Leah was tired.
Tired of chasing criminals who barely got jail time. Tired of the way the system tied her hands. But mostly, she was tired of Jason Walker, the arrogant, camera-ready intern who always found a way to piss her off before noon.
"Don't touch that," she snapped as Jason reached for a pinned photograph on the evidence board in the precinct's war room.
"I wasn't going to rip it off," Jason said, pulling back. "I was just…."
"Just interfering. Again."
Jason's jaw tightened. "You could try not biting my head off every time I breathe."
"For someone who nearly got shot last week, you still act like this is a game."
Leah's voice was sharp, but inside, she was fraying. The city had chipped away at her faith in justice a long time ago. Now, all she had left were the rules, the same rules Jason kept ignoring like they were optional.
Jason stepped toward her, his expression shifting from irritated to defensive. "You think I'm useless? Fine. But I'm not the one who's afraid to feel anything anymore."
Her breath caught. "What did you just say?"
He hesitated, then backed down. "Nothing. Forget it."
She didn't. But she let him walk away.
Leah was mid-sip in her lukewarm coffee when her phone buzzed against her desk.
She groaned. It was barely 8 a.m. and she hadn't even opened the precinct reports. The name flashing on the screen made her eyebrows lift; Officer Grace Mendel, Lost and Found Division.
Leah picked up.
"Mendel. To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Grace chuckled. "Don't sound so surprised. I'm calling in a favor."
"Sure. What kind of favor?" Leah leaned back in her chair.
"We've got a missing persons case. An old man, mid-seventies. Name's Henry Dawson. Lives alone. Early-stage dementia. He wandered off sometime after breakfast and never came back."
Leah sat up. "Was it reported today?"
"Just came in. The neighbor said he left his apartment in slippers and a track suit. Took his cane and get this a gold Rolex from his younger days. Probably forgot it even had value."
Leah blinked. "A Rolex?"
"Vintage. Worth at least twenty grand. Not that he knows it."
Leah exhaled. "Alright. You've got my attention."
"I figured you could help canvas the area. The guy lives in that walk-up near Croft Market grimy little stretch with a hundred nosy residents. You'll need backup."
Leah's lips curved into a slow grin.
Backup.
A perfect opportunity.
She could practically picture Jason already, sweat-drenched, annoyed, complaining about the sun, trailing after her like a lost puppy. The man needed a lesson in patience and humility. What better way than knocking on every rusted door in a four-block radius?
"I'll take it," she said brightly.
An hour later, Leah stood by the precinct's SUV, arms folded, waiting.
Jason sauntered out in a pressed white shirt too clean for field work and sunglasses that probably cost more than her entire wardrobe. He had the nerve to smile.
"What's the mission, boss?" he asked, tossing a water bottle into the backseat.
"We're looking for an old man with dementia," Leah said. "Name's Henry Dawson. Croft Market area. He's probably confused, possibly dehydrated. Oh, and he's wearing a Rolex."
Jason raised an eyebrow. "We doing house-to-house?"
"Yup," she said sweetly. "Good old-fashioned door-knocking. Think of it as cardio."
Jason blinked. "In this heat?"
Leah gave him her most innocent look. "Is that a problem?"
"No, no," he muttered. "I just didn't realize you wanted me sunburned and unconscious."
"Just fulfilling your community service," she replied with a smirk.
They arrived at Croft Market an hour later. Leah relished every bead of sweat dripping down Jason's forehead. She'd already marked off three buildings and was ready to send him into a dingy alley behind a fish market when Jason suddenly stopped walking.
He pulled out his phone.
"What are you doing?" Leah asked, narrowing her eyes.
Jason didn't look up. "Just give me a second."
He typed something furiously. Then tapped. Then added a picture of a Rolex from Google. And a smiling photo of an elderly man he probably got from the precinct files. Then he posted.
"What did you just do?" Leah asked, now suspicious.
Jason lifted his phone and showed her.
Missing elderly man – last seen near Croft Market. Wears this exact Rolex. $5,000 reward for whoever finds him. DM me ASAP. #WalkerRewards
Below that: thousands of followers already viewing. Comments pouring in. Notifications exploding.
Leah's jaw dropped. "What the hell is that?"
Jason shrugged. "My followers. Most of them are lifestyle influencers, drivers, dispatchers, store owners. Half this neighborhood's probably online right now. I figured if they can find a lost Gucci bag in two hours, they can find a man."
Leah blinked. "You offered a reward?"
"From my own wallet," he said. "I'll cover it. It's not about the money."
Leah stared at him, half impressed, half horrified. "You completely skipped the whole point."
Jason tilted his head. "What point?"
"I was going to make you walk through this hellhole. Door to door. Knock on every door, sweat through every crack, smell every garbage heap. You were supposed to suffer."
Jason laughed. "Why would you want me to suffer?"
Leah shot him a look. "Because you're you."
Suddenly, Jason's phone buzzed again. A message flashed across the screen. He glanced at it and turned to her with a grin.
"Someone just spotted him."
Leah raised an eyebrow. "You're kidding."
"Nope. A delivery guy. He saw him wandering near a florist's stall a few blocks from here. Apparently, Mr. Dawson was trying to buy roses for his wife who, the guy said, passed away two years ago."
