The office building buzzed with life—like ants crawling through a hive. Phones rang, boots echoed against tile, and distant arguments sparked like static across the open floor.


    In the far corner sat Elias’s desk. Small. Isolated. Piled high with folders and forms that didn’t matter.


    His arrival hadn’t gone unnoticed.


    Some of the veteran officers liked having him around—said he reminded them of their own kids or maybe just liked his questions. But the younger recruits? Not so much. Ever since the Ranking Ceremony, some of them looked at him like he was a threat.


    Jealousy at its finest.


    Elias stepped into the office with a sigh.


    Across the room, Vera sat at her father’s desk, flipping through a folder as Elias vented.


    "I know Dom’s just trying to keep me safe, but he never lets me go on any missions. It’s so frustrating. I’m stuck here filing paperwork like some glorified clerk. I’m not a kid anymore..." (Not that I ever really was.)


    Vera didn’t even glance up. “But you’re so good at it,” she said, a sly grin forming as she teased him.


    Elias groaned, slumping forward until his forehead hit the desk. A stack of documents fluttered to the floor.


    “Ugh, this is so boring.”


    Vera giggled behind her glove. “Well, I’m just here to visit Father. But word around the precinct is that my dad thinks you’ve got real potential as a bureaucrat.”


    Elias shot her a glare, lifting his head just enough to scowl at her.


    Dom waltzed up to Elias’s little corner of the office, hands in his coat pockets and a grin tugging at his stubbled face.


    “Son, you’ve got to come on patrol with me today. If you stay here any longer, Marcus is going to turn you into a pile of paperwork.”


    Elias blinked, surprised—but not displeased.


    His father had always been somewhat of a mystery. Everyone talked about Dom Wolfe like he was a legend, a man who could crack a case just by walking into the room. But to Elias… he always seemed distant. Like the world spun around him, and he only stepped in when it suited him.


    Still, a mission sounded better than death by forms and filing cabinets.


    He shrugged. “Sure. Beats another day in the paper mines.”


    (Guess that’s the downside of being a control freak, Marcus. You drown in your own paper trail.)


    As the two made their way toward the precinct entrance, a younger officer brushed past Elias with a shoulder-check that wasn’t exactly subtle.


    “Watch it, kid. Your dad might have to save you,” the officer muttered, his voice thick with spite.


    Elias staggered half a step, blinking.


    Dom slowed beside him, shooting a quick glance his way. Elias just shrugged, stuffing his hands in his pockets.


    Let them talk.


    He’d gotten used to that tone lately—the kind that said you don’t belong here without ever spelling it out. They didn’t like that he’d ranked so high. Didn’t like that Dom Wolfe was his father.


    And really? Elias didn’t care.


    Paperwork was still worse.


    Elias couldn’t help but notice the shift in the city since the Ranking Ceremony.


    As he and Dom weaved through the backstreets, it was clear the sparkle had faded. The wealth that trickled down during the rankings—the vendors, banners, nobles in polished boots—had vanished.


    Now, the lower city looked like itself again: tight-knit, worn down, and humming with quiet resilience.


    Dom led the way, offering nods to shopkeepers and helping an elderly man lift a crate without hesitation. He didn’t do it for recognition. He never did.


    Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.


    Elias respected that about his father. His head might always be in the clouds—but his heart was firmly rooted in this town.


    I was never good at helping people in my past life. Too focused on gears and logistics to really see the people around me. But in this new life... I have a model. Someone I can watch—someone whose love for this city isn’t just a duty. It’s real.


    “Here you go—” Elias grunted, trying to force the stubborn cart wheel back into place.


    The old merchant stood nearby, rubbing the back of his knee with anxious energy. “Ahh, it’s okay, really…”


    Produce rolled off the tilted stand as Elias fumbled with the axle. He cursed under his breath.


    Dom’s laugh echoed behind him.


    “Still so focused on gears and sprockets,” he said, crouching down.


    With practiced ease, he caught a wobbling basket of fruit and placed it gently back onto the small stall.


    He patted the merchant on the back. “Well, it’s the thought that counts, right?”


    The two older men laughed together.


    Elias just stared, cheeks burning.


    I was trying...


    Suddenly, a nearby holoscreen flickered to life with a sharp beep and blinding yellow text.


    “ATTENTION. ALL OFFICERS REPORT TO SECTION 9. A BRAWL HAS BROKEN OUT IN THE PLEASURE DISTRICT. REPEAT. ALL OFFICERS TO SECTION 9. INCIDENT CODE RED.”


    Dom exhaled through his nose, rubbing the bridge of his nose.


