The door to the office slammed open without a knock.Silas strode in, coat still half-buttoned, breath tight. His eyes scanned the room with unmasked urgency—then locked on the man behind the desk.Michaelis didn’t look up immediately.He sat composed, one gloved hand holding a folder open, the other bare against a mug of untouched coffee. A dark beret sat low on his head, casting a sharp shadow over his brow. Only after finishing the paragraph did he speak.“You’re early.”“You hung up on me,” Silas replied. “Last night. Abruptly.”Michaelis set the folder down. “The regional director called.”Silas froze. “Again?”“He’s thorough.” Michaelis glanced up, tone unreadable. "I was issued an order.”Silas’s jaw tightened. “So Cassidy’s back in his block because—”“Because I was told to put him there.”“You didn’t fight it?”Michaelis’s gaze sharpened. “I didn’t have the luxury.”Silas paced, biting the inside of his cheek. “We could still reverse it. Shake him up again. Transfers, limita
The sun hadn’t fully cleared the skyline when Michaelis stepped into the building. He didn’t greet the guards. Didn’t acknowledge the intern by the elevators. His coat was sharp, black, silent. Like mourning in motion. When he reached the third floor, the light in his office was already on. Rivera stood inside, kneeling by the windowsill, some kind of signal reader blinking blue in his hand. Michaelis opened the door without knocking. Rivera stood up immediately. “All done, sir.” Michaelis shut the door behind him. “And?” “Clean,” Rivera said. “Nothing in the lights, vents, casing, bookshelves. No hidden power draws. Nothing in the sockets. Desk’s clear. No wireless activity that’s not authorized.” Michaelis’s face didn’t move. “You’re sure?” “Yes, sir.” “Not even a trace?” “No signal leakage, no lens refraction, no data transfer, no wired taps. Not even a rogue device ID. I used the full sweep kit. Brought the EM handheld just in case—old-school redundancy.” Michaelis’s j
Steam curled at the edges of the door as Michaelis emerged from the bathroom—bare-chested, robe cinched low at the waist, red hair damp and tousled like fire after rain.His feet padded softly across the polished floor in thick velvet slippers, the luxurious kind, stitched with gold thread. He looked like a man who ran prisons by day and ruined hearts by night.He didn’t glance at the mirror. Didn’t need to. He already knew he looked lethal.Phone buzzed.He crossed the room, one hand towel-drying his hair, the other reaching for the device on the nightstand.Silas.He answered with a lazy swipe, dropping the towel on the bed. “Still alive?”Silas’s voice was crisp. “Barely. Ward three just filed another complaint. Something about cold water and emotional damage.”Michaelis let out a breath of amusement, settling onto the mattress. The robe parted slightly at the thigh.“Tell them to grow a spine. Or freeze. I’m not in the mood for sentiment tonight.”“Mmm. Sounds like someone’s relax
A week later The lock buzzed.Davis entered with the tray—shoulders tight, uniform wrinkled like he'd slept in it. He didn’t speak at first. Just crossed the short space to the cell door, set the tray down, and slid it through the slot with practiced caution.Cassidy didn’t move.He was sitting on the edge of the cot, bare feet to the floor, elbows resting on his knees. Watching the dust catch in the light like it might spell something.“Breakfast,” Davis muttered.The tray looked like shame.Leftover beans. A slice of dry bread, hard at the edges. Scrambled eggs gone pale and solid from cold. No steam. No salt. Coffee so thin it looked like rusted water.Cassidy blinked. Then smiled.“You’re late.”Davis exhaled. “Two minutes.”“Two minutes longer than I expected you to come.”Cassidy stood—slow, smooth, the way a blade slides from a sheath.He stepped toward the door. Close enough to fog the glass if he'd breathed heavier.“It’s day fifteen.”Davis hesitated. “I know.”Cassidy smil
The front door clicked shut behind him.Masahiro stepped into the apartment, the familiar hush of home brushing against his shoulders like a coat he hadn’t realized he missed. He slipped off his shoes with military precision. Set his keys in the tray.Matthew was sprawled on the couch.One leg over the armrest, one hand behind his head. Hoodie bunched at his waist, sweatpants riding low. A half-finished bowl of noodles sat abandoned on the coffee table. His eyes flicked toward Masahiro—cool, unreadable.Masahiro offered a low, even, “I’m back.”Matthew didn’t look away from the TV. “Yeah.”No kiss. No sarcastic comment. Just that clipped tone—tight enough to cut.Masahiro stood a moment longer in the entrance, watching him.Then, without a word, turned and headed for the bedroom.The door closed behind him.In the distance, the muffled sound of running water filled the silence. The bathroom light leaked under the door, casting a pale line across the hallway floor.Matthew’s gaze dropp
Masahiro waited until the office was empty.The envelope sat on the corner of his desk, cream-colored and official. No markings beyond the departmental stamp and the wax-sealed edge—typical of inter-agency transfers.He broke the seal clean.Inside: a folded letter on thick stock, stamped and signed in triplicate.He read it once, then again.To: Chief Inspector Masahiro PayneMiddlesbrough Metropolitan Police – Narcotics DivisionFrom: Office of Special OperationsNorth Yorkshire Regional Intelligence CommandSubject: Interagency Collaboration Request – Officer Matthew SmithDear Chief Inspector Payne,Following recent developments concerning regional crime syndicate activity and due to Officer Matthew Smith’s extensive prior infiltration experience (876-Z/BELLTOWER), this letter serves as an official request to assign Officer Smith to a joint undercover operation coordinated by the North Yorkshire RIC.The operation, designated OPERATION COALVEIN, requires immediate placement of an