The apartment intercom buzzed, harsh and insistent.

  Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.

  “Brooke? You stood me up. Get your ass down here.” Jamie’s voice crackled through, playful bite under the impatience.

  “…Come on up. I’m sorry, Jamie.” Aubrey’s reply was flat, tired.

  Aubrey opened her door with Jamie standing there with her arms crossed.

  Jamie arched an eyebrow the moment Aubrey opened up, hair mussed and eyes red.

  “Fifty minutes late. You forget I exist?”

  “Ugh… sorry, Jamie. Honestly forgot.”

  “Rough night? You look like the case chewed you up and spit you out.” Jamie smirked, though her tone carried a bite. “We can still hit breakfast. Just brush off the graveyard-shift look first, yeah?”

  Aubrey muttered something and started getting ready.

  The phone rang.

  Jamie grinned. “Let me guess—James?”

  Aubrey frowned, lifting the receiver. “Hello? This is Aubrey.”

  “Hey, Brooke. Been a while — thought you forgot I existed.” James’s cheerful, slightly awkward voice filled the line.

  Aubrey sighed, but with a faint smile. “No, I didn’t forget. Just been buried in work.”

  “Yeah, I figured. You kinda vanish when you’re swamped.”

  “Guilty.”

  James chuckled. “So… I thought I’d try my luck again. There’s an exhibit opening Thursday, downtown. Not boring, I promise.”

  Aubrey glanced at Jamie, who gave her a pointed look. “…What time?”

  “Four. Early enough that you can still bail if you hate it.”

  Aubrey’s smile lingered, weary but real. “That’s one way to sell it.”

  “Dinner after, if it doesn’t suck?”

  “Maybe. You’ll have to earn it.”

  “You always keep me on probation, don’t you?” James teased.

  “You’ve only known me five months. Probation’s generous.”

  James laughed, softer now. “Fair enough. I’ll take it. See you Thursday, Brooke.”

  “See you, James.”

  Click.

  Jamie crossed her arms. “So James gets a date, but I don’t even get brunch on time? Nice, Brooke.”

  “It’s not a date. Just… a distraction.” Aubrey brushed past her toward the door.

  “Good. Because I came here to talk shop.”

  “Jamie, no. I leave cases at the door.”

  “I’m literally at your door. Halfway inside.”

  Aubrey half-smiled despite herself. “Fine. But you’re buying my coffee.”

  “Done. And if I win the lottery across the street, I’m buying your silence too.” Jamie folded her arms and looked away.

  “You gamble enough already. I take risks at work. Besides, what’s fun about getting lotto tickets at a sketchy corner store every day?”

  They stepped into the elevator together.

  “Oh okay,” Jamie snickered slightly. “A real risk would be giving that guy a chance.”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  “You don’t quit, do you?”

  “Nope. My parents always said: "It’s not about who they are; it’s about how they fit." Strengths where you’re weak. Simple math, Brooke.”

  Aubrey only watched her as they parted for their cars. If only it were that simple, she thought.

  “Drive safe,” Jamie called.

  Aubrey slid into her car, cold as ice. She drifted a little, thoughts circling.

  “You got this,” she whispered to herself, before turning the key.

  ?

  At the diner

  The streets buzzed outside under a clear sky, but inside the diner life was louder still—chatter, clinking plates, the hiss of coffee machines.

  Jamie spoke fast, animated. “The worst part? They don’t even collect till the last three days. So guess who gets buried in work while everyone else coasts? But hey—who takes their job seriously, right?

  “Not everyone’s built for homicide,” Aubrey said, half-smiling into her coffee.

  “So tell me.” Jamie leaned closer. “Why’d the twins’ bodies sit for three months in the same apartment? Killer that dumb? Or that cocky?”

  Killers always leave one piece that doesn’t make sense. Always.”

  The waiter slid by, cheerful. “Ladies, don’t forget—five-dollar lunch specials. Best deal in the city.”

  “Just the coffee. Thanks,” Aubrey replied.

