All he needed was an order, and he would be more than ready to leave. He’s heard everything about Calderra, the constant shootouts, lockdowns, and even the precinct he was assigned to practically reeked of corruption.

He was ready.

“Do they always stare around here?” Nolan muttered as he stepped out of his car.

He slid his badge into his pocket and scanned the block.

Calderra seemed like a city that could sense when someone was a stranger to it. They studied them with a watchful gaze.

Nolan wasn’t unhinged by the stare, just curious.

“Good morning." He waved to the old men passing by the parking lot staring at him.

Neither of them answered as they walked by.

“Okay.”

“Lieutenant,” said a voice behind him.

He turned.

Detective Ana Reyes.

Nolan recognized her quickly.

She stood at the steps of the precinct, brows lifted, arms crossed. She wasn’t impressed.

“You Chase?”

“Isn’t that obvious?”

“You parked in the chief’s spot.”

He looked back at his car parked in an unmarked spot. “Didn’t know anybody had a spot.”

“No one does. Chief’s on his way—won’t be a space left once he rolls in.”

“So I should…” Nolan made a gesture to turn around.

“Let it be; I’ll tell someone of a low rank to make room.”

Reyes turned around and walked inside.

He followed her in.

The station felt incredibly busy, as if the reports the HQ had received about them had been a lie. Phones ringing, papers shuffling, arguments flaring across desks—but no one looked up. It was hard to say anybody was indeed lazying about as the reports claimed.

Captain Miguel Vargas sat in his glass office, watching him, eyes following every movement Nolan made.

“We weren’t expecting you,” Reyes said bluntly.

“I know.”

“You have enemies with them?”

"Headquarters?"

Reyes narrowed her eyes. “No, lower quarters; of course I meant them.”

“Maybe,” Nolan shrugged. “I wouldn’t know; I only act according to how I’m instructed.”

She cracked the faintest grin. “I guess you’ll do fine then. I think.”

He dropped his duffel bag on the desk beside hers. Her side was organized. His was bare, empty.

"You get to pick your fights carefully here." Reyes leaned on his side of the desk. “Some are worth it. Some aren’t.”

“Anything else I should know?”

She leaned in slightly. “There is a lot, but you’re new here, so we’ll start from the basics. Bribery—everyone here is paid by someone. Just to let you know.”

Nolan smiled as he sat in his chair. “So are you a part of them? Who pays you?”

Before she could answer, a man came out of Miguel’s office; he walked directly to Nolan.

“Lieutenant Chase,” he said. “Welcome to Calderra.”

Nolan stared at the hand in front of him.

“And you are?”

“Mayor Elias Montoya.”

Reyes took a step back to allow him to speak.

“I understand you were transferred suddenly,” the mayor said. “Miguel told me you were sent to replace Arnold.”

“I’m not just a replacement,” Nolan clarified as he shook the mayor's hand.

“I’m hosting a dinner tomorrow night. I’d like you there. It’s… important to me that you’re properly welcomed. Also, the state of the city in terms of crime is alarming; it will be nice if we could all work as one.”

“I do appreciate the invite, but I don’t usually attend political dinners.”

“This isn’t political,” the mayor said. “It’s personal.”

“Still going to pass.”

Montoya smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I hope you think about it.”

Nolan didn’t respond.

The mayor nodded once, then left.

“Already making enemies, I see," Reyes said.

“Not the same, simply setting boundaries.”

Nolan sat back in his chair and exhaled.

“Well, I think you should address your team; we do have work to attend to. There was a shootout recently, and well, a few people went missing. Might want to take a look.” Reyes said. “See you,” she tapped his desk.

--

The briefing room was filled with half-interested detectives with bloated egos. Most didn’t look up during his introduction. Even the clapping died by the third clap.

Captain Miguel stood at the front, arms folded, glaring at Nolan subtly.

Nolan might be new around here, but he wasn’t naïve, and that seemed like something the other detective mistook him for.

He caught the sideways glances, the murmurs, and the forced clap; he already saw it all.

When he sat, a uniformed officer pushed through the doors.

“What is it?” Miguel asked.

"An anonymous call just came in,” he said, handing a folded slip of paper to Vargas. “Body dumped in Greystone Row.”

The name drop made several detectives uncomfortable; they tried to avoid eye contact so as not to be chosen.

Vargas didn’t look up. “Send someone from East Division.”

“I’ll go,” Nolan said.

Eyes shifted in his direction. Miguel lifted his brow.

“Not your district.”

Nolan smiled. “I'm sure it won't be a big deal if I go.”

A few nervous chuckles were heard as Miguel's face squeezed.

--

Rain had just stopped by the time he arrived. The alley still stank of rot as he approached.

Nolan bent under the police tape, gloved up, and crouched next to the body—young male, early twenties, bullet to the chest, no wallet, no ID. Just a playing card folded between cold fingers: the queen of spades.

He scanned the body. Noticing the man was fully clothed, most things were expensive.

“This isn’t a mugging,” he said to no one.

"Still," a voice replied.

“Of course it isn’t. We don’t mug people in Greystone Row.”

Nolan turned sharply, hand brushing his holster—then froze.

He squinted into the darkness to see who owned the voice. Then rose.

The woman stood untouched by the rain, like the clouds had made an exception just for her.

His eyes loomed over her.

His first thought was—she’s beautiful.

For a second, he forgot the body. Even his hand dropped from his holster.

She wasn’t tall, but she stood like someone who was. It was the way she carried herself that made him pause.

Confidence, maybe, or just danger dressed in elegance.

Nolan felt it in her. Saw it. Not like he knew she did.

Angelique Grey.

“You’re trespassing,” she said mildly.

“Just doing my job.” Nolan looked down at the body.

She smiled. “You’re the new one.”

“Detective Nolan Chase,” he said, offering his name as if she had asked.

“I know who you are,” she replied, stepping closer. “But isn’t this too early, on your first day of work?"

“Depends on the city.”

“And how corrupt it is, I suppose.” She said.

He smirked. “Or how pretty its criminals are.”

She gave a low, amused hum. “Careful, detective. Flattery doesn’t get you far with me.”

“But it moved you a little,” Nolan says with a half-smile as though testing her.

She didn’t answer.

He let his gaze drift past her, back to the body. “Who was he?”

“Not mine,” she said sharply, turning on her heel.

“That’s not an answer.”

She looked over her shoulder. “Didn’t think I was obligated to offer one.”

Then she was gone; Nolan stood there watching her leave.

He looked back at the body, the dried blood trail to the sewer, and the flies over the body.

He knew well this was no murder.

Rather, a message.

A warning.

And the sender’s perfume still lingered in the air.