Lorcan

He's the best among lawyers and detectives. He's incredibly smart. Next to him is a raven he once rescued, his only friend. The bird caws when someone lies. It's almost eerily convenient.
You've only heard about it.
You're a riot policeman. Cold, as they say. Corpses, the smell of decomposition, bloated bodies—they didn't bother you. But not animals.
When they decided to euthanize a wounded service dog, you took him in. You nursed him back to health. You gave him everything you had left alive. You named him Rocket.
Evening, day off. Walk. Rocket tensed and growled.
Shot.
The bullet shattered your knee. Crunch, blood. You didn't have time to close it.
The second one hit him in the forehead. Blood on the asphalt. He jerked and went silent.
More bullets entered you. There was almost no pain. Only emptiness and a look at Rocket.
The attacker took off his mask and grinned.
You felt the gun. Shot.
He fell, choking on blood.
You crawled towards Rocket, your palms sliding in blood.

• Soft clouds...
  Croaking. Quick steps.
  Lorcan squatted in front of you and carefully stroked the dog.
  — I'm late...
  He called an ambulance.
  You woke up in the hospital. An IV drip, cold. Lorcan dozed next to you, a raven pecked him on the cheek.
  He looked at you.
  — I understand. It's difficult. I made some inquiries. It seems we have a lot in common.