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My heart races as he occupies my every thought—his rough edges softened by that dark charm I once found irresistible. The way he held himself back when he saw me was almost painful to watch. He looked at me like he was torn between wanting to pull me close and push me away. I felt more vulnerable than I did at that damn support group meeting where I was forced to tell my story.

“Damn it,” I whisper, shoving my chair back and standing up abruptly. I pace around the bullpen, trying to shake off this waveof emotion threatening to pull me under. Why does he still have this power over me? It’s infuriating and confusing all at once.

I rub my temples, frustration and guilt mounting. Wasn’t it enough that I had moved on from Ryan? My resolve crumbles as I question if I ever really let go of him or if I’ve just buried the pain he caused beneath layers of duty and trauma.

I stop pacing and lean against the wall, breathing heavily as I stare out the window at the bustling streets below. The weight on my chest is unbearable—my mind racing with questions but no answers in sight.

“You okay?” My partner, Narissa, walks up to me, her brows furrowed.

“Yeah,” I reply too quickly, forcing a smile that feels more like a grimace. “Let’s get to work.”

We move to my desk, and I shove the Zeke-related thoughts into a box in the back of my mind, locking it tight. Work is what matters now. The case files spread out before us tell stories of pain and violence that need my attention far more than some old flame I clearly meant nothing to.

“Here,” I say, sliding one of the files toward her. “This one’s been sitting here too long. Unsolved rapes linked to local organized crime.”

Narissa glances at the file, flipping through pages filled with witness statements and forensic reports. “It’s not just one family, is it? Seems like they’re all trying to cover their tracks.”

I nod. “Exactly. Every lead ends up at a dead end.” I run my fingers through my hair, feeling the heat of anxiety. “My small undercover ops have turned up nothing.”

“You need to stop doing those. It’s too dangerous. Think of Leo.” Narissa raises an eyebrow, an authoritative lilt in her voice that quickly fades when she sees my expression.

“I have to figure this out,” I say firmly. “Victims are counting on us.” My tone hardens as the urgency settles in—these aren’t just numbers. They’re lives shattered by violence.

Narissa studies me for a moment before nodding. “Okay then, let’s start connecting the dots.” She leans closer, our shoulders brushing as we pour over the case file together.

The deeper we dig, the more sinister it becomes—names and clues scribbled on sticky notes like puzzle pieces waiting for me to fit them together. But I can’t. None of it makes sense.

A cold chill wraps around me as I remember why I got into this line of work in the first place—to protect those who can’t protect themselves.

I tap on one particular name that keeps coming up—a known associate tied to multiple families—and look at Narissa with resolve. “Hey, Rissa? What do you think about this guy? Giovanni Costa.”

She glances down at the page and furrows her brow. “He might be our best lead yet.”

We finish up our brainstorming session, the pile of case files slowly shrinking as we dive into each detail. Rissa talks about potential connections, but I barely hear her. My mind keeps drifting back to Zeke—his dark eyes boring into me, that familiar tension sparking between us. It’s suffocating.

“Eve? Talk to me.” Rissa’s voice, laced with concern, breaks through my thoughts. “What’s wrong?”

She’s not just my partner. She’s my friend.

“Nothing.” I brush her off too quickly, too sharply.

She stares at me, unconvinced. “You sure? Everything okay with Leo?”

I take a deep breath, trying to mask the truth with a practiced smile. “Just the same as can be expected for a boy who loses both parents within a year.” The words spill out, heavy and burdened.

Leo’s struggle are a silent burden that we both bear in our own ways. The kid’s only seven, and yet he carries a world of grief on those small shoulders—his mother gone to cancer, his father taken in a senseless act of violence.

I remember when Rose first got sick. The way she brushed it off like it was just a cold, insisting she’d be fine. But it didn’t take long for reality to set in, for the doctors’ faces to grow somber, their words slipping into a haze I tried desperately to ignore. Watching her fade away was like witnessing my heart being ripped out—slow and agonizing.

Now Leo just has me, his guardian. What must he think? Some days he seems okay—playing with his toys or drawing pictures that look like they belong on the fridge—but then there are moments when I catch him staring off into space, lost in thoughts far beyond his years. It breaks me every time.

I look down at my hands, tracing the lines where my fingers held Rose’s hand tight during her last moments. There are no words to express just how much I miss my sister.

With every day that passes, Leo’s sadness pushes us both deeper into darkness—a reminder of everything we’ve lost and everything we’re still trying to hold onto.

Rissa studies me closely, searching for something in my expression. “If it’s not Leo, then what is it? You’ve been off ever since that support group meeting. Was sharing that painful for you?”

I shake my head. “I don’t want to talk about it.”