Red Thread season 1

Chapter 3: The Night Shift

"Okay, okay, I'm going!" Yoo-ra laughed, waving her hand as they reached the cafeteria exit. "Don't wait up! I have to clock in at four!"

Mika grinned, taking a bite of her tteokbokki. "Go! Don't let the zombies get you! And Yoo-ra?"

"Yeah?"

"Check your hair tie. Maybe it was blue."

Yoo-ra froze for a split second, the note in her bag suddenly feeling like a hot coal. Then she forced a laugh. "Shut up, Mika. See you tomorrow!"

She pushed the door open and stepped out into the evening air.

The campus was already emptying out. The sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving the sky a bruised purple and orange. The wind was picking up, a cold, sharp gust that whipped through the trees and rattled the windows of the lecture halls. It smelled like wet pavement, exhaust fumes, and distant rain.

Yoo-ra pulled her hoodie tighter around her neck. The silence of the campus at this hour was heavy.

"Just get to the scooter," she told herself, walking briskly toward the parking lot. "Just get on the bike. Just get to the delivery hub."

She navigated the winding path to the parking lot, her boots crunching on the gravel. The streetlights were flickering, casting long, distorted shadows.

She reached her scooter, an old, slightly dented blue bike she affectionately called "Old Blue." It was parked under a flickering streetlight.

She unlocked it with a jingle. The engine sputtered to life with a cough, the vibration rattling through her hands.

"Finally," she sighed, climbing on.

She checked her phone. The Delivery Hub App was already open, showing her list for the night.

Route 4: Hongdae to Gangnam.

Stop 1: The Blue Cafe (12 mins).

Stop 2: The Old Bookstore (25 mins).

Stop 3: The Obsidian Tower (40 mins).

She scrolled past the first two stops without thinking. They were routine. But when she got to the last one, she paused.

"Obsidian Tower? That sounds like a name from a fantasy novel or a horror movie. Who names a building that?" she muttered, shaking her head. "Probably a rich guy trying to sound mysterious. Great. Just another delivery."

She put on her helmet, the plastic click echoing in the quiet lot. The wind howled, whipping her hair against her neck.

"Okay, Yoo-ra," she whispered, gripping the handlebars. "One stop at a time. Just get through the shift. Just get home."

She started the engine. The scooter lurched forward, a small, noisy bubble of warmth in the vast, cold city.

As she merged onto the main road, the city lights of Seoul blurred into streaks of neon and gold. The traffic was light. It was the kind of hour where the world felt like it was holding its breath.

Stop 2: The Old Bookstore

She pulled up to the curb. The bookstore was a cozy, brick building with warm light spilling out.

Yoo-ra killed the engine, grabbed the package, and walked to the door. She didn't hesitate. She knocked—three quick raps—and stepped back.

The door opened a c***k. An older woman peeked out.

"Delivery for Mr. Park?" Yoo-ra asked, her voice steady and polite. She held out the device for the signature.

"Yes, that's me," the woman said. "Thank you."

Yoo-ra handed over the package, then tapped the screen. "Signed, thank you," she said automatically.

"Have a good night," the woman smiled.

"You too," Yoo-ra replied, turning back to her scooter.

She didn't stop to chat. She just got back on the bike, checking her phone.

Route Update: 1 stop left.

Stop 3: The Obsidian Tower.

She took a deep breath. "Okay. One last run. Then home. Then sleep."

She merged back into the traffic. The building loomed ahead—a massive, dark structure, its windows reflecting the moon.

She parked her scooter in the designated delivery zone, just outside the revolving doors.

"Last one," she muttered, grabbing the last package. It was a heavy box, wrapped in plain brown paper.

She walked to the entrance. The lobby was empty, the marble floor gleaming under the dim lights. She walked to the elevator bank, pressed Floor 504, and waited.

The elevator dinged. The doors opened.

The hallway was quiet. She walked to the door marked 504.

She raised her hand and knocked.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

No answer.

She knocked again, a little louder.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Still nothing.

She frowned. "Hello? Delivery for Apartment 504?"

Silence.

She waited a moment. The door was slightly ajar. She pushed it open just a c***k. It was unlocked.

Weird, she thought. Doors are usually locked.

She didn't go inside. She just stood in the doorway, holding the package.

"Delivery for 504," she called out, her voice echoing slightly. "Please sign here."

No answer.

She stepped back, waiting. "Okay. I'm just going to leave it here. Someone will be back soon."

She placed the package on the floor just inside the door, then tapped the screen on her phone to mark the delivery as "Left at door."

"Package for 504," she said, more to herself than anyone else. "Please sign here.”

She turned and walked out, closing the door behind her.

She didn't look back.

She got back on her scooter, started the engine, and rode away. The city lights blurred past her.

As she pulled into the designated parking spot near her apartment, she killed the engine and took off her helmet.

She reached for her bag to grab her phone, but her hand stopped.

Something was attached to the handlebar of her scooter.

It was a small, white envelope.

She frowned. "What the...? I didn't leave anything here."

She picked it up. It was light. She opened it.

Inside was a single sheet of paper. The handwriting was elegant, sharp, and cold.

"Eat."

Just that one word.

She stared at it. Her stomach growled. She hadn't eaten since lunch.

"Who put this here?" she thought, looking around. The parking lot was empty. "Did I forget to sign for someone? Is this a prank?"

She crumpled the paper slightly, then stopped. It felt... personal.

"Eat," she repeated, reading the word again. "Like I'm a kid."

She shoved the note into her pocket, her heart giving a strange, cold thump.

"Just get home," she told herself, climbing back on the scooter. "Just get home."

She started the engine. The night was still cold. The wind still howled.

But now, there was a new feeling.

Someone knew she hadn't eaten.

Someone knew her routine.

And someone was watching.