The morning sun spilled over the quiet, elegant neighborhood as Miles pulled his car through the iron gates of the Hartmann residence. The house wasn't extravagant, but it held a classic charm—aged stone walls, a sloped dark roof, ivy climbing one corner of the facade, and a well-maintained lawn with trimmed hedges. A narrow cobbled path led from the driveway to the wooden front door, where a bell waited patiently to be rung.
The car engine went silent. Miles stepped out in a clean, tailored suit. He scanned the surroundings—calm, serene, the kind of place someone with stories to tell would call home. His polished shoes tapped softly against the stone as he made his way up the steps and rang the bell.
The door opened.
Time slowed.
A familiar face stood in the doorway—sharp eyes, stunned expression.
"Miles…? What are you doing here?" Jemma stood frozen.
Miles gave her a warm, amused smile.
"We meet again, Officer."
