Song Dohyun doesn't sleep that night.
He sits in his office with the lights off and the aquarium casting everything in its usual quiet blue, the jellyfish drifting in their tank, indifferent to the fact that someone is thinking very hard less than two meters away from them.
Eight was in the Swan Lake Paradise vortex.
That is the fact he keeps returning to. Not the door, not the stones, not the White Swan's whatever-it-was — the fact that two days ago, a vortex opened beneath a hotel and Eight was apparently inside it.
Which means Eight was at the banquet.
Song Dohyun's finger taps once, twice, against the armrest of his chair.
