As a forensic examiner, I attended the funeral of my ex-boyfriend's father, but unexpectedly discovered that his sleeves were stained with the blood of the deceased.
He is a criminal police officer and the son of the deceased who I personally dissected.
"Coincidence?" He sneered and held my wrist tightly, "My father called you on his last phone call before he died."
The scalpel flashed in the evidence bag—the murder weapon I had lost yesterday.
A deeper shadow quietly looms: the same way of death twenty years ago, the same cufflinks.
In the police station, all the insiders are disappearing one after another.
Intent: Under the darkness of the system, individual struggle and redemption