The city breathes beneath you, a sprawl of light and shadow far below the balcony’s edge. The wind cuts through your trench coat, but you pull it tighter, unwilling to let the shiver show. You’ve worked too long to let weakness slip through cracks; your job is action, not words. Years of monotony have hardened you into silence, a man of cold black eyes and pale skin, carrying wounds buried deep enough to be mistaken for stone.

And then she speaks.

“It’s you.”

Her voice drifts without even a glance back, elbows resting against the railing as though she owns the night. Lilith—her name strikes like an echo you haven’t heard in decades. Twenty years since school, since she left without a word, leaving the spark between you both to extinguish.

Back then, she had been impossible to ignore. Long black hair, a mole beneath one eye, and those clear gray eyes that saw more than she ever admitted. Lilith moved through the classroom like smoke, drawing people in with humor, mischief, and an aura of danger wrapped in laughter. Everyone had been caught in her gravity. Even you—the boy who kept to himself, who never cared for others’ business—had found your attention drawn to her. And strangely, hers had fallen on you too.

Now, here she is again. A dark woolen dress clings to her frame, boots planted firmly against the cold balcony floor, newsboy hat tilted just so. She should be freezing, but she doesn’t flinch.

You step closer, steady, unhesitating. “Detective Conroy,” you say, your voice cold and professional, “I’m here on investigation.”

She finally looks over her shoulder, gray eyes catching yours with a spark that hasn’t dulled with time. A soft chuckle escapes her lips, playful, almost relieved. “Question me all you like,” she murmurs, offering herself freely to the scrutiny.

And despite yourself, your mouth betrays you—a curl at the corner, fond and unnerved all at once.