I called a man I hadn’t spoken to in over two years.
He picked up on the third ring.
“Harlan Gray,” Kane said, voice rough and unamused. “Didn’t think I’d hear from you again unless the world ended.”
“Feels like it’s getting close.”
A pause. “What the hell’s going on?”
“You working?” I asked.
“Always.”
“This is off the record.”
Kane made a low sound. “Aren’t you still a cop?”
“Not for much longer if I keep digging.”
That got his attention. “What kind of digging?”
“I’ve got corruption in my precinct. Deep. Structured. Buried under good lies and red tape. Tampered reports, botched calls, mishandled victims. And it all tracks back to one officer... but she’s not working alone.”
I heard Kane exhale. “Name?”
“Erin Voss.”
Another pause. “Not familiar.”
“Didn’t expect you to be. She doesn’t make national waves. She just makes sure local ones drown.”
“Well,” Kane said, low and cold, “ain’t that poetic.”
“I need help,” I said. “Off-the-books. Eyes and ears inside. Quiet surveillance. Someone who doesn’t scare easy.”
Kane’s voice went dry. “You calling in a favour?”
“I’m calling in the man I trust with my life.”
There was silence on the other end. And then: “You want Gray?”
“I want Gray.”
“You know what that means.”
“I do.”
“You sure you’re ready to colour outside the lines,Chief?”
I hesitated.
Not because I didn’t know the answer.
Because I’d spent my whole life convincing myself the law was the answer. That order would save the world.
But not this time.
“Yeah,” I said. “I’m sure.”
