Part 1
The harder I tried to focus on the numbers on the meter, the more they blurred. No matter — weekends were lighter on police checkpoints. I had a mission.
I needed to get home before anyone else touched that letter from the Austrian president.
The night was darker than usual. Maybe it would rain. Still, I refused to turn on my headlights. Too risky. Bandits. Cops. Both could smell trouble from a distance.
Five blocks away, my tall apartment came into view. I glanced at my watch.
"Five minutes to midnight. Perfect."
The letter was supposed to arrive right when the clock struck twelve. Just as I started to breathe easy, a beam of light pierced my windshield. Reflex kicked in — I slammed the brakes.
Another car had stopped in front of mine — parked directly in my path.
Civilian vehicle. No sirens. No flashing lights.
A time-wasting degenerate.
I got out, seething. Whoever they were, they were about to become very educated.
Not drunk — their driving was too clean for that. Must be a woman, I reasoned. Most poor road judgments I've observed tend to come from women—directional signs ignored, reverse instincts misplaced.
Unless, of course, she had contact lenses and was doing this on purpose. That would explain the tinted windows too.
"Hey! You took the wrong route, miss!"
No answer.
A lure? If this was a setup, fine. I'd talk my way out of it in ten seconds flat.
I stomped toward the car. Knocked on the window. It slid down—revealing a woman so stunning she could've graced a royal crest. Blonde. Droopy honey eyes. A beauty.
But I wasn't smiling because I was impressed — I was smiling because I was right.
Woman. Lenses. Deliberate. Case closed.
"Do you mind moving?" I said, voice frigid. "I'm in a hurry."
She scoffed. Scoffed. And then flashed an ID card in my face.
"Aurelia Bremington. Undercover cop. I tailed you from the highway. Took a shortcut to cut you off."
Half an hour of pursuit… for a speeding charge?
"Do you hold a grudge or something? I don't recall ever meeting you."
Her answer was a pair of handcuffs snapped onto my wrist — and hers.
"No grudge. Just protocol. Now get in."
Damn. She'd preempted my negotiation attempt. And she was enjoying it.
As I glanced back toward my apartment, regret burned hotter than my anger.
"I'll never forget this, Aurelia Bremington."
"My car's got the best heater in town. It'll be a cozy ride, Mister," she teased.
I sneered. Then got in.
The police station lights were too bright. Bad for someone like me — eyes worn from lack of sleep, mind always in motion.
That's the cost of having an unusually sharp observational skillset. A blessing. A curse. People used to call me gifted. Now they just call me… tired.
Aurelia reported the incident while three officers scribbled notes. She shot me glances mid-sentence — warnings, silent threats.
I could practically hear her inner monologue:
"Try anything clever, and I'll make it worse."
Then one of the officers faced me.
"Name?"
He pointed his pen like it was a weapon. A pistol would've been more effective.
"I hate introducing myself," I replied coolly.
But inwardly, I was… puzzled. Did they really not recognize me?
Me? Of all people?
Aurelia slammed her palm on the table. She had a gun now.
"We don't have all night. Answer."
"Resign and join a circus," I muttered before I could stop myself.
Silence. Eyes widened.
Here it comes. I knew this trope.
"The Queen's Doormat."
Every workplace has her — the woman who becomes the emotional center of gravity. Men swarm to protect her. Married or single, they trip over themselves to impress her. They fetch her coffee, shield her from criticism, declare war over a sneeze.
They're not men. They're floor mats. And right on cue—
"You jerk! How dare you insult Aurelia!"
WHAM. My head was slammed against the desk. A baton jabbed the back of my neck.
Predictable. Absolutely textbook. Humans are animals of routine.
The officer, puffed up with righteousness, glanced at Aurelia for validation.
She wasn't amused. In fact, she knocked the baton out of his hand.
"Don't touch him. He's my arrest."
A chuckle escaped me. I didn't mean for it to be loud.
"Your fine just doubled," she snapped. "Every five minutes you stay silent, I'll keep adding to it."
She folded her arms across her orange tank top and sat. I stared back at her, wrapped in my heavy coat. Let's see how long you last in this freezing room, Miss Justice.
Two hours later, everyone else was gone. It was just the two of us. Her eyes locked with mine, unwavering.
In that time, I'd studied everything about her — from the mole beneath her ear to the faint rash on her collarbone.
She started shivering. Finally.
"Miss Aurelia, maybe you should—"
"Quiet. Unless you're ready to give your details, don't speak to me."
Fine. Freeze then. You earned it.
My thoughts drifted back to the letter. It had arrived by now. Possibly opened.
All because of her.
Please, God. Let her catch pneumonia.
Just then, someone entered — an older man jingling keys.
His eyes landed on me. Widened.
"M-Mister Xavier Gramwell?! What brings you here?"
Aurelia blinked. "You know him?"
"Know him? He's the international lawyer! The one who stabilized Austria after the assassination!"
Ah, yes. That moment. My recommendation for a temporary vice president had made headlines.
I watched Aurelia's mouth fall open. She staggered back a step.
"Impossible…"
No, Miss Bremington. Just inconvenient.