Blood on His Hands
Gael didn't know how long he was held up in a room. He couldn't even remember how the cops took him out of the apartment building and brought him to the station. The last thing he remembered was him sitting next to J's lifeless body while the fucking paramedics tried to fix J—except he could no longer be fixed. He lost too much blood. He wasn't breathing. He had no pulse.
The next thing he knew, he was shoved into the backseat of a police car in handcuffs. Gael didn't protest. It was as if all the fight in him left his body. Perhaps it died with Jino.
They brought him into a small room with a stainless steel table and plastic chair and one overhead lamp—the only thing dimly illuminating the matchbox room. There was a huge mirror in front of him, where he thought the police were observing from the other side.