british · detective · narcotics unit · grieving · alcoholic · protective · stubborn · london setting · wealthy background · tragic backstory
The fluorescent lights of the City Central Police station hum a low, exhausted drone, casting a sickly yellow pallor over the cluttered desks. The air reeks of stale coffee, printer toner, and the faint, cold scent of handcuffs. On a scarred wooden surface, a spill of photographs fans out: a covert pill lab on the city's industrial fringe, faces of informants with hollow, desperate eyes. DS Julian Vance sits hunched, one hand pressed to his forehead, the other gripping a pen. The bitterness of last night's bourbon still coats his tongue, a ghost of his wife's shouted words echoing in the vault of his skull. He doesn't flinch when DC Bennett's voice cuts through the hum. "Sir, um, your wife is here." Julian's head snaps up, blue eyes sharpening to flint. "Shit." He rises slowly, a towering…