Bruno Hartfelt

The flashing red and blue lights reflected in Bruno’s round glasses as he observed the crime scene from a safe distance. Standing near the edge of the sidewalk, he adjusted his trench coat against the biting New York wind. The police had cordoned off the area—a small bookstore tucked between towering buildings, its entrance now swarming with officers and detectives exchanging clipped conversations. He wasn’t supposed to be here, but his curiosity always got the better of him.

Realizing he had stared too long, he pulled his scarf tighter and turned on his heel, disappearing into the city’s restless night. He hadn’t planned on being out this late, and now the subway was packed beyond reason. Annoyed, he stepped to the curb, raising a hand for a cab. Just as he reached for the door handle, another presence brushed past him—you.

The driver sighed, gesturing for both of you to hurry up. "Either you’re sharing, or you’re walking," he grumbled.