Leah's grin faded.
"Dementia," she murmured. "He forgot."
Jason's face softened. "Poor guy."
"Come on," she said, suddenly serious. "Let's bring him home."
They found Mr. Dawson sitting on a crate beside a juice vendor, talking to a plastic bag full of wilting roses. He looked tired, his suit stained from the heat, the Rolex hanging loosely on his wrist.
"Mr. Dawson?" Leah crouched beside him gently.
The old man looked at her, squinting. "Did Margaret send you?"
Leah smiled. "Not exactly. But we're here to take you back."
Jason offered him a bottle of water. "Let's get you cooled down, sir."
As they guided him back to the car, the old man leaned on Jason's shoulder.
"You're a good boy," he muttered. "She always said young people never help anyone anymore."
Jason gave a small smile. "I try."
An hour later, after Dawson was returned home and safe with his niece, Leah sat at her desk arms crossed, watching Jason laugh with a group of dispatchers.
Mendel walked by and whispered, "I heard Walker solved it in record time. You might lose your title as precinct queen."
Leah rolled her eyes. "He cheated."
Mendel smirked. "Or he's just smart."
Leah turned back to her paperwork, annoyed that her perfect plan had unraveled. But somewhere beneath the frustration, a quiet admiration was beginning to grow.
He was still annoying.
But maybe... not useless.
It was nearing 1 a.m. when Leah found herself parked in front of St. Anne's Shelter, an old brick building that took in the people no one else would. The city was quiet, the streets damp from a soft drizzle. She had no idea what pulled her there until she saw him.
Jason.
Hood up. Backpack slung over one shoulder. He slipped around the side of the shelter, pulled out several brown bags, and placed them quietly by the staff entrance. He didn't knock. Didn't wait to be seen. Just left the packages and walked off into the shadows.
Leah frowned. She got out of the car and crept toward the bags. Inside were sandwiches, water bottles, toiletries every item carefully packed. On each bag, there was a handwritten note:
"You are not forgotten. Keep fighting. – J"
She stared after him, caught off guard.
Jason wasn't posting this. Wasn't looking for credit.
He was just... trying.
The next morning, Leah arrived at the precinct before sunrise. Something in her chest had shifted overnight, like a door she hadn't realized was shut had cracked open.
Her desk had a manila envelope she hadn't seen before. No label. No return slip.
She opened it cautiously. Inside were old documents some she'd seen a dozen times before.
But one page made her freeze.
A financial approval form. Walker Enterprises letterhead. The signature at the bottom: Andrew C. Walker; Chief Legal Officer.
The date was from weeks before her father's last undercover sting. The sting that led to him being accused as a corrupt cop and also led to his disgraced resignation five years ago.
But what chilled her most was the account name listed: "Keller Resources LLC" the very shell company her father had been trying to expose for laundering cartel money.
Her breath hitched.
Jason's family was tied to this.
Jason was alone in the precinct's gym, shirt clinging to his skin, throwing half-hearted jabs at the punching bag. He looked up when Leah entered. He stopped mid-punch.
"I saw you last night," she said quietly.
Jason blinked. "At the gym?"
"No. At the shelter."
He looked away. "I wasn't doing it for points."
"I know." She stepped closer. "You did it to help. That means something."
He wiped his forehead with a towel, voice softening. "Sometimes I feel like I'm just flailing through life. Trying to fix things I'll never understand. My mom... they said she died in a random robbery. But that never made sense."
Jason sat down, defeated. "And now, I keep thinking maybe this job, maybe this city... maybe it holds the truth. About her. About me."
Leah stared at him a long moment. Then reached into her bag.
"I found this."
She handed him the document.
Jason read it, his eyes narrowing. "This is Andrew's signature."
"It connects your family's company to the people my father was investigating when he was shot."
He looked stricken. "I didn't know. Leah, I swear…."
"I believe you." Her voice wavered.
There was silence.
Then Leah looked at him really looked.
"If you want to prove you belong here... help me find out the truth. Even if it means going against the people who gave you your name."
Jason's gaze didn't falter. "I'm in."
Meanwhile, High above the city, in an office lined with glass and steel, Andrew Walker watched the surveillance footage of Jason and Leah. His face was unreadable. The drink in his hand barely moved.
"They're starting to connect the dots," he said.
Behind him, Grace Walker stepped into view. Her heels clicked across the polished floor, arms crossed tightly over her designer blazer.
"They always do," she said. "What matters is how we handle it."
Andrew turned, gaze sharpening. "Your stepson is getting sentimental."
Grace's lips curled faintly. "Then we remind him who he really is."
"And if he refuses?"
She turned to face the monitor.
"Then he becomes disposable. Just like his mother."
Andrew raised an eyebrow.
Grace's voice lowered. "He doesn't know. About her. About what she was doing before she died. If he finds out... he might become something even more dangerous and his father might want him as the heir."
Andrew considered that. Then poured himself another drink.
Later that night, Leah sat alone at her apartment window, the city lights flickering outside like restless thoughts.
She held her father's old badge in her hand. And now... Jason's note.
She whispered into the night.
"Maybe you're not useless after all."
What she didn't know what neither of them knew was that someone else had been watching.
And they weren't just watching.
They were waiting.