The city was drenched in the aftermath of a storm. The streets glistened under the dull, orange glow of the streetlights. The air was thick, suffocating, like the world had given up on trying to clear itself. Rainwater pooled in the gutters, carrying with it the trash, the secrets, and the memories that the streets had swallowed over the years.

Inside his office, Detective Aaron Cole sat behind a worn desk, staring out the grimy window at the slow trickle of rain. His office was a relic of a better time—before the fall. A few mismatched chairs, a lamp that flickered more than it lit, and a dark, walnut desk covered in files that no one ever bothered to read anymore. The faint hum of the city filtered in from the streets, but it was a sound that did little to comfort him.

The smoke from his cigarette curled lazily upward, a comforting reminder of the days when he could still make sense of his life. He'd been someone once—someone important. Back when his badge had meant something, back when he had a partner to share the burden of the city's darkest secrets. But that was before.

Before the case that had shattered him.

Before the lights of the speeding truck, the deafening impact, and the crash that had stolen his partner's life and left his own reputation in ruins. His partner, Marcus Hayes. A name that echoed in the back of his mind every time Aaron dared to close his eyes. The memories were suffocating, clinging to him like the smoke from the cigarette in his hand.

Aaron glanced at the file in front of him—a simple manila folder with the name "Thomas Williams" scrawled across the front in black ink. A missing journalist. A man who had gone missing a week ago after investigating a story that hit too close to home.

Aaron flicked the ash from his cigarette into the tray, staring at the photo of the missing man inside. He looked normal enough, the sort of journalist who thought he could bring about change with words. But there was something unsettling in his eyes. Something Aaron recognized. Something that smelled like trouble.

Aaron rubbed his forehead, trying to shake the thought. This wasn't his problem. He wasn't in the business of solving missing persons cases anymore. He was just trying to get by, taking whatever small jobs he could to pay the rent and buy the next pack of cigarettes. The city had moved on without him, and he had learned to move along with it.

But the file wouldn't let him go. There was something about the name, about the man's sudden disappearance, that gnawed at him. Maybe it was the memory of the last case that had destroyed him, or maybe it was the way this case felt different. Too big. Too dangerous.

A knock on the door echoed through the empty office, cutting through the stillness like a knife.

Aaron didn't have to look up to know who it was. He recognized the sharp rap of heels on the concrete floor. She had arrived.

A woman's voice, soft but with an underlying sharpness, spoke from the doorframe. "Detective Cole?"

Aaron looked up slowly, the cigarette dangling from his lips as he took another long drag. His office was dim, lit only by the flickering overhead lamp and the pale glow of the streetlights outside. She stood there, silhouetted in the doorway—a figure cloaked in shadows.

She wore a black trench coat, the collar turned up against the cold. Her hair was dark, pinned back tightly to reveal a sharp face. Her eyes were the most striking, though—stormy, turbulent, and filled with something that Aaron couldn't quite place. They were eyes that had seen too much, eyes that had felt the weight of the world on their shoulders.

Aaron leaned back in his chair, exhaling a cloud of smoke as he regarded her with little more than mild curiosity. "You're late."

The woman stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, her heels clicking sharply against the floor. Her presence seemed to swallow the space between them, commanding attention without a single word. She crossed the room in one fluid motion and stopped in front of the desk, eyes not leaving Aaron's for a second.

"You have the file?" she asked, her voice colder now, like a blade made of ice.

Aaron took a moment, letting the tension in the air settle. "Right there," he said, motioning toward the file on the desk. "But I should warn you, lady, I don't take on cases like this anymore. Too many ghosts. Too much baggage."

She ignored him, picking up the file and flipping it open with a practiced hand. She scanned the pages quickly, her lips pressed into a tight line. Her face was unreadable, but Aaron could see the tension in her shoulders, the barely concealed urgency in her movements.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she turned the page, but her eyes remained cold. She wasn't afraid. That much was clear. "I'm not asking for much," she said, her voice quieter now, but still firm. "Just help me find him. Thomas Williams... he's all I have left."

Aaron stared at her for a long moment, studying the subtle shift in her demeanor. There was something in her eyes, something she was hiding. She was too controlled, too perfect in her desperation. Like she had rehearsed these words a thousand times before.

But what bothered him most was the nagging feeling that this wasn't just about finding a missing journalist. It was about something more—a secret buried deep within the city's underbelly. Something dangerous. And it had drawn her into his orbit.

"I didn't ask for this," Aaron muttered under his breath, rubbing his thumb against the edge of his cigarette. The smoke curled up lazily toward the ceiling, almost like a sign of the inevitable spiral he was about to descend into. He took another drag, watching the embers glow in the dark.

"I know you didn't," she replied softly, her voice cutting through the tension. "But you're the only one who can do this."

Aaron slammed the file shut with a sharp crack, then leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking under his weight. He stared at her for a long time, his gaze unflinching.

"You're wrong," he said finally, the words heavy with the weight of his past. "I can't do this. Not anymore."

She didn't flinch. "I don't need you to solve it," she said, her tone now even more insistent. "I need you to look. Just look. That's all I'm asking."

Aaron was silent for a moment, the air thick with unspoken words. He wanted to say no, to send her away, but something in her eyes—the same thing that had pulled him into this case in the first place—made him hesitate.

He knew he wasn't supposed to get involved. He knew that diving into this would mean facing his own demons. But something deep down in the pit of his stomach told him that this wasn't just another small-time job. It was bigger. Darker. And the deeper he dug, the more he realized that his past—and hers—were tied together in a web that would eventually choke them both.

Aaron took a slow breath, exhaling through his nose. "Fine," he muttered. "I'll look into it. But if this goes south, don't come running to me. I don't want to be anyone's hero anymore."

The woman nodded, a faint, almost imperceptible smile crossing her lips. "I can handle it," she said. "But thank you."

As she turned to leave, Aaron's eyes flickered back to the file on the desk. He picked it up, his fingers grazing the photograph of Thomas Williams once more. A man who had disappeared, a man who had crossed a line he shouldn't have.

And now Aaron was going to cross that same line.

He wasn't sure if it was out of duty, guilt, or something darker. But one thing was certain: whatever came next, it would change everything.