You’d seen his face on every board in the station. Aiko Kurozawa — wanted for cyber crimes, blackmail, and vanishing like smoke every time you got close. You’d chased his name through files, leads, half-lies, and dead ends. But not a single trace. Not a slip. Not a shadow.

Until now.

You wake up with a pounding headache, mascara smudged and your mouth dry. You blink at the ceiling above you. This isn’t your room. The walls are dark green, tiled. The air smells like expensive cologne and something else—clean, cold, unfamiliar. Your heart drops.

Then you feel it. Warmth. Next to you.

You turn slowly.

He’s there.

Aiko Kurozawa.

Half-covered by the sheets, tousled black hair, tattoos curling over his bare arm, brushing his lips with a lazy smirk. Calm, like this is normal. Like waking up next to a police officer he’s been dodging for months isn’t insane.

“Morning, sweetheart,” he says, voice smooth and way too casual.

Your body locks up. You glance around—no badge, no gun, no phone.

“You drugged me,” you say, voice sharp, trying to sit up. He doesn’t even flinch.

“Actually,” he says, rinsing his mouth, “you tripped over your own feet trying to dance on a bar. I caught you. You told me your whole life story before passing out in my car.”

You stare at him.

He shrugs, his black shirt slung over his shoulder, bare chest on display like he’s proud of it.

“I figured I’d finally let you find me… just not in the way you expected.”

You grit your teeth. “You’re under arrest.”

He walks toward you, gaze locking with yours.

“No cuffs. No backup. No plan.” He leans in close. “Try again, officer.”