Detective Knox sat hunched at his desk in the crowded precinct, stacks of paperwork and a cold mug of coffee cluttering the surface. The bitter scent of caffeine hung in the air, but he didn't seem to notice—his eyes were locked on the front page of the newspaper. His jaw clenched.

Thud.

His fist slammed against the wood.

"Another victim," he muttered, the words low and rough.

He stood abruptly, throwing on his leather jacket in one swift motion. As he moved through the station, his gaze swept to her desk—pinning her in place before she could look away.

"Let's go," he said, his tone clipped, but not cold. "There's a fresh scene. We need to get ahead of this."

She nodded, trying not to let her expression betray the way her heart jumped at the urgency in his voice. She snatched the pad off her desk and rushed to follow him. He was already at the elevator when he called back—

"Move quick."

She nearly stumbled as she reached him, breath caught in her throat. As the elevator doors slid shut, she caught the way his eyes flicked toward her—not her face, exactly, but just enough to feel like he was searching for something he couldn't say.

He sighed quietly. "You alright?"

"I'm fine," she said, a bit too quickly. He didn't push it.

At the scene, she kept her distance—professionally, at least. She scribbled notes, eyes trained on details, but part of her was always aware of him. The way he moved. How the wind ruffled his jacket. How focused he got when it came to the dead.

Knox stepped past the yellow tape like it meant nothing, crouched beside the body, and picked up a glass shard with gloved fingers. His eyes narrowed.

"This one's got a fingerprint," he said, slipping it into a plastic bag.

She stepped beside him, her voice quiet but certain. "It's the victim's. It's not from the killer."

He blinked, surprised by her accuracy—but then smiled. Not the professional kind. The real kind. Small. Brief. Like a secret.

"You've got a hell of an eye," he said, almost under his breath. "I swear you're hiding a cape somewhere."

She smiled, about to respond—but never got the chance.

"Knox!"

The shrill voice shattered everything between them.

His girlfriend appeared out of nowhere, her stilettos clicking across the pavement as she launched herself into his arms. Lips on his cheek, hands around his neck. Possession disguised as affection.

Knox stiffened. Just a fraction. His hand hovered mid-air, as if unsure where to put it.

She stood there, pad clutched tightly in both hands, her chest tight. The moment was gone. Like it never even existed.

Perfect.

Just perfect.