The Quiet Before the Storm

I’ve spent the last few hours sifting through the photos from the warehouse. Stolen art, illegal exchanges, shady characters—I’ve seen it all before. But there’s something about this case that gnaws at me, like a splinter under my skin. The pieces don’t fit together neatly. And that uncertainty? It’s the kind of thing that keeps me awake at night.

But tonight isn’t about that. Tonight’s for me.

I drop the photos onto my desk, push them aside, and glance at the clock. It’s late. Too late, really. The office is deserted, the hum of the fluorescent lights the only sound. I should be heading home, getting some rest before diving into the mess tomorrow. But I’m not in the mood for rest.

I grab my jacket, sling it over my shoulder, and head out. I don’t have a plan, and I’m fine with that. Sometimes, I just need to get away from it all. And tonight, the only place that sounds good is the bar.

The walk to the bar is quick, but it gives me just enough time to clear my head. The city at night always looks different—the harsh, sterile daylight is replaced by a soft, orange glow. People are quieter, more relaxed. It’s as though the world takes a breath and slows down, just for a moment.

I push through the door of my favorite dive bar. The air smells like stale beer and fried food, but I don’t mind. It’s comfortable. Familiar. The bartender, a guy named Mark, gives me a nod, already reaching for a bottle of whiskey. He knows my order by heart. It’s not fancy. It’s not complicated. But it’s mine.

I take the drink from him without a word and settle into a corner booth, letting the dim lighting and low chatter wash over me. This is the one place where I don’t have to be Evelyn—the sharp, relentless CID officer. I can just be. Just a woman, trying to forget about the weight on her shoulders.

I take a sip of the whiskey, letting it burn down my throat. It’s not about the taste; it’s about the feeling. The warmth that spreads through my chest, the tension that starts to fade.

But just as I start to let my guard down, my phone buzzes on the table. It’s a message from my brother, Kairos.

“You okay?”

I stare at the screen for a moment. He knows me too well.

I don’t respond immediately. Kairos and I have been through a lot together. He’s the one person who gets me—who understands that I can’t always switch off, that the job never really ends. But he also knows how to read me like no one else.

I glance up from my phone to see Mark watching me from behind the bar. He’s got that look in his eyes—the one that says he’s noticed the tension in my shoulders, the frown that’s creased my forehead. He’s a good guy, Mark. He won’t pry. But he knows enough to keep an eye on me when I’m like this.

I send Kairos a quick reply: “Always.”

That’s all he needs. He knows what it means.

I don’t have the luxury of asking for help. People like me- people in my line of work don’t get to show weakness. Not if they want to survive. I’ve had to learn that the hard way. But there are days when it feels like I’m carrying the weight of the world on my own. Like no matter how much I try to fight it, there’s always another fight waiting just around the corner.

Another sip of whiskey. Another moment of silence.

It doesn’t last long.

“Evelyn.”

I hear the voice before I see the man. It’s deep, smooth—familiar, but not in the way I want it to be. I don’t need to look up to know who it is. But I do it anyway, and there he is.

Detective Lucas.

He’s standing there, in the same place he always stands when he wants my attention: just on the edge of my personal space, his eyes sharp but his expression unreadable. I can feel the tension in the air, thick as smoke.

“Can I join you?” he asks, his tone casual, like we’re old friends. But we’re not.

I hesitate for a moment. Lucas and I have had our fair share of run-ins. He’s been around long enough to know the ropes. He’s not my enemy, but he’s not exactly my ally either. He’s good at his job, I’ll give him that. But sometimes, I wonder if he’s just too...clean for me. Too by-the-book.

I gesture to the seat across from me. He takes it without another word.

“Rough day?” he asks, his eyes scanning my face like he’s looking for a crack in the wall I’ve built.

“Isn’t every day?” I reply, taking another sip of my drink. The sharp edge of the whiskey helps cut through the weariness that’s been building up all day.

“You still on the art theft case?” he asks, leaning back in his seat. His voice is casual, but there’s a flicker of something—curiosity, maybe—behind his eyes. He knows I’ve been on it for days, knows I’ve been getting closer, but he doesn’t press. Not yet.

I shrug, unwilling to get into it. “It’s just another case. You know how it is.”

His lips curl into a small smile. “Yeah. I know.”

For a moment, we just sit there in silence. It’s not uncomfortable, but it’s not easy either. Lucas doesn’t say much, but when he does, I listen. He has a way of making you think, even when you don’t want to. And right now, I don’t want to think about the case. I don’t want to think about the stolen paintings, or the men I’m chasing, or the dangerous web I’m starting to unravel.

“I’ll leave you to it,” he says, breaking the silence. “Just don’t let it consume you, Evelyn.”

I raise an eyebrow. “That’s my job, Lucas. It’s supposed to consume me.”

He stands up, pushing his chair back, and I watch him leave. When he’s gone, I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

The quiet returns, and I’m left alone with my thoughts. I finish the drink, push the empty glass away, and make my way to the door. I’ve got a case to solve, and I won’t let anyone—Lucas, Kairos, or anyone else stand in my way.

I step back into the night, the city waiting for me. It’s not done with me yet. And I’m not done with it, either.

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