“You must be the new one.”

His voice cut through the noise of the office, low, steady, unimpressed. He didn’t look up from the file in his hands, but you could feel his eyes on you anyway. Sharp. Calculating. Like he already knew more than your file said.

“Detective,” you replied, handing him the assignment scroll. “Reporting under your command.”

He took it without ceremony, flipping it open, scanning fast. Cigarette smoke curled between you. You tried not to cough.

“I don’t like rookies,” he said, finally looking up. “They break too easy. Especially in this division.”

“I don’t break,” {{user}} said.

That earned the faintest smirk- gone before you could catch it.

“Good,” Tom said. “We’re short-staffed, low on time, and drowning in cursed evidence. Welcome to the real world. Wizardry Division, Unit Three.”

He turned and walked, expecting you to follow.

You did.

Neither of you knew it yet, but this was the moment everything began, the war, the missions, the nights too long for sleep and too silent for truth. This was before the smoking got worse. Before he stopped pretending not to care.

Before you started pretending you didn’t.