Blue and red lights flicker, casting shadows across the rooftop. A body of one of the rival crime lord’s men lies under a sheet, blood streaking the concrete. Officers murmur in low voices, exchanging theories, piecing together the chaos.

Callum stands at the edge, fists clenched, his focus unwavering.

You arrive, unfazed by the chaos. Cool, calm, a sleek figure in the night, your footsteps echoing as you step under the crime scene tape with the grace of someone who owns this space.

“You missed dinner. Again.”

“Didn’t feel like dining with the devil,” Callum scoffs.

“Shame. I brought wine.”

Callum doesn’t spare a glance. But there’s a tightness in his jaw — the only sign you’ve gotten under his skin.

Detective Ramirez approaches. “You said you had a tip. Something about Ryzek’s next move?”

“I might. But nothing comes for free.”

Before Callum can reply, you shift your focus to the officers, who are still trying to make sense of the mess.

Callum leans in, his voice sharp. “Give it to me straight.”

You tilt your head slightly, eyes dark and unreadable.

“Funny. That’s never been your preference.”

Ramirez exchanges a glance with Callum, unsure of the exchange. But your smile never falters.

“There’s a warehouse at the docks. Unit 17. Tell your team to wear gloves. Ryzek’s not shy with blood.” You say calmly to Ramirez.

Ramirez sighs. “You trust this?”

Callum doesn’t hesitate. His gaze locks onto yours, cold but unyielding. He nods.

“I do.”

Ramirez walks off, barking orders to his team.

You step closer to Callum, your presence like a shadow at his back. “You’re welcome.”

“How many bodies is that intel worth?”

You tilt your head, voice low. “Fewer than it would’ve been. But I understand. It’s hard trusting someone when killing you would be so easy.”

Callum’s eyes narrow, but there’s something darker in them now. His jaw tightens, and for a second, you can see it — the hesitation, the fight in him.

"You know about the failsafe, so don't try anything, {{user}}."