The gym filled of sweat, metal, and repetition. The air thick with the sound of gloves pounding on a heavy bags, weights clanging against rubber floor, and the steady piano sound from a pair of wireless earphones.
She moved like she wasn't thinking--only doing. One breath, one lift. One strike, one step. Her arms glistened. A grey tank top clung to her back like a second skin. Her hands, wrapped and worn, hit the bag in steady.
"Hey!" a voice called across the mats.
A man—cockier, older, and maybe three feets taller--leaned against the ropes of the practice ring, smirking. "You look tough. Wanna go a round?"
She didn't answer at first. Just landed one last jab on the bag, then turned and slid out an earbud.
He raised his hands in mock surrender, grinning.
"Come on. Let's see if that death stare has anything to back it up."
She didn't smile. Didn't scoff. Just shrugged.
"Sure."
Inside the ring, he bounced on his heels—more showman than fighter. She moved like gravity hadn't figured out how to catch her.
He came at her fast, crowd her with wild punches. Thinking he could intimidate her. That was his first mistake.
Two minutes in, she was behind him--arm locked around his neck, legs hooked across his torso.
A rear naked choke.
His grin crumpled into panic. Face reddening, he tapped. Hard.
The gym fell quiet.
She stood without celebration. No smile. No nod. She slipped her earbuds back in and walked away like it was nothing.
Later, after a shower and a change into plain slacks and a black blazer, she crossed the street toward the precinct.
Her badge clipped neatly at her hip. Her face neutral. Work mode engaged.
Inside, the station buzzed. Phones rang, keyboards clicked. A new case had just landed—a grand theft auto. Nothing thrilling, but it's still worth attention.
She sat down at her desk, already reviewing the report when a voice came from behind.
"Sorry I'm late," the man said, catching himself. "You must be my partner. Didn't mean to startle you, miss."
He held out his badge.
"Detective Scott Richards."
"Evelyn Quinn," she replied, standing to shake his hand.
He gave her a brief nod, glancing down at the folder on her desk. "So. Grand theft auto?"
"That's what we've got," Evelyn said. "Any idea how to catch the guy?"
Detective Richards gave a dry smile. "We'll find him. Don't worry. This case won't bite—unless it's the suspect."
Evelyn just stared at him, unimpressed. Then turned back to the report.
He chuckled and pulled up a chair.
And just like that, the work began.
They wrapped up the morning briefing and gathered their folders. Evelyn slung her bag over one shoulder; Scott glanced at his watch.
"Coffee?" he asked as they headed for the door.
"Sure," Evelyn said. "Let's walk."
They stepped into the crisp afternoon air and descended the station's front steps toward the corner café.
"So," Scott began once they cleared the curb, "you new to investigations like this?"
"Hardly." She kicked a pebble to the street. "Fraud, identity theft, hit and runs—these small cases are routine."
Scott curved an eyebrow. "What drew you to detective work, then?"
She looks toward the café's sign. "I was obsessed with world mysteries as a kid. Jack the Ripper, D.B. Cooper, I wanted to solve every case no one could."
"World's greatest detective, huh?" Scott teased, falling into step beside her. "You aiming to be like Batman? Or perhaps Sherlock Holmes? L?"
"Obviously not," she replied, and they laughed.
They ordered two coffees to go, then strolled past the bookstore next door, peering at the display.
"Read anything good lately?" Evelyn asked.
"Mostly novels," Scott said. "My favorite? Kafka on the Shore—Murakami at his best."
She smirked. "Heavy stuff. Think I could handle that?"
He grinned. "You'd be surprise yourself. Kafka on the Shore is full of puzzle with no answers— you need to come up with your own interpretations. Brilliant"
They sipped their coffees.
"So," Scott said after a sip, "do you read much?"
"Not really. I'm more of a movie person."
"Favorite film?"
She paused under a streetlamp. "Oldboy—the Korean original. Not that bland remake bullshit. But the original one. Park Chan-wook is a genius. The movie has one of the best antagonists ever put on the silver screen."
"I totally agree. Woo-jin is such an incredibly well written villain. The way he breaks Dae-su mentally, emotionally, physically—it's just so devastating. And that twist? Insane. One of the greatest movies ever made."
"No argument there," Evelyn said.
They crossed the street.
"Did you know Oldboy is actually based on a Japanese manga?" she added.
Scott stopped mid-step. "Wait, seriously? How did I not know that?"
"Yeah. The manga's fine, but the film blows it out of the water. It's one of the rare cases where the adaptation is miles better than the source material."
"Huh. I've never read the original, but you're right—it's rare for adaptations to outshine what they're based on."
They arrived back at the precinct steps. Evelyn stashed her coffee and unlocked the door.
"Ready?" she asked.
"After you, partner."
They slipped inside—refreshed, in sync, and ready to dive into the day's cases.