The courthouse parking lot reeked of wet asphalt and rain, a faint metallic tang hanging in the air, like the world itself was bruised. Julian's black car gleamed under the sodium streetlights, sharp against the shadows, and I couldn't tell if it was the wet reflection or the way his presence seemed to draw everything into focus.
He opened the door for me, slow, deliberate. "Passenger seat. It's the only place you're allowed without me questioning your intentions."
I slid in, heart already racing, seatbelt clicking—a small, grounding sound against the chaos of anticipation.
The city blurred past as we sped toward the next scene. Maya Santos, the court clerk, lay dead in her office, lungs and blood congealed into a grotesque mosaic. Two victims in one night. Pyrothrom Bleed wasn't just skilled—he was escalating. My mind cataloged every detail: the faint chemical tang, the soot traces, the meticulous signature left behind like a calling card.
Julian's hand brushed near mine as he adjusted the climate dial. The air between us charged. "If I had a nickel for every time someone made my heartbeat skip, I'd have enough to buy the city. But I'd still want yours."
I focused on the scene, forcing my body to obey logic while my chest betrayed me. Every nerve felt alive, every glance from him another variable I couldn't calculate.
The office reeked of paper and sanitizer, the scent heavy with the echo of violence. Maya's body slumped over the desk, documents soaked, strewn like a confession written in panic. I traced the soot trail, the residue of Ignivora serum, mentally mapping Pyrothrom's method.
Julian moved with ease, eyes sweeping the room. "If this were any less tragic, your focus would be dangerously… distracting."
"Attractive is irrelevant," I snapped, cold, precise. "Observation is priority."
He chuckled, leaning closer than necessary, a predator in a tailored suit. "Good. Because I plan on keeping your attention for the next hundred years. Whether you like it or not."
I didn't respond, though my pulse betrayed me. The details of the scene—the residue, the smeared papers, the faint chemical scent—were only half my attention. The other half was locked on him, the calculated danger in his proximity.
Detective Keir arrived, lukewarm coffee in hand, eyes sharp. "Someone's taking professional closeness very seriously," he said, tone teasing but wary of the tension.
Julian didn't flinch. "Only as seriously as evidence allows. Careful, detective—you might get distracted by the wrong variables."
My mind cataloged the flirtation like another piece of evidence, yet the room pulsed with dread. Pyrothrom Bleed's signature was precise, intentional, and escalating. Following the soot trail to the ventilation shaft, I murmured, "Engineered… every step meant to disorient, to manipulate human physiology."
Julian's hand hovered near mine as he reached for a file, too close to be accidental. "You understand, if I weren't here, someone else would've stolen this thrill first. And I refuse to share the view."
The rain began outside, fat droplets hammering against the windows like jagged clock ticks. I slid into the car, seatbelt clicking into place, the storm outside mirroring the storm within me.
"Next time, I'm assigning myself permanent distraction. You won't get a single calm moment around me."
I gritted my teeth, mind scanning the variables of the case while my body betrayed every instinct. Pyrothrom Bleed was clever, sadistic, and methodical—but Julian was a wild card, a dangerous thrill I couldn't ignore.
The night stretched ahead, jagged and unrelenting. Death, danger, obsession—and an electric tension I could neither dismiss nor control.