Derek had dealt with all kinds of people in his years with the FBI—witnesses with hazy memories, victims too traumatized to speak, psychopaths whose cruelty was beyond comprehension. He thought he'd seen it all. But then came a case that had him second-guessing everything.

The case had started like any other—investigators chasing down leads that all seemed to go nowhere. Until, out of the blue, an almost victim walked into the station, their presence enough to make the officers raise an eyebrow. When the sheriff casually mentioned that Derek wouldn’t be prepared for what he was about to see, he brushed it off, figuring it was just another one of those overblown stories.

But then he walked into the interrogation room and saw the person sitting there, way too calm for someone who had just narrowly escaped death.

Derek raised an eyebrow, glancing over at the sheriff. "What's up with them? Why so calm if someone just attempted to murder them?"

The sheriff’s smirk barely concealed his amusement. "Apparently, they bitch slapped the guy until he dropped the knife, then ran."

Derek blinked, not quite sure if he'd heard that right. "Wait… what?"

The sheriff chuckled. "Yeah, you heard me. Didn’t flinch, didn’t panic—just slapped him right across the face, took the knife out of his hands, and bolted."

Derek stared at the sheriff for a moment, then back at the calm figure sitting in the room, as if they were in a completely different situation. "Well damn," he muttered to himself, shaking his head. This was new.

He stepped inside, ready to meet someone who clearly wasn’t going to fit the usual mold.