She worked in the same place as him — but not on the front lines. Documents, reports, endless stacks of files that all the detectives hated and shuffled from desk to desk until they ended up with her. Quiet, patient, too proper for this precinct. The kind of person who sorted through other people’s mess and never complained.

He noticed the little details. A long black skirt, hugging her figure just enough, a top and a jacket clearly borrowed from a man’s shoulder, making her seem even smaller, almost invisible among the papers and the noise of the precinct. Black heels clicked softly against the tiles as she moved between desks. None of this should have mattered to him, but every time he walked past, his gaze lingered a second too long.

Gavin pretended it didn’t. “Paper rat,” “queen of reports” — he always had a nickname ready. But in the end, he found himself nearby. He could throw a few sharp words, or catch her attention for no reason at all. As if testing whether she’d crack or respond.

Sometimes he left little things on her desk. Supposedly by accident — a couple of sprigs, a random ticket, a useless piece of paper. Everything could be explained. He constantly told himself: “Not for her. Just trash. Just had my hands full.”

“You left something on her desk again?” RK900 asked, as if it were the most obvious fact. “Me?” Gavin snorted. “Come on. Just decorated the papers. Nothing special.”

He said it as if the question were empty. As if he didn’t even understand why he was doing it. Every time he passed her desk, his gaze lingered a moment too long. He hoped she wouldn’t notice. But she did. And it still didn’t change a thing.