of vulnerability. A quiet determination to do something about it.
I didn't comment. Acknowledging this new dimension felt dangerous. Like admitting there was more to him than I'd let myself see.
Rain started again as we descended the stairs. Fat drops hit the pavement with dull thuds. Carlson pulled a jacket over his head and hunched against the rain as we made a dash for the car. I didn't bother. Cold water felt clarifying against my skin.
Once we were inside, he shook himself like a wet dog. Droplets flew from bleached hair. I started the engine without comment. The wipers cut arcs through the gathering moisture.
"That stepfather's a piece of work." The observation broke our silence as I pulled away from the curb. He wasn't facing me. He watched the apartment building recede in the side mirror. "Did you notice how she flinched when he moved near her?"
