Kari and I were sitting at the cafe on the first floor of Fides. I’d walked down with her while she grabbed a quick bite to eat. As convenient as it would be to stop here for lunch every day, I couldn’t bring myself to beat up my wallet like that.

“Seriously though,” I asked, leaning closer, “what was the real reason for canceling your honeymoon?”

After six years of marriage, she’d finally confirmed her long-awaited trip. 

“Those wildfires out west are getting out of hand,” she explained, a thread of concern weaving into her voice. “They needed our fire crews to help. Saving lives comes first… even before romantic getaways.”

Initially, people thought the fire was contained, but the hourly news updates revealed a different situation. I had spent little time with Adam; my life was a constant cycle of work. But for Kari’s sake, a silent hope for his safety took root in my thoughts. 

“But they said that with all the help they’re getting from out-of-state stations, they hope to get it all contained by the end of the month,” she added, her voice lifting with cautious optimism. “If that’s the case, then we can easily reschedule our honeymoon.”

“Yeah, and it’ll be easier to take time off now that we have a fourth person on the team,” I said. About a year ago, we had a full team of four, but we lost two members. Kari joined about six months later, and the backlog from when it was just Avery and me had been… thick. Her addition helped lighten it, but taking time off outside of weekends was still tough—emotionally, because we didn’t want to dump even a day’s work on the others, and administratively, because Jack wanted to see progress on our current case sooner rather than later.

She smiled at me just as the barista called her name. Her order sat neatly on the pickup counter, waiting. As she walked over to grab it, I checked my watch—it was almost time for our meeting.

“Come on, Kar, we’ve gotta go. You know how Jack gets if we keep him waiting… even if we’re on time.”

She sighed and shook her head in agreement before we both hurried towards the elevators.

The weekly meeting room buzzed with small talk when we arrived, each desk already laid out with the materials for the presentation. Normally, this was my stage. But this week, Eric was the one leading. 

And then there was Jack. Jack, who rarely attended these meetings. Jack, who insisted on separate private updates from me. Yet there he sat, planted at the head of the table like a king on his throne. His blatant favoritism towards Eric was almost comical; the man looked like he was polishing Eric’s loafers with his eyes. The two of them were so deep in conversation they didn’t notice our entrance for what felt like an eternity.

“Great! You’re finally here,” Jack said, his tone clipped as he straightened in his seat. “Let’s get on with this. I still have other meetings today.”

Eric, already standing, moved towards the board. He scanned the room, drew a slow, deliberate breath, and began.

“Hello, everyone,” he said with a touch of formal stiffness. He turned toward the board and tapped to advance the slide.

“Over the past day, I’ve reviewed all the documents related to our case. Setting aside yesterday’s incident for a moment, I’d like to focus on something that seems to have slipped through the cracks.”

A pause. A calculated one.

“Now… the motive you’ve established for the culprit revolves around the drug Siren.”

Eric lifted the stylus, hesitating mid-air for dramatic effect before underlining a key point on the display.

“You’ve concluded that the culprit likely targeted users of this drug for multiple reasons, mainly the recurring pattern of outstanding debts incurred from their drug habits.”

He switched to the next slide. A case file from years ago filled the screen. 

“On October 16th, almost two years ago, this team apprehended several key members of Lobelia, a gang tied largely to the distribution of a drug named Angel Hair, at Proditio Wharf. This included their supposed leader, Liam Moore, at Proditio Wharf,” Eric continued, voice steady. “After the arrests, distribution, no, even the appearance of Angel Hair became almost nonexistent. It was as if the drug vanished along with them.”

He tapped the board again.

“The drug remained absent... until approximately a year ago, when they discovered the first victim in the current case possessed an Angel Hair-like substance in their system. You later confirmed that this new drug, Siren, was simply a more developed version of Angel Hair.”

He shifted his stance slightly, building momentum as he spoke. 

“Because of those arrests and the tremendous gap in the timeline, it was assumed that another gang picked up what remained of Angel Hair, reworked it, and began distributing it, instead of tying our current case back to Lobelia.”

Eric took a slow, sweeping look around the room before finishing.

“In short, I’d like to theorize that Lobelia is not dead. I believe they diverted law enforcement’s attention long enough. By the time Siren surfaced and its connection to Angel Hair became clear, it seemed too unlikely to trace it back to Lobelia, as they had supposedly shut down and been inactive for over a year.”

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Art: Petra Eggert