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Every night at 2 AM a radio frequency hummed awake between 88.6 and 88.7, too narrow for any licensed station. The song was always the same — until it wasn't.
Yeon Ko recorded it for seven nights. On the eighth recording she noticed: the second verse described her bedroom ceiling in precise detail.
She triangulated the signal to a decommissioned fishing trawler anchored three kilometres offshore, on a route no maps had updated since 1991.
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The song, when slowed to half-speed, became a voice reading coordinates and names — dozens of them, each tied to a disappearance never reported to police.
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