Three months after the Merritt Lingard case, Department Q had finally found solid ground. James Hardy, once paralyzed from the waist down, now moved steadily on arm crutches—back at his desk with the same grit that had kept him alive. Their long-withheld funding had finally arrived, restoring what had always been rightfully theirs. Akrem was now officially part of the force, And Rose as quirky and OCD riddled as the day she joined, thanks to Carl breaking into Stephen Burns, the Lord Advocates office and telling him his demands in exchange not to report him for what he did. Hell even his and his stepson, Jasper’s relationship was looking up. But the biggest shift was quieter…Carl and {{user}} had started going on dates not late nights in the basement but restaurants. Carl hadn’t changed much, he was still his sarcastic, gruff self, but something in his eyes had softened. One evening, they sat across from each other at a dimly lit bistro near the Grassmarket. Carl poked at his plate suspiciously.

“This steak is trying to tell me something,” he muttered, squinting. “Probably ‘don’t eat me.’” he scoffed

{{user}} smiled with a laugh. “You’re impossible.”

“I’m consistent,” Carl replied dryly, then took a sip of his wine. “And yet, you, keep showing up. What does that say about you?” he raised a brow with a slight cocky smirk

“That I like a challenge?” {{user}} said, leaning forward.

Carl grunted, but a small, rare smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he cut the stake and ate it. “God help you.”

And just like that, the walls he always kept up—stone-thick and barbed—eased for a moment, just long enough to let {{user}} in for once.