The photos spread across the desk.
Detective Isseren leaned over them, frowning. The room was quiet except for the soft hum of the fluorescent lights. Rain streaked the windows outside.
The pictures showed the riverbank. Tires pressed into the mud. Straight lines. No skids. No marks of struggle.
He picked up one photo. Turned it over. Straight, clean, unnatural.
"That's wrong," he said.
Behind him, Hegel adjusted the collar of his long brown coat. Tall and thin, he always stood too straight in rooms like this. He held a tablet under one arm, glancing at the photos now.
"What part?" Hegel asked.
Isseren pointed at a set of tire prints. "These lines. No deviation. No panic."
Hegel leaned closer, squinting. "Drunk drivers panic. Tires wobble."
"They still panic," Isseren said. He set another photo down. "This didn't."
They sat in silence. The rain kept falling outside. Phones rang somewhere down the hall. No one bothered them.
Hegel finally spoke. "Could be lucky."
"Luck doesn't leave straight lines in mud," Isseren said. He paused, tracing a finger along the tire marks. "Something guided this."
Chief Superintendent Valentine listened without moving.
He sat behind his desk, one hand around a mug of coffee, steam curling upward. His jacket hung neatly on the chair behind him. His face stayed calm, but his eyes were sharp.
Isseren finished explaining. Valentine sipped his coffee. "So you're saying it wasn't an accident?"
Isseren nodded. "The evidence doesn't match human error."
Valentine glanced at Hegel. "Your thoughts?"
"Someone controlled it," Hegel said. "No other way to make the tires move like that."
Valentine nodded once. "Then we wait. No rush."
He set the mug down carefully.
"No arrests. No leaks. No noise," Valentine said. "Let them finish. Let them slip. Then we pull the thread."
"Yes, sir," Isseren said.
Valentine waved a hand. "And remember, everyone wants a neat story. Don't give it to them unless you're certain it's true."
Isseren nodded and turned to leave.
Jack watched the news quietly.
He sat on a worn couch, cigarette glowing between his fingers. The report looped footage of the bridge. Lights reflected on the wet pavement.
"Drunk driving," the reporter said.
Jack smirked.
"Convenient," he muttered. He thought of the kid in the rain. Shaking. Silent. Not running.
Most people would have broken. Called someone. Drank. Screamed.
The kid went home.
Jack stubbed out the cigarette.
"He didn't freeze," he said. "He finished."
The coffee shop smelled like burnt beans and wet coats.
Arron sat in the corner, back against the wall, hands wrapped around a paper cup that had gone cold. People passed by. No one noticed. That was the point.
The bell above the door jingled. Jack walked in like he belonged there, ordered quickly, paid in cash, then scanned the room before sitting across from Arron.
No greeting.
Jack took a slow sip of coffee. "You look tired."
Arron didn't respond.
"That's fine," Jack said. "I'll talk."
"You handled yourself," Jack said. "A lot of people don't."
Arron finally looked up. "Say what you want."
Jack studied him. The kid's posture was stiff, eyes steady.
"I want you around," Jack said. "You're useful."
Arron exhaled slowly. "I can't join."
Jack raised an eyebrow. "I didn't say join."
"You meant it," Arron said.
Jack leaned back. "Why not?"
"My mother's sick," Arron said. "Clinic bills. No backup."
Jack waited.
"If I disappear, she's alone. If I get tied to a gang, she's a target," Arron continued.
Jack's jaw tightened for a second. Then it relaxed.
"That's not how it works," Jack said.
"It is if things go bad," Arron said.
Silence. Cups clinked. Someone laughed near the counter.
Jack sighed. "I wasn't going to ask nicely."
"I know," Arron said.
Jack studied him again, longer this time.
"What do you want?" Jack asked.
Arron met his gaze. "Work. Not loyalty."
Jack chuckled softly. "You're bold."
"I'm careful," Arron said.
Jack tapped the table twice. "You help us stay clean. Cover things. Think ahead."
"And?" Arron asked.
"You get paid," Jack said. "Your family stays off-limits."
Arron nodded once. "Deal."
Jack smiled faintly, but it didn't reach his eyes.
Arron leaned forward. "There's more."
Jack's smile faded.
"Clubs have back rooms," Arron said quietly. "Control centers. Cameras don't just loop. They store."
Jack watched him closely.
"Ski masks," Arron continued. "Back entrance. You go straight to the drives."
Jack frowned. "Why tell me this now?"
"Because I already copied them," Arron said.
Jack froze.
"I made a backup," Arron said. "Timed upload. Twelve hours. Linked everywhere."
Jack's hand stopped mid-sip.
"If I don't refresh it," Arron said, "it goes public."
The noise of the shop faded. Jack leaned back slowly.
"That's your insurance," Jack said.
"That's my exit," Arron replied.
Jack laughed once. Short. Sharp.
"Why didn't I think of that?" he said.
Arron shrugged. "Because you weren't planning to let me walk away."
Jack didn't deny it.
He stood. "You're smarter than you look."
Arron stayed seated. "So are you."
Jack paused, nodded, and walked out.
Arron stayed still until the door closed. Only then did he relax his grip on the cup. His hands trembled.
Across the city, Detective Isseren stared at another set of photos.
Hegel stepped beside him. "What now?"
"These are the riverbank shots," Isseren said, pointing. "Same night. Tires straight. No panic. No wobble. No struggle."
Hegel narrowed his eyes. "Someone's careful."
"Too careful," Isseren said. He shut off the screen. "Let's see how careful they really are."