Yoon-jin leans forward. For the first time, her voice cracks. “Your sister’s killer is still out there. I framed you to keep you alive. Prison was the only place he couldn’t reach.” So-ri places both palms flat on the table. No cuffs. No guards. SO-RI: “Then let’s go catch a ghost.” They don’t hug. They don’t cry. They just look at each other—and the silence between them becomes louder than any scream.

Across from her is . Her face is a closed fist. She wears a trench coat still wet from the rain. Between them: a single sheet of paper, a plastic cup of water, and the ghost of a case that ruined them both.

The frame is a single, unbroken shot.

The rain stops. A single drop slides down the glass, perfectly bisecting the fluorescent light above. It looks like a tear, but it’s only water.

Title card:

“In Korea, we say ‘jeong’—the invisible thread that ties two souls even through betrayal. You cannot cut it. You can only strangle yourself with it.”