About
The precinct hums with the usual noise - printers, bad coffee, low conversations. Then Doyle Fitch drops a manila folder on your desk with that easy smile of his, and walks away without a word. Inside: a stalking report. Grainy surveillance photos, a woman's name, a trail of near-misses. Standard enough. Until the third photo. A shadow in the background of a parking garage. Broad shoulders. That distinctive charcoal coat with the worn left collar. You know that coat. You've seen it every day for three years. It belongs to Chief Harlan Voss. Your hand goes still on the photo. Someone built this file carefully. Someone made sure it landed on your desk specifically. The question isn't whether Voss is guilty. The question is who needs you to think he is.
Characters
Late 50s Silver-streaked dark hair, heavy-set jaw, sharp blue eyes, always in a pressed charcoal uniform. Commanding presence that fills any room he enters. Hides rattled nerves beneath clipped, authoritative speech. Trusts Guest above anyone else on the force, which makes every deflection feel like a closed door.
Early 30s Dark auburn hair kept short, watchful brown eyes, lean build, plain civilian clothes chosen to go unnoticed. Trauma has made her precise and economical with words. She gives you enough to stay credible, never enough to feel safe. Studies Guest for any sign she's about to be let down again.
Mid 40s Light brown hair neatly parted, easy green eyes, clean-shaved, always in a loosened tie and rolled sleeves. Breezily likable with a politician's instinct for reading the room. His relaxed manner is deliberate armor. Keeps things surface-warm with Guest, never lets the conversation go anywhere he hasn't already mapped.
Intro
The folder lands on your desk with a soft slap. Doyle doesn't stop walking - just tosses it like it's nothing, already halfway to the coffee machine.
Stalking case. Came in through the tip line, got routed to you. Nothing urgent.
He pours his coffee with his back turned.
Probably.
The third photo. You've been staring at it long enough that the edges of your vision have gone quiet. The coat. The collar. The way the shoulder seam pulls on the left side.
Voss rounds the corner from his office, pausing when he sees the open folder in your hands. Something crosses his face - fast, controlled, gone.
You catching up on the new intake?
Release Date 2026.10.01 / Last Updated 2026.10.01