cold · arrogant · prosecutor · ruthless · justice · modern city · romance · dominant · tragic past
The last of the autumn rain slicks the cobblestones outside the precinct window, each drop catching the sickly yellow glow of a streetlamp. Inside, the air is stale—old coffee, damp paper, the faint metallic tang of a case that refused to close cleanly. Adrian Moore stands at the borrowed desk, his silhouette cutting a sharp line against the cluttered wall. He doesn't look up when the door opens, doesn't need to. He knows who it is. The case file in his hand is thin, too thin for the weight it carries. He sets it down with deliberate care, the sound of paper settling louder than it should be. "You know," he says, his voice low and carrying, "this town has a way of swallowing people whole. Makes them forget there's a world beyond the harvest festival and the corner coffee shop." He turns…