Chapter Text
“Just once,” Yoo Joonghyuk seethed, pressing the doorbell maybe one or three times more. “Just once in my life, can’t they call me when the fucking sun is up?”
His cry at the sky went unanswered. It was unsurprising, given that he had shunned Eden’s numerous offers of patronage. Except for a certain archangel, they would probably rather see him drop dead.
…well.
Maybe not dead. The constellations of Eden were relatively well-meaning. They would find satisfaction in his failures, but they wouldn’t appreciate the loss of the Order’s prized weapon. Setting that aside, why was there no answer?
Easy explanation: it was four am, and surely he wasn’t the only person who had had the folly of being asleep at such an hour.
Only, the resident should have been warned of his arrival.
He whipped out his phone and checked the information he had been given. Could he be at the wrong address? It was unlikely, but he’d rung a few many times more than strictly necessary and still hadn’t gotten an answer. Unfortunately, the resident's name matched the one on the mailbox in front of the building, and the street and number were right.
This was the right apartment complex, and he had the right apartment.
It was a protection job. He just had to keep the resident safe. She should have been waiting for him.
Maybe she was simply scared. He wouldn’t blame her, after hearing she could very well be the next target.
He gave up on the bell and called the number he was given. According to the order form sent to him, she had been warned that he would maybe call her with the phone they issued him. She should recognize the number then. The good news was, if she were this careful early on, it would be an easy job. Whatever demon was after her wouldn’t be too much of a threat if he could focus fully on it; risk came from distraction, such as protecting someone who keeps putting themselves in danger.
Unfortunately, the phone call didn’t connect.
He sent a text as well. It didn’t work.
Great.
She wouldn’t answer the door. She wouldn’t answer her phone. And she won’t answer texts either.
Nobody would be so careful—or so carefree, for that matter— to leave their phone ring out when expecting this kind of visit. They would need to keep an eye out for their bodyguard as well as the threat to their lives. And besides, a phone was the only way to get help should you be attacked in your own house: screaming would only get you noticed.
Besides, even if you screamed, the suspect was a Demon King. Screaming would go unheard. And if by some miracle someone did hear, then…
They wouldn’t be of any help.
Yoo Joonghyuk put away his phone and made his decision. The door would be remembered.
He broke it down in one movement. It would be better if he could lock the apartment, but for now, he had to verify the status of the woman he was meant to protect.
Nothing.
To say the situation was alarming was an understatement. The resident was nowhere to be found. He scouted the apartment, called her name, and repeated that he was the one the order sent, but she was nowhere to be found. The apartment was silent, save for the sounds of plumbing in the wall and the soft creaking of the wooden floor that accompanied his steps.
There was no sign of the resident.
But there was also no sign of a struggle; there was no sign that she left in a hurry. It was almost too clean, actually, as if she’d prepared the place and gone on vacation.
If she had decided she would be better off protecting herself and they had still sent him here at 4 am for this…
After inspecting every room and searching for traces of a fight, he ended up back in the hallway. Nothing. Not even dirty dishes in the sink or clothes strewn over chairs. As a matter of fact, the chairs themselves were perfectly arranged under the dining table: that in itself was alarming. Would the victim-to-be of a vicious murderer take the time to clean every nook and cranny of her apartment before leaving?
But would a murderer do that?
Both sounded unlikely. Yoo Joonghyuk took his phone in hand once more, scowling at it despite knowing that his dearest superiors wouldn’t feel the heat of it. If they had provided him with more details, or at least given him a quick rundown of the previous cases, he would know if this was an isolated event—maybe the resident was a clean freak, or she had been spring-cleaning before she had been warned—or if this was one of that particular murderer’s quirks.
Or a requirement of whatever Story they drew power from.
Admittedly, Yoo Joonghyuk wouldn’t need to know more than what he had been told— suspect is a demon of unknown strength, crafty and cunning, tears his victims to pieces, always a bloodbath—to protect someone from them. Knowing the kind of story that demon followed would help in a fight, but the Order did not know.
In other words, they had told him all he needed for a simple bodyguarding job.
They had not trained him to deal with said victim's absence. He wasn’t paid for this.
With a sigh, he entered his boss’s number, pressed the call button with far more force than one should apply on a thin glass touchscreen, and let his gaze trail off as he waited for her to pick up.
The hall seemed quite cozy. There was a small shelf for shoes, with quite a few pairs lined over each one of the shelves. Heels, flats, tennis shoes… that woman wasn’t picking up.
Mia needed a new pair of sneakers for school, Joonghyuk noted distractedly. His eyes followed the shelves back to the floor, to the wide woolen carpet with unusual patterns. Something foreign? Or an imitation of something foreign sold at an atrociously high price, he supposed. It made little difference. There was a dark stain on the carpet.
The phone was still ringing. Wouldn’t she just pick up? He walked over to the carpet to inspect the stain, it would always be more interesting than staying in place and doing nothing. He placed his phone on the carpet, set it to speakers in case his boss deigned to take the call, and crouched over the stain. It was probably an old mud or wine stain… it was an odd color.
He reached out to touch it and stilled as he felt it. The fibers under his fingers were humid, the liquid staining them too thick for wine. The stain was fresh, and it was neither mud nor wine.
“Joonghyuk-ah, it is four in the goddamn morning. What the hell do you want?”
Joonghyuk couldn’t find it in him to answer as something dropped on his cheek, something wet and warm and unpleasant that trickled down his neck. He shuddered—disgusting—and looked up.
“Joonghyuk-ah? Hey, Yoo Joonghyuk!”
He felt bile rise in his throat. If he hadn’t been so accustomed to the feeling, he would have thrown up all over the carpet he now identified as a piece of evidence.
Torn to pieces? Was that what they said?
They should have mentioned a few more details.