It still amazes me just how clouded the Seattle night sky can be. And maybe it's because I live in the city proper, but rather than nearly a single star, all I can see are clouds.

One of the benefits of my small studio is access to a shared rooftop deck, and I often come out here to think. It helps, not to be surrounded by claustrophobia-inducing walls and unsettling silence.

Ironically, the noise from the city below, passing cars and noisy night owls, actually helps me think.

Though, to be fair, the international district doesn't get nearly as much traffic at night as the rest of Seattle.

The wheels in my head have been turning for some time now, and I'm still convinced that the person who killed that druggie and his guest is the same one who killed my family, who ripped them away from me so callously.

It happened in the downtown area, closer to Pike's Place, which only tells me that the killer has grown bold. Previously, he'd stuck to the poorer neighborhood's, areas in which there are less people likely to be out and about.

There hasn't been a murder in such a long time now, I almost believed the psychopath had hung his habit up for good. In a sick sort of way, I have to admit that I'm glad he didn't.

Years ago, right after Nari and Areum's death, I might have given up. I might have quashed my detective's spirit and, sulking in my own misery, allowed the killer to roam freely. I might have tried trusting the police to deal with it.

But now?

Now I am fueled with years worth of rage and anguish, and too invested to let this opportunity pass me by. I'd already made up my mind as soon as I saw the news.

I'm going to find this asshole, and I'm going to kill him.

There will be no trial. There will be no arrest. And if I have to go to prison for it, so be it.

I have nothing left to lose.

To that effect, I've already reached out to the victim's immediate families. I know that it's probably too late to receive any kind of response tonight, but my brain wouldn't allow me to sit and twiddle my thumbs. Wouldn't allow me to wait until tomorrow to plan it all out.

So instead of sleeping, I am here, standing at the railing on the roof deck and piecing together a game plan.

I'll offer my services as a private investigator, for free, if I have to. Pro bono. Chances are that the families will want to find whoever is responsible for this just as badly as I do, especially once I bring to light the killer's past crimes.

I'm not sure just how useful any information they can give me will be, but at the very least, working on it as a professional case might allow a bit more freedom than simply chasing him on my own. And it's sure to create far less questions.

After all, even given the fact that I have friends in the force, I doubt they'll allow me to investigate the crime scene unless I am working on the case.

Honestly, they might not let me even then, and the realization makes me scowl, mood souring more and more by the minute.

What will I do if that is the case? If the precinct tries to keep me out of the loop because of my own personal history with this guy? I need to examine the crime scene.

Previously, aside from my wife and child, the killer has been cold and calculating. Each previous kill had been clean, meticulous even, as if he knew exactly what the police would look for. We hadn't been able to find a shred of evidence that we could link to the killer himself, no matter how hard we'd tried.

Seokjin had often expressed his utter frusteration with the case. In fact I remember him pointedly yelling about criminals not having any right to be so cleanly after examining one scene, in which three men, all with criminal histories, had been killed in the alley outside of one of the local pubs.

But this time?

The killer was sloppy.

The previous murders hadn't been nearly as savage as this, hadn't had nearly as much blood. And I remember vividly the bruises that the man in particular was sporting, to the face and hands.

He must have given the killer more trouble than previous victims.

And since the murderer has always seemed a particularly meticulous fellow, it might have made him furious. Furious enough to violently assault the man, given his wounds. Of course, I'd have to examine the corpses to be sure, but it might even be possible that such a beating was in fact the cause of death.

Mind racing, I have to admit as I dig through my coat pocket for my pack, that a part of me is almost relieved to be back in the game.

"What is most curious to me, however, " I note aloud, mouthing the words around the cigarette as I light it. "Is why the girl was killed..."

She has no criminal record, at least not as far as the tabloids had uncovered. Perhaps, if I were to dig deeper?

But for that, I'd really need her family's cooperation, and that's a fifty-fifty chance. I've seen a lot of mourning families in my time as a detective. Too many. And contrary to popular opinion, they're not always the same.

Sometimes, the family wants to find the killer, and the truth, as much as you do. But just as likely, they react with rage, or denial. I've often seen cases in which the family rejects investigation entirely, for reasons as varied as there are stars.

Just because you can't see them, doesn't mean they aren't there.

Occasionally, it's because they fear the truth, at times, because they can't see through the fog of their despair. I've even seen families who simply seem as if they don't care, but I'd also known that they were hurting, suffering so deeply inside, that they didn't know how else to go about their daily lives other than to bury it.

Bury it, or be broken by it.

In some ways, I can relate.

How arrogant of me, how naive, to have seen these people, known these people, only to selfishly believe that it would never happen to me. It hadn't even been a wish, their safety, because I'd never even considered the possibility that they wouldn't be by my side.

Irritated by the direction in which my thoughts are flowing, and determined not to succumb to such thoughts again until I have brought their killer to justice, I flick the cigarette to the ground with the tip of my thumb and index.

Sparks fly as it lands near my well-polished dress shoes. I forever snuff the burning embers with my heel, and suffuse the rage within in cold, tempered steel.

"I'm coming for you, whoever you are."