    “Not this again…” he muttered. “That damn ALL should be the one keeping those filth-traders in check. Instead, it just creates more work for us.”


    He glanced over at Elias.


    “Take the holotrain and head back to the office. Shouldn’t take long to knock some sense into a few reprobates.”


    Before Elias could even respond, Dom was already jogging off, coat flapping behind him, his badge glowing faintly beneath his sleeve.


    Elias sat on the holotrain, surrounded by the vivid blue blur of the city lights streaking past the open tram. The hum of energy coils vibrated beneath his seat, and he found himself wondering—not for the first time—how this thing even worked.


    The train stopped consistently, passengers coming and going in waves. A tired mother. A businessman with blinking glasses. A coughing Nonkin boy no one dared to sit near.


    Still, Elias’s mind drifted.


    Why would ALL set up a church just to promote degeneracy like the Pleasure District? So much for piety…


    The sarcasm was thick in his head—but it soured quickly.


    Because then, he saw it.


    Three boys—Cadet Academy students, judging by their jackets—had surrounded a hooded girl leaning casually against the rail. She looked calm… too calm, chewing on a red lollipop like she didn’t have a care in the world.


    But Elias could feel it. Tension—coiling, ready to snap.


    One of the cadets leaned in, his breath far too close.


    “What’s a pretty little thing doing in this part of town, huh? Don’t you have some respect?”


    She just smiled, eyes hidden beneath the shade of her hood.


    Elias stood up. His heart was already racing.


    Three against one. She’s Nonkin. This city doesn’t care about her… but I do.


    “Hey!” he barked from across the tram. “Three cadets ganging up on one unarmed girl? What the hell does that make you?”


    The trio turned, eyes narrowing.


    Recognition flickered.


    “Well, if it isn’t Rank One himself,” the leader sneered, stepping forward with a lazy, intimidating push. “Heard you skipped two whole years of Junior Academy. Straight to HQ. Must be real nice having a famous daddy.”


    Elias tried not to flinch.


    The two others flanked him, closing in fast. The leader leaned in, breath foul with stale stimcaps.


    “So tell me, Wolfe… where’s your father now?” “The Lone Detective, right? Or did Daddy finally let the pup off his leash?”


    His pupils were red-rimmed—speckled with signs of recent drug use. Elias could see it now… the twitch in his jaw. The way his fingers flexed like they wanted to snap.


    Elias’s throat tightened.


    He had no weapon. No backup. And no Dom.


    Before Elias could respond, the leader shoved him back against one of the tram poles.


    His shoulder hit the metal hard.


    Crap. I was just trying to help…


    The air shifted.


    He didn’t even see her move.


    In a blink, the lollipop clattered to the floor—and so did one of the cadets, wheezing as he curled in on himself, clutching his stomach.


    “Y-You little—!”


    The leader turned just in time to catch a boot to the side of his jaw. He stumbled, dazed, as the hooded girl landed in a crouch, tail flicking out behind her.


    Her cloak fluttered, revealing the sharp curve of her ears and the glint of steel tucked at her hip.


    “Now, now,” she said, rising smoothly. “Didn’t your Academy teach you not to pick fights with strangers? Especially ones sharper than you?”


    The remaining cadet backed away, pale.


    The leader, bleeding from his lip, hissed. “You freakin’—you’ll pay for that.”


    “Doubt it,” she replied, flipping his badge ring into the air. It sparkled once, then vanished into the night as she tossed it out the tram window.


    The door chimed. The stop had arrived.


    She turned to Elias, smirking.


    “Thanks for the assist, Hero,” she said, stepping past him with a wink. “But I had it handled.”


    And just like that, she was gone—vanished into the crowded platform.


    Elias blinked. Twice.


    What just happened…?


    Elias stood frozen as the tram doors slid shut behind her.


    The cadets were gone—scattered like cowards the moment the tables turned.


    And him?


    He was still trying to figure out if he’d imagined the whole thing.


    He slumped into the nearest seat, the metal still warm from the fight, heart thumping in his ears. That was the second time today he’d been saved—and this one hurt worse than the first.


    I was supposed to be the one protecting people…


    He sighed, dragging a hand through his hair.


    Then he felt it.


    Something tucked into the inside of his coat.


    Frowning, he reached into his pocket and pulled out… a bright red lollipop, still wrapped.


    Tied to the stick with a thin black ribbon was a tiny sticker—an animated cartoon cat grinning mischievously, with one eye winking and a tail curled into a question mark.


    No note.


    No explanation.


    Just the lingering taste of sugar and shadow.


    Elias stared at it.


    Who the hell is she…?