Khalaji offered the evidence bag with Park’s wallet, dangling from two fingers. Seong-Jae reached for the bag, but when his fingers almost brushed Khalaji’s, Khalaji jerked back. Seong-Jae froze. “What?” Khalaji eyed his hands. “Are those latex?” “Yes.” “Latex allergy.” Seong-Jae stared at him flatly. He had heard that one before. Khalaji tilted his head—then let out a sudden rough, sharp bark of laughter that only cemented that image of a wolf: just one quick, hoarse, coughing snap of sound, edged in a growl and flashing sharp teeth. “Get your fucking mind out of the gutter, Yoon. I’m
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