The phone rang at 2:13 a.m.

She didn’t need to look at the screen to know who it was, only one person ever called at that hour.

She let it buzz twice before answering, her voice calm as she answered the phone.

“Where are you, Gigi?”

For a moment, there was only ragged breathing on the other end. Then a shaky voice finally replied,

“S–sis… I did something terrible.”

Her jaw tightened and she closed her eyes briefly to remain calm.

“What did you do?”

A choked sob came through the line.

“I didn’t mean to do it again this time… I swear I didn’t. He was yelling, and I panicked. I—I couldn’t stop. There’s so much blood, I don’t know what to do.”

Her fingers curled around the phone until her knuckles turned white. She knew the tone too well and it pissed her off.

To anyone else, Gigi sounded terrified, but she knew her sister better than anyone else. The little troublemaker wasn't scared of anything.

“Giselle, how many times have I told you—” She cut herself off, pinching the bridge of her nose. Arguing would only waste her time, she had a body to dispose of as soon as possible. “Where are you?”

“At his apartment...we're in the living room. I'll send the address to you right now but sis...I don’t… I don’t think he’s breathing.”

Of course he wasn’t.

She forced her voice to stay calm. “Don’t touch anything, Gigi. Don’t move him. Do you understand?”

“Y–yes. Please hurry, sis. Please.”

The desperation in her tone was so convincing that if she didn’t know better, even she might have believed it.

But she could picture her sister’s expression perfectly: wide innocent eyes, hands trembling slightly, lips pressed together to keep from smiling.

She hung up, slipped into her coat, and grabbed her keys.

The drive across town was silent and she would've enjoyed the ride if she wasn't on her way to do a distasteful job.

When she reached the building, she parked in the shadowed corner of the lot, where cameras didn’t quite reach. Then she moved quickly, slightly covering her face from the night guard who barely glanced up from his phone.

By the time she reached the door, her sister was already waiting.

She looked exactly as expected: oversized hoodie, hair in disarray, eyes rimmed with wetness as if she’d been crying for hours. Her hands shook as she reached for her arm.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean—”

“For goodness sake, cut the act, Gigi. We don't have the time to waste!” She snapped, brushing past her.

Gigi froze, her performance faltering for half a second before the wide-eyed expression slid back into place.

Inside, the apartment smelled sharp and metallic. The kind of smell you never forgot once you’d cleaned it from carpet and skin enough times.

The body lay slumped against the wall. A handsome young man, maybe mid-twenties, eyes wide open in surprise. His shirt was soaked red, the knife still in his chest.

She exhaled slowly, pinching her nose. “How many times have I told you to at least pull the weapon out?”

“I panicked,” Gigi whispered meekly. “I didn’t know what to do—”

“Stop your acting!”

The words were so sharp that for a moment, silence passed between them.

Then Gigi’s lips twitched, the corners tugging upward in the faintest smile. Finally, she dropped the trembling act, voice slipping into something playful like her usual self.

“Fine, I'll stop but it really isn't my fault, sis. He wouldn’t stop shouting at me and he was being too aggressive, so in a way I was just trying to defend myself.”

Gigi crouched beside the body, tilting her head. “Isn't he such a pretty boy though? What do you rate him on a scale of one to ten?”

She felt bile rise in her throat but she managed to turn away, forcing herself to focus. “We don’t have time for this.”

She moved with practiced efficiency—slipping on the gloves she always carried in her bag, checking the man’s pockets, noting what had to disappear. His phone, his wallet. Anything that could somehow implicate them.

Meanwhile, Gigi lingered near the body, humming a BTS song under her breath.

“Don’t just stand there,” she hissed. “Help me.”

With a groan, Gigi obeyed, but she made it clear she wasn't interested in helping. She grudgingly carried bloody rags to the bathroom, fetched bleach from under the sink and wiped down the surfaces with an annoyed look on her face.

They worked in silence for nearly an hour and by the time they were done, the apartment smelled more like bleach than blood. The body was wrapped and the carpet scrubbed clean.

She checked her watch. 4:02 a.m. They still had time before dawn.

For a moment, she sank onto the edge of the sofa feeling physically and mentally exhausted. Her sister leaned against the doorway with her arms crossed.

“Thank you for this,” Gigi murmured. “I couldn’t do it without you, sis.”

She looked up sharply. “You shouldn’t have to do it at all.”

Gigi tilted her head, studying her. Then she smiled, “But you'll always help me. Won’t you, sis?”

Her heart clenched and she wanted to scream no but the words never came because she knew deep down she'd always help Gigi.

As she stared at the body rolled tightly in plastic, waiting to be disposed of, one thought came to her mind:

How many more men would die before they got caught?