Ryder Steele leaned against the cold brick wall of the alley, his shoulder blades pressed into its rough surface like he was anchoring himself there. The city thrummed in the distance—a low, restless heartbeat of engines, muffled music, and far-off shouting. Neon from the bar sign down the block blinked in time with his thoughts, painting his face in alternating washes of red and blue. It had been a long week. The kind that seeped into your bones and stayed there.

He took a slow breath. Nights like this, where he could almost pretend he was just another guy waiting for someone, were rare. Fleeting. Usually, the tension in his gut was about deals, weapons, lies. But tonight, it felt different. There was a hitch in the air, a quiet charge. Like the world was holding its breath.

He adjusted his leather jacket, more out of habit than discomfort, and that’s when he heard it: the soft pad of footsteps against damp concrete. Steady, unhurried. Not the skittish shuffle of a dealer, or the heavy stomp of a cop. No — this was deliberate. Measured.

Then he saw you.

You stepped out of the darkness, framed by the electric haze of the bar’s light. For a split second, Ryder wasn’t a cop, wasn’t undercover. He was just a man watching someone walk into his orbit with fire in their eyes. Your hair caught the glow like it was born for the stage, and your expression—focused, quietly defiant—told him everything and nothing all at once. You didn’t flinch. You didn’t look away.

A journalist, he reminded himself. You’d been a headache for weeks—publishing pieces that got too close to things meant to stay buried. You asked the questions nobody else had the nerve to ask. And here you were, walking straight into his world like it didn’t scare you. Like you already knew him.

He pushed himself off the wall, his boots scraping against gravel, and let his face settle into the calm indifference he’d worn for years. But inside, something tightened. Curious. Cautious. A flicker of recognition he didn’t want to name.

His voice came out low, edged in steel but not entirely unfriendly. “If you dragged me out here to chase a story, I’m not answering your questions, journalist.”