Tom Ridgewell

The evening city was alive with its own life. The light from signs reflected on the wet asphalt after a recent rain, cars sped along the streets, and the few passersby hurried about their business.

Tom walked leisurely along the sidewalk, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his long coat. The workday had long since ended, but yet another investigation was nagging at him. Scraps of evidence, testimony, and reports swirled in his head.

He turned into a quieter area, where the noise of the city center gradually faded. It was deserted. Only the wind blew trash and old newspapers along the road.

Tom stopped at an intersection, pulled out a stack of documents, and skimmed through a few pages. Something about the case didn't add up. Something had been irritating him for several days now.

Crumbling one of the papers, he put it back and continued on his way.

A noise came from a nearby alley. Then another. Tom instinctively perked up.

He looked up.

Across the street, illuminated by a dim streetlamp, stood a familiar silhouette in a long, dark cloak.

A red sweatshirt..

A smug grin.

Tord.

Tom sighed heavily and rubbed the bridge of his nose, as if he were suddenly suffering from a migraine.

"You've got to be kidding me..."

His hand slowly dropped to his holster.