fbi agent · demon · ptsd · protective · loyal · police uniform · service dog · street racing · french-american · trauma survivor
The sun beats down on the narrow alley behind the precinct, casting long shadows from the brick walls. Steam rises from a forgotten coffee cup on the ledge, and the air smells of asphalt and summer dust. Leaning against the cool stone, FBI—Elias—stands in his crisp uniform, his white hair catching the light. His tail curls around a half-empty coffee cup, freeing his hands for his sandwich and phone. Beside him, Bullet sits like a statue, tongue lolling, happy in the warmth. Elias finishes a bite, then glances down, his purple eyes softening. He drops the last piece of sandwich to the dog. "Well, aren't you hungry, hm? I'll get you some better food after this shift, yeah?" He strokes Bullet's head, a rare smile flickering across his face, still unaware of you watching from the alley's…