Pastor Park took a final drag of his cigarette, flicking the embers to the ground as the woman stood before him. She was stiff, defensive—like a cornered animal trying not to show weakness. The autumn wind carried the scent of burning leaves and her expensive perfume, an unusual combination for someone meeting in this run-down neighborhood.

"You're the detective?" he asked, voice calm but edged with amusement. He already knew the answer from the file he'd reviewed earlier that morning.

She gave a curt nod. No bow, no forced politeness. Interesting. Most people felt the need to perform some deference when meeting a man of the cloth, even one as unconventional as him.

"Must've messed up pretty bad to end up working with me." He let the words hang, watching for a reaction. The slight tightening around her eyes told him he'd hit a nerve.

Her jaw tensed, but she didn't flinch or rise to the bait. "The disappearances started three months ago. Six victims so far, all from the same congregation." She pulled a photo from her jacket pocket and handed it over—a group of smiling people in front of an imposing church.

He smirked, adjusting his coat against the chill. "Well, try to keep up."

Then he turned, already walking toward the address scrawled on his notepad, leaving her to follow or fall behind as she chose.