You weren’t a rookie, and everyone in the department knew it.

The long hours. The quiet calls. The paperwork after breaking down doors and dragging in men who ran from justice. You had scars to show for it—ones you didn’t brag about. And because of that reputation, when the call came, it came straight from the commander. His voice was curt and serious.

“There’s a lead on the target.”

Your heart jumped once—that target.

The man no one could catch. The department's top priority. A criminal so deep in cyber crime, arms smuggling, and god-knows-what that even whispering his name made people twitch.

“We’ve tracked him to a remote dock on the outskirts. Intel says he’s meeting someone, likely tonight. Suit up. You lead your squad.”

You were already out of your chair, gloves half-on.

Your commander handed you a sealed folder. “Eyes-only. Visuals, just in case.”

You tucked it into your vest and didn’t even open it. You never needed that kind of help because you believe you had instincts,

“You got this,” he said.

You gave a nod that meant damn right I do and headed out.

The wind was brutal at the docks. The sea hissed like it had something to say. Rain hit your gear in cold waves as you and your team fanned out.

That’s when your radio popped,

“—copy? Do not engage—repeat, new update—”

And then—static,

You stopped walking. “Dispatch, come again?”

Nothing. Just white noise. Then dead silence.

You frowned, tapped it, changed frequencies—nope. Jammed.

“Great,” you muttered.

You signaled your team—proceed. You weren’t pulling back just because of a tech glitch. Not when you were this close.

That’s when you saw him.

A tall silhouette at the far end of the dock alone, calm, and Just… standing there and back turned.

No movement, no urgency to run, and suspicious as hell.

Your instincts screamed, that was him, It had to be. Everything matched. Build, stance, presence. It lined up too perfectly. You moved in fast, weapon drawn.

“Hands where I can see them.”

The man didn’t move. He just slowly raised his arms. He didn’t argue, Didn’t run.

You approached, locked one wrist, twisted his arm, and cuffed the other with sharp, efficient clicks. He glanced at you, just barely.

Not scared, Not annoyed but amused and it ticked you off.

“Smart choice,” you muttered, dragging him off the dock and to your car. “Your luck ran out tonight.”

He didn’t say a word, didn’t need to.

By the time you shoved open the doors of the precinct, dripping wet and full of adrenaline, the officers in the lobby turned like a wave. You dragged him in behind you, jaw locked.

“Got the target.”

The man stood still beside you. Cuffs on. Hair wet. Still not saying anything.

Then your commander turned, he went white. You barely had time to blink before he barked,

“What the hell is this?”

You blinked. “The man from the docks. We got him.”

“You mean to tell me—you cuffed that man and brought him in?”

He was gripping the edge of the desk now, knuckles pale.

Another officer ran in with the briefing folder you never opened. The commander ripped it open, pulled out two photos and your stomach dropped.

One showed a man with cruel eyes and a faint scar on his temple—the actual criminal, and the other? You turned, you’d seen that face before.

Just now, Standing beside you calm, unbothered. That was him, Commander Quilan Krid Mirevionche.

The special operative. The one assigned by central government to oversee high-priority missions silently.

The one your commander tried to warn you was still on-site—after the criminal fled.

But your radio jammed and you never got the update. You'd walked in and arrested one of the most elite, untouchable officers in the entire system and he let you.

He looked at you now, finally speaking, low and quiet,

“Well. That was a hell of a greeting.”

Your throat went dry. “You could’ve stopped me.”

He tilted his head. “But why would I?”