There’s something in here,” he announced to his partner, who promptly joined him on the floor. Using the beam from their flashlights, they worked together to carefully pry open the concealed space. The atmosphere in the room grew tense, anticipation mixed with a palpable fear of the unknown.

The wood creaked, and the officers managed to widen the opening enough to peer inside. A collective gasp escaped Son and Han as the hidden truth was revealed. Within the dark recesses lay a forgotten relic—a small, rusted chest, untouched by time but covered in a thick layer of dust and cobwebs. It seemed impossible that such a thing could cause so much disturbance, yet its presence emanated an undeniably eerie aura.

Son shifted uneasily, clutching his baby tighter. “What is it?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper. The officers exchanged a glance before slowly sliding the chest out, careful not to damage its fragile structure.

The room felt frozen in time as the officers worked the latch open. The air seemed to still, holding its breath in unison with the anxious family. With a soft click, the latch gave way, and the lid creaked open, revealing its contents.

Inside were objects that spoke of another era—a set of handwritten letters, yellowed by age, tied together with a faded ribbon. Beneath them lay an old photograph of a woman, smiling serenely, her eyes holding secrets that would never be told. But it was the final item that drew gasps from everyone present: a small, intricately carved wooden figure, shaped like a dog, painted black.

The officers exchanged puzzled glances, and Son felt his heart race as he struggled to make sense of the discovery. Han, her voice trembling, asked, “What does it all mean?”

One officer, turning the figure over in his hands, noticed an inscription etched into its base. “To guard and protect,” he read aloud, his voice filled with wonder. “It’s like a… talisman.”

Understanding dawned on Son and Han simultaneously. Ink’s behavior suddenly made sense—the dog had sensed the presence of something familiar, something that perhaps had once been placed there with good intentions but had become twisted over time.

The officers, recognizing that there was no immediate danger, began to piece together the narrative. Perhaps the space had been a secret hiding spot, long forgotten but imbued with the intense emotions of whoever had originally placed the items there.

As the officers documented their findings, Ink calmed, settling beside the crib with a satisfied sigh, his watchful duty fulfilled. The room, once laden with tension and fear, now felt lighter, as if a weight had been lifted from its shadows.

For Son, Han, and their baby, the nights that followed were peaceful, with Ink remaining a vigilant guardian, but now with a relaxed demeanor. The hidden truth had been unearthed, and although the mystery had been solved, it left behind an indelible mark—a reminder that some secrets, no matter how deeply buried, have a way of clawing their way into the present.