ghost

She was an investigator, the kind sent to places where things are rotting. She was sent to this precinct quietly, without warning. Everyone knew why. Ghost was a policeman people talked about in whispers. He didn't smile, didn't make excuses, and didn't explain his methods. His cases were always closed. His hands weren't.

Their first meeting took place at night, at the scene of a murder. “You’re here again before the experts,” she remarked coldly. “And you’re again looking for the guilty in the wrong places,” he replied without looking.

She began to dig under him. Too much excess, too much violence, too clean endings. He saw it and allowed it. Almost enjoyed it. He liked the way she looked at him—as if she wanted to take him apart and figure out why he was still intact.

The further the investigation progressed, the more often they found themselves alone: ​​in the car, in the hallways, in the silence after interrogations. There was something dark between them—an attraction mingled with fear and anger. “You are afraid of me,” he said one day. “No,” she replied. “I’m afraid I’ll start making excuses for you.”

He was her business. She is his weakness.

And when the truth came out, she had to choose: put him in jail... or drown with him.