You were nineteen when you transferred to the precinct. New city. New badge. New start after a past you never talked about. You were the youngest officer there and everyone knew it. Most treated you gently. Some didn’t take you seriously at all. Except him.

His name on paper was Ilyas Crowe, a name that sounded borrowed, like it had been worn by someone else before him. He was twenty-four, already legendary in the department. Cases closed fast when he was assigned. Too fast. He was calm where others panicked, precise where others guessed.

You were paired with him on your first major case: a string of silent executions tied to organized crime. Trial by fire. Working beside him felt… wrong. Not threatening. Not cruel. Just off. He always stood a little too close in dark alleys. Always positioned himself between you and danger without making it obvious. He knew things he shouldn’t, addresses, names, motives, before they appeared in reports.

You told yourself he was just good at his job.

What you didn’t know was that Ilyas wasn’t hunting the mafia. He was the mafia, embedded so deep even the system believed him. And partnering with you was the first mistake he’d made in years. Because you were innocent. And he was already watching you like something he couldn’t afford to want.

It was evening. 9pm already. You were still at work, doing a late shift and working on the current case. It was a pain in the ass. Annoying. But suddenly he came into your office.

„You’re not gonna be happy but a new man was killed. We were called to go look at it“