The 2008 records were easier to find.
That was the first thing that bothered Hae-in.
Too easy.
At nine the next morning, Kang dropped a thin folder onto her desk.
"Kim Seong-hwan."
Hae-in looked at the folder.
"How thin?"
"Forty-three pages."
"That isn't thin."
"Thirty-eight are forms."
She opened it.
The first page was a construction incident report.
CENTRAL DETENTION FACILITY — CELL BLOCK C RENOVATION
DATE: 17 APRIL 2008
INCIDENT: WORKER INJURY
WORKER: KIM SEONG-HWAN
TIME: 02:26
Hae-in read the description.
A section of old interior wall had partially collapsed during demolition.
Kim Seong-hwan had been struck by falling material.
Injuries:
Fractured left wrist.
Laceration to forehead.
Possible concussion.
Transferred to hospital.
She turned the page.
Medical transport.
Hospital admission.
Observation.
Then—
DISCHARGED AGAINST MEDICAL ADVICE.
Kang pulled out a second document.
"That's where it gets strange."
Hae-in read the date.
20 APRIL 2008.
Three days after the accident.
Kim Seong-hwan had signed himself out.
No family member listed.
No address.
No contact number.
No follow-up appointment.
"He disappeared," Kang said.
"According to the report."
"Right."
Hae-in kept reading.
The construction company had filed a missing-worker notice four days later.
Then withdrew it.
She looked up.
"Why?"
Kang handed her another page.
The withdrawal had been handwritten.
EMPLOYEE LOCATED. NO FURTHER ACTION REQUIRED.
"No location?"
"No."
"Who signed it?"
Kang pointed.
Han Dong-wook.
Hae-in's eyes stopped on the name.
The same Han Dong-wook from Chapter 30's maintenance records.
He had been the maintenance supervisor in 2008.
Hae-in placed the documents beside each other.
Han Dong-wook.
The name sat between them like a hinge.
Kang pulled out another folder.
"There's more."
Hae-in looked at him.
"You say that too often."
"I know."
He opened the folder.
"Kim Seong-hwan wasn't originally assigned to Cell Block C."
"Where was he?"
"Block A."
Hae-in frowned.
"Then why was he working behind Cell Seventeen?"
"According to the work order, he wasn't."
He pointed to the original assignment.
BLOCK A — ELECTRICAL REPLACEMENT.
Hae-in looked at the incident report again.
"Someone moved him."
"Yes."
"Who?"
Kang handed her another sheet.
The authorization was signed by—
Han Dong-wook.
Hae-in leaned back.
That was the first time she looked genuinely tired.
Not frightened.
Not shaken.
Just tired of seeing the same name appear where it shouldn't.
Kang noticed.
He pushed the coffee toward her.
She took it.
Neither commented on it.
At eleven, they went back to the detention center.
Han Dong-wook's old personnel records had already been transferred to storage.
The warden met them in the basement.
"You're looking into the 2008 renovation?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because someone was injured."
"That was eighteen years ago."
"And the paperwork is incomplete."
The warden folded his arms.
"Most old paperwork is incomplete."
"Not this incomplete."
He looked at Hae-in for a moment.
Then unlocked the storage room.
Boxes filled the shelves.
Construction contracts.
Inspection reports.
Equipment inventories.
Maintenance schedules.
Hae-in searched for 17 APRIL 2008.
Kang searched for Kim Seong-hwan.
They found nothing else for nearly twenty minutes.
Then Kang called her.
"Here."
She walked over.
He held up a small envelope.
No official label.
No archive stamp.
Just:
C BLOCK — OLD
Inside was a single folded blueprint.
Hae-in spread it across a table.
It showed Cell Block C before the renovation.
The corridor behind Cell Seventeen was there.
So was the second door.
But something was different.
The hidden room had another designation.
SERVICE ROOM 2.
Hae-in traced the outline with her finger.
"That's the room we found."
"Probably."
"No."
She looked at the dimensions.
"This is too small."
Kang checked.
She was right.
The blueprint showed a room approximately three meters long.
The hidden room they'd found was nearly twice that size.
Kang stared at the plan.
"There's another space behind it."
Hae-in nodded.
"Exactly."
The blueprint continued beyond the wall.
But the rest had been cut away.
Not torn.
Cut.
Cleanly.
With a blade.
Someone had removed the final section of the blueprint.
Hae-in looked at the envelope.
"Who archived this?"
Kang checked the paperwork.
"No record."
"Of course."
The missing section of the blueprint was found two hours later.
Not in the detention center.
At the municipal construction archive.
It had been filed under a completely different project.
WESTERN SERVICE TUNNEL — 2008.
Kang stared at the label.
"That sounds unrelated."
"That's why it's useful."
They requested the file.
The clerk brought out a large plan.
Hae-in opened it.
A service tunnel ran underneath the detention center.
It connected the old maintenance corridor to an external utility building.
She looked at the date.
17 APRIL 2008.
Same night.
Same building.
Same hidden corridor.
But the tunnel plan contained something else.
A room.
Underground.
Not marked as storage.
Not marked as electrical.
No function at all.
Just a number.
08.
Hae-in looked at Kang.
Neither spoke.
The brass key was still in her evidence case.
She took it out.
08.
Kang slowly exhaled.
"So the key isn't referring to the Eighth person."
"Maybe."
"It's a room."
"Maybe."
Hae-in looked at the plan.
"Or both."
They requested access logs for the utility building.
The clerk searched.
Then frowned.
"There aren't any."
"None?"
"Not for this building."
"Why?"
"It wasn't officially occupied until 2010."
Hae-in pointed to the blueprint.
