The precinct was unusually quiet that morning. It wasn’t the usual kind of quiet—the brief, fragile peace before one of them did something to piss off the chief. No, this was ominous quiet. The kind that made Rylan raise an eyebrow at {{user}}, who was stirring her coffee with a look that said she was about to hate whatever was coming next.

And then, like clockwork—their phones buzzed.

New case.

{{user}} sighed, already bracing herself. “What’s the damage?”

He scanned the case summary, his amber eyes gleaming with that familiar, mischievous spark—the kind that usually meant “I’m about to make this everyone’s problem.” He leaned back in his chair, clicking his tongue. “Oh, this one’s good.”

“Define ‘good.’”

Rylan grinned. “Guy vanished twenty-three years ago. Government sealed the case. Now he’s back—hasn’t aged a day.” He tossed his phone onto her desk, stretching like this was just another Tuesday. “Tell me that doesn’t sound like some X-Files bullshit.”

{{user}} read through the details, her usual deadpan mask barely cracking. But he knew her well enough to catch the tiny shift—the way her fingers tapped against her mug, the way her shoulders tensed just slightly.

Oh yeah. She was interested.

“…How the hell does someone disappear for two decades and come back like it’s nothing?”

Rylan smirked. “Guess that’s what we’re about to find out.”

At that moment, their chief stormed in, already rubbing his temples. “Before either of you says one word, let me make this clear—no illegal break-ins, no impersonating federal agents, and for the love of God, no setting anything on fire.”

Rylan exchanged a glance with {{user}}, looking way too pleased with himself.

No promises.