  Jamie leaned back, stirring sugar into her coffee. “You ever notice you don’t actually taste this stuff anymore? It’s just fuel. I could drink motor oil if it came with caffeine.”

  Aubrey gave the faintest smile, the kind that barely reached her eyes. “That explains your stomach.”

  “Ha. Says the woman who’s had coffee for breakfast every day since I met her.” Jamie jabbed a finger across the table. “You’re gonna keel over at forty.”

  “Forty sounds optimistic,” Aubrey muttered.

  Jamie shook her head, grinning. “See, that’s what I mean. Everything’s doom with you. You ever think about something besides death and paperwork?”

  Aubrey toyed with her spoon. “Sometimes.”

  “Like what?”

  She hesitated, eyes flicking to the window, to the blur of cars outside. “…Drawing. I used to draw. Haven’t in years.”

  Jamie raised an eyebrow. “You? Drawing? What, stick figures with interrogation notes scribbled under them?”

  Aubrey’s lips curved, just barely. “No. Faces. Places. Things I didn’t want to forget.”

  For a moment, Jamie’s smile softened. “So why’d you stop?”

  Aubrey’s thumb pressed into her ring under the table. She shrugged. “Guess life kept giving me things I did want to forget.”

  Jamie didn’t push. She just sat back, watching her. Then she broke the heaviness with a smirk. “Alright, so when James drags you to that art exhibit, you can sit there critiquing everyone else’s technique. Real full-circle moment.”

  Aubrey groaned. “Why do you keep bringing him up?”

  “Because, Brooke—” Jamie leaned forward, smirk deepening “—the day you let a man buy you dinner without calling it a distraction is the day I buy a hat just so I can eat it.”

  “Not happening,” Aubrey muttered, but the faintest laugh escaped her.

  Jamie waited until he left, then lowered her voice. “Alright, spill it. The girl. What did she give you?”

  “…Her dad was twisted. Bedtime stories, violence. But someone else was there. She heard him. They all ignored it at the scene. They even tried to clean, but they panicked. Left sloppy. It doesn’t add up.”

  “So debt? Drugs? Gambling?” Jamie asked. “Or all three wrapped in one?”

  Aubrey blinked. “…Maybe all three.”

  “See? You already said it.” Jamie smirked. “Planned, then botched. Clean-up half done, half chaos. That’s not junkies, Brooke…That’s pros. You only screw up that way if you know better.”

  “…Fuck. You’re good.”

  “I just stack the puzzle pieces,” Jamie said, tapping her mug. “You’re the one bleeding over them.”

  The words struck harder than Aubrey expected. She froze, realization pooling, her ring carving a raw groove into her skin. The diner’s hum fell away.

  The memory pressed in, uninvited—fifteen years earlier.

  A closet door cracked open. A pale child with white hair sobbed, red eyes wide.

  “YOU FUCKING BASTARD!” a man screamed from the other room. “Where’s my money, Ray?! I’ll kill the bitch right now!”

  Ray’s voice broke, desperate. “Please—take everything—we don’t have it—don’t hurt her anymore!”

  “This place is worthless! Friday. Or it’s the little girl next.”

  “Then a gunshot split the air, louder than anything a child should hear.”

  A tray clattered. Plates shattered. Aubrey jerked upright, the crack of memory bleeding into the diner’s noise.

  The waitress flushed, stammering apologies as she cleaned the mess.

  “Jesus. That got me too. Don’t stare, or she’ll feel worse.”

  Aubrey swallowed, voice cracking before it steadied.

  “…What if this wasn’t junkies at all? What if it was a hired hit?”

  Jamie’s eyes sharpened. She leaned in, smile gone.

  “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

  Aubrey sat back, her coffee gone cold. The clatter of dishes and chatter of the diner blurred into a low hum. Across from her, Jamie was already reaching for another sip, but Aubrey’s gaze was fixed on the groove her ring had carved into her skin.

  She pressed harder, like the pain would keep her steady, but the tremor in her hand said otherwise.