"Then why was this room constructed in 2008?"
The clerk didn't know.
She looked at Kang.
"We need the contractor."
They found him in a small apartment above a hardware shop.
His name was Jang Tae-sik.
Seventy-one.
Retired.
He opened the door halfway.
When Hae-in showed her identification, he looked at it.
Then at her.
Then back at the identification.
"You're Seo Hae-in."
She didn't move.
"How do you know my name?"
Jang closed the door.
Kang caught it before it shut.
"Mr. Jang."
The old man stared at him.
Then slowly opened the door again.
"Come in."
His apartment smelled of dust and machine oil.
There were old tools hanging on the walls.
Jang sat down.
Hae-in placed the blueprint on the table.
His eyes went to it immediately.
"You remember this?"
"Yes."
"Cell Block C?"
He nodded.
"The renovation?"
"Yes."
"The service tunnel?"
His face changed.
Just slightly.
Hae-in noticed.
"You remember."
"I remember building it."
"You were the contractor?"
"Site foreman."
"Why was Room 08 built?"
Jang didn't answer.
Kang leaned forward.
"Mr. Jang."
The old man rubbed his hands together.
"It wasn't supposed to be called Room 08."
"What was it called?"
"Nothing."
"Then why was it numbered?"
"Because they told us to number it."
"Who?"
Jang looked toward the window.
"Han."
Hae-in's voice remained even.
"Han Dong-wook?"
"Yes."
"What was inside?"
"I never went inside."
"Why not?"
"Because we were told not to."
"Who told you?"
"Han."
"Did Kim Seong-hwan go inside?"
Jang looked at her.
That was the first question that made him stop.
"You know about Seong-hwan?"
"We know he was injured."
"He wasn't injured."
Kang and Hae-in exchanged a glance.
Jang continued.
"He was hit, yes. But that wasn't why he left."
"Then why did he leave?"
"He saw something."
"What?"
The old man swallowed.
"People."
"What people?"
"Three."
Hae-in waited.
Jang looked down at his hands.
"They weren't workers."
"Detainees?"
"No."
"Then who?"
"I don't know."
"Were they prisoners?"
"No."
"Were they staff?"
"No."
"Then what were they doing underground?"
Jang shook his head.
"I never asked."
"Why?"
"Because Han told us something."
"What?"
Jang looked directly at Hae-in.
"If you see someone down there, don't ask who they are."
Hae-in remained still.
Kang asked,
"What happened to Kim Seong-hwan?"
Jang looked away.
"He wanted to report it."
"To whom?"
"The police."
"Did he?"
"No."
"Why?"
Jang's answer came quietly.
"Because someone got to him first."
Hae-in's pen stopped.
"Who?"
"I don't know."
"Did Han?"
"I don't know."
"Did the detention center?"
"I don't know."
"Then what do you know?"
Jang stared at the blueprint.
"I know Seong-hwan came to my house that night."
Hae-in looked up.
"What time?"
"Almost three."
"After the accident?"
"Yes."
"What did he say?"
Jang hesitated.
Then:
"He said there was a room under the room."
Hae-in looked at the blueprint.
The cut section.
The missing space.
Room 08.
A room beneath another room.
"What else?"
"He said someone was keeping records."
"Records of what?"
"I don't know."
"Did he have anything with him?"
Jang nodded.
"A notebook."
Hae-in leaned forward.
"What happened to it?"
"He left it here."
The room seemed to contract around that sentence.
"Where is it?"
Jang stood.
He walked toward an old wooden cabinet.
Opened the bottom drawer.
Removed a small black notebook.
He placed it on the table.
Hae-in looked at the cover.
No name.
No label.
Just a faded number.
08.
She opened it.
The first pages were blank.
The next few contained construction measurements.
Pipe lengths.
Door widths.
Electrical lines.
Then, halfway through—
Names.
Not seven.
Not eight.
Three.
LEE JI-HOON
KIM SEONG-HWAN
And—
Hae-in stopped.
The third name was hers.
SEO HAE-IN
Kang stood.
"When was this written?"
Jang looked at the page.
"I don't know."
Hae-in checked the paper.
The ink was old.
The page was not.
She looked at the notebook's binding.
A section had been replaced.
Recently.
Someone had inserted new pages into an old notebook.
She turned to the next page.
A sentence had been written there.
Not in the same handwriting.
THE FIRST TWO REMEMBERED.
She turned the page.
THE THIRD IS LOOKING.
The next page was blank.
Hae-in closed the notebook.
For several seconds, she said nothing.
Then she looked at Jang.
"Mr. Jang."
"Yes?"
"Who gave you this notebook?"
He didn't answer.
Kang stepped closer.
Jang finally whispered:
"Your father."
Hae-in's fingers tightened around the notebook.
"When?"
"After Seong-hwan disappeared."
"How long after?"
"Two days."
"Why did he give it to you?"
Jang looked at her.
"He told me to keep it until you were old enough to ask the right question."
Hae-in stared at him.
"My father knew I'd find this?"
"No."
Jang shook his head.
"He said he hoped you wouldn't."
Outside, a truck passed.
The window rattled.
Hae-in looked down at the notebook again.
Three names.
One from 1992.
One from 2008.
And her own.
The final page contained only one line.
Written in her father's handwriting.
IF HAE-IN FINDS ROOM 08, DO NOT LET HER OPEN THE SECOND DOOR.
Hae-in slowly looked toward Kang.
For the first time since they had entered the apartment, she looked uncertain.
Not about the case.
About her father.
Because if he had known about Room 08—
he had also known what was behind the second door.
And he had been afraid of what she would find there.