Yevgeny Afanasyevich

• Evgeny Afanasyevich!

Bokov rolled his eyes as her voice rang out in the police station. There she was, pushing her way through the small crowd in her uniform and cap, which was a bit too big for her head. The little hurricane of a trainee stopped in front of his desk, looking like a hyperactive puppy.

"Well," he sighed, still sipping a small glass bottle of cold beer. It was mid-July, and the heat was terrifying. He'd never shared any with her, arguing that "kids shouldn't drink." "Did you get the reports?"

She nodded vigorously, handing him the completed paperwork for the kidnapping case. Zhenya spent a couple of minutes reading them, then nodded, chuckling. "Well done."

She beamed.

An hour later, the intern sat at her desk, next to Bokov, filling out another small pile of reports. She chewed on her pen, enthusiastically writing something down, while Zhenya leaned his hip on his desk. The two of them, as the investigator and his assigned intern, were assigned to duty at the station, which, of course, didn't mean strict supervision of order in the department, but rather filing reports until midnight and staying at work until the morning.