Chiang Mai was loud by 8 am

Songkran day 3. The "big splash" day. Every street was a river. Tourists screaming. Monks hurrying past with towels over their heads.

Krit hadn’t slept again.

The sa paper was in his desk drawer now. Locked. But he could still see it when he closed his eyes.

Day 3. Dew.

10:04 AM. "Nam Jai Relief Foundation." Old Town.

The NGO was all glass and white walls. Posters of flooded villages. Kids holding donation boxes.

Dew was the director. 31. TEDx talks. Flood relief campaigns.

He was in the supply room.

Same as the others.

Sitting on the floor, back against boxes of bottled water. Dry clothes. Wet skin.

Water poured from his mouth in a thin, steady stream. Like a tap someone forgot to turn off.

Frangipani between his teeth.

Three coins in his lap.

No signs of forced entry. Security footage showed Dew coming in alone at 3 AM to "prep donations." The cameras cut out at 3:12. Black screen for 8 minutes. Then back on. Dew was already there.

Saru was pale. “Boss. That’s three. In three days.”

Krit crouched. Dew’s neck had the same faint bruises. Five fingers.

He touched Dew’s cheek. Cold.

The room smelled wrong. Bleach. And underneath it, river mud.

On the wall, someone had drawn in the condensation from Dew’s breath.

ไม่พอ

Not enough.

Krit wiped it away.

Mai showed up 20 minutes later.

He didn’t ask permission. He just walked in, past the tape, and stood in the doorway.

“You brought him here?” Saru snapped.

Krit didn’t look up. “He’s part of this now.”

Mai’s eyes went to the body. He didn’t react. Just took a photo. Then another.

“You’re going to get yourself arrested,” Krit said quietly.

“Then arrest me.” Mai lowered his phone. “Or tell me what you found.”

Krit stood. They ended up in the hallway, away from the others. Water from outside dripped from Mai’s hair onto the tile.

“The camera cut out,” Krit said. “Eight minutes. Someone knew the system.”

Mai nodded. “And Dew was on every charity board with my uncle for the last 5 years.”

Krit’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

Mai pulled out a folded document. Foundation donor list. He pointed to two names.

Pichai Wiset. Mali Rattanakorn Foundation.

And Dew’s name. Right under it.

“My uncle fakes the donations,” Mai said. His voice was flat. “Dew launders them. Takes a cut. Everyone gets to look clean for Songkran.”

Krit stared at him. “You knew this?”

“I suspected.” Mai looked away. “I left because of it.”

For a moment, neither spoke. The music from outside filtered in. Distorted.

Krit should’ve taken the document. Should’ve put Mai in a room and questioned him for 6 hours.

Instead he said, “You’re not safe.”

Mai laughed, humorless. “I’m on a kill list, Lieutenant. Safe left the chat.”

Krit stepped closer. “Then stay close.”

Mai looked up. “Is that an order or...”

“Don’t finish that sentence.”

But Krit didn’t move away.

11:47 PM. Krit’s apartment. Safehouse.

Protocol was dead.

Krit brought Mai here instead of the station. No cameras. No other cops. Just two chairs, one bed, and a gun on the table.

Mai sat on the floor, back against the wall. Towel around his shoulders. He was still wet from the rain.

Krit was at the window. Watching the street.

“You don’t have to do this,” Mai said.

“I do.”

“Why?”

Krit didn’t answer. Because the truth was ugly. Because 10 years ago he didn’t save his brother. Because Mai had his name on a list and was still walking into danger with a cigarette and a smirk.

Because when he grabbed Mai’s wrist in the temple, he hadn’t wanted to let go.

The lights flickered.

Both of them froze.

Drip.

From the bathroom.

Krit drew his gun in one motion. “Stay here.”

He checked. Empty. Dry.

But the sink was wet. Like someone had just washed their hands.

And on the mirror, fogged:

Day 4

Under it, smaller:

Ohm

Mai’s breath caught. “Ohm. He’s... he’s my childhood friend. City council.”

Krit wiped the mirror. The name stayed. Like it was written from the other side.

His phone buzzed. Saru.

“Boss. We got a body. Loi Kroh. Same M.O. It’s Ohm.”

The room went silent.

Outside, Songkran music hit a peak. Fireworks. Screams.

Mai closed his eyes. “Day 4.”

Krit holstered his gun. Walked to Mai. Crouch down in front of him.

“Look at me.”

Mai did. His eyes were dry. Too dry.

“You’re not next,” Krit said. “I won’t let you be next.”

Mai searched his face. “You can’t promise that.”

“I just did.”

For a second, Mai almost reached for him. Then he pulled back. “The killer knows my family. Knows my friends. This isn’t random.”

“I know.” Krit stood. “Get some sleep. We move at dawn.”

Mai didn’t sleep.

Neither did Krit.

He sat in the chair by the door. Gun in his lap. Listening to Mai breathe on the bed. Listening to the drip in the bathroom that wasn’t there anymore.

Somewhere in the city, the Phi Nam had made its third offering.

And it was getting closer to Day 7.

To be continued......