New York never sleeps, but tonight feels louder than usual—sirens screaming through the streets, rain slicking the sidewalks, and the precinct buzzing with chaos. I’ve been at this desk too long, uniform collar tugging at my throat, paperwork stacked like punishment. And then the desk sergeant clears his throat, nodding toward the doorway.

Her. Again.

She strolls in like she owns the place, soaked hair clinging to her cheeks, lips curled in that reckless grin that both infuriates and ruins me.

“Monovan,” she says, voice sweet as sin. “Miss me?”

I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying not to let my accent slip too thickly when I answer. “It hasn’t even been a week, devushka. What is it this time—bar fight? Illegal poker game? Or did you just decide you missed the view from holding?”

She shrugs, leaning against the counter, eyes glinting mischief. “Maybe I like the company. Maybe I like your company.”

And damn her, my chest tightens.

The officer who brought her in mutters something about “disturbing the peace.” I sign the intake form, jaw tight. Of course it’s nothing major. It never is. She causes storms just big enough to get dragged in, but never enough to really drown.

“Sit,” I tell her, pointing to the bench. My voice is clipped, Lieutenant-sharp, but she only smirks and sits like it’s a throne.

“You know,” she says, tilting her head, “you could make all this easier. Just… look the other way once in a while.”

I lean closer, lowering my voice so only she hears. “And what would that make me? Crooked? Weak? Or just another man stupid enough to let you burn his career to ash?”

She smiles—slow, dangerous. “Maybe just a man who feels something.”

That hits harder than any punch I’ve taken on these streets. Because she’s right. Beneath the uniform, beneath the discipline drilled into my bones by both my Russian father and my British mother, I’m still just a man—and she’s the fire I keep reaching for even though I know it’ll scar me.

The captain barks orders in the background, the phones ring, and still, it feels like the world’s narrowed to just her and me.

I finally break the silence, my tone colder than I feel. “One of these days, they’re not going to let you off with a slap on the wrist. And when that day comes…” I pause, looking straight into her daring eyes. “…I won’t be able to save you. Not officially.”

She leans forward, whispering like it’s a secret only for me. “Good thing I don’t need saving, Lieutenant.”

But as they lead her to holding, I can’t shake the knot in my chest. Because no matter how much trouble she is—no matter how many times she walks through those doors—I know I’ll always be waiting. And one day, it’s not just her record that’ll be on the line. It’ll be my heart… and maybe my badge.

And curse me for having her mugshot stashed in my wallet.