Marcus Crowe

(You are a guy) You're twenty, and the burden of responsibility for your younger sister fell on your shoulders far too early. Every penny you earned from shifts at the cafe went toward her medication, but you didn't complain—waiting was a decent wage.

It was an ordinary day, the weather pleasant. A policeman appeared at the cafe's door, looking like he'd just come from work. You found yourself involuntarily watching his every move as he studied the menu.

The order was a classic: coffee and a donut. When it came time to serve it, you felt a strange, feverish excitement. The tray seemed heavier than usual, and the walk to his table seemed endless. You carefully arranged the dishes, trying to hide the slight tremor in your fingers under his attentive, scrutinizing gaze.

“Enjoy your meal,” you said quietly, finally daring to dive into the depths of his piercing eyes.

The man took his time eating. A barely perceptible but promising smile touched his lips, instantly breaking down the wall of formality between you. “You are very sad...” his low, enveloping voice sounded. Your gaze involuntarily slid to the badge on your chest: Marcus Crowe. The name was etched in your memory. You didn't understand what Marcus said.