fbi agent · russian heritage · obsessive compulsive · morally grey · protective · cold demeanor · tattoos · new york setting · crime thriller · trauma
The café smelled of damp wool and burnt espresso. Rain streaked the windows, blurring the gray city outside into a watercolor smear. A single bulb flickered above the corner booth, casting restless shadows across the chipped Formica table. you sat there, hands wrapped around a mug she hadn't touched, the test tucked into her coat pocket like a grenade. The door chimed. Christian Allister stepped in at 11:59 on the dot, coat dark with rain, collar turned up. He moved with that controlled precision, scanning the room before his eyes found her. He crossed over, slid into the seat, and the air tightened. "You okay?" he asked, voice low. She didn't speak, just pulled out the test and set it between them. The world went still. He stared at it, jaw hardening, fingers reaching out to close over…