The Unexpected Turn

The next day hits me harder than I expected. I’m up before the sun, as usual, but today my mind feels heavier than the usual fog of exhaustion. I’ve been staring at the same photos and reports all morning, and it’s beginning to feel like I’m chasing a ghost. No new leads. No new faces. Just the same old suspects, all circling around in their safe little world, out of reach.

But that’s what I do. I wait. I bide my time. The pieces will fall into place eventually.

I grab a quick breakfast, just a protein bar and a cup of coffee and head out the door. The city feels the same, but there’s a different weight to it today. It’s as if something is about to shift, but I don’t know what yet. I hate that feeling. It’s unsettling.

When I get to the office, I dive straight into my inbox. Reports, case updates, more nonsense I’ll have to sift through. But then, buried under a stack of routine paperwork, there’s something that catches my eye.

A new file.

I don’t recognize the name, but that’s not what interests me. It’s the address listed on the paperwork—an upscale art gallery that’s been under investigation for potential connections to the stolen goods from the warehouse. The gallery’s owners have never been directly tied to the crimes, but the pieces have shown up in their inventory. Something feels off about this, though.

I’ve been to that gallery before. I’ve watched the owners, the staff, the clientele, but no one stands out. No one seems involved. But now, there’s a new piece to this puzzle.

I grab the file and head straight to my supervisor’s office, my boots clicking against the hallway floor.

Detective Harris looks up from his desk as I knock, his face as stern as ever. “What’s up, Evelyn?”

“I need to go to the gallery. Something doesn’t sit right with me about the owners,” I say, placing the file on his desk.

He raises an eyebrow. “You think they’re involved?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. But it’s worth checking out. They’re too clean. Everyone’s too clean in this case.”

He eyes me for a moment, clearly considering. Then he leans back in his chair and sighs. “Alright. But don’t go getting yourself into trouble. I don’t want another report about you chasing shadows. Understood?”

I nod, already halfway to the door. “Understood.”

______

By the time I make it to the gallery, the place is practically buzzing with activity. It’s a trendy spot—white walls, sleek lighting, modern art. The air smells like polished wood and fresh paint, and everyone is walking around in perfectly tailored suits or expensive dresses, trying their best to look like they belong in this world.

I stand out in a crowd of fancy shoes and immaculate faces. But I’m not here to blend in. I’m here to find something.

The curator, a tall woman in her late thirties, approaches me with that polite, practiced smile. “Can I help you, officer?”

I flash her a smile, one that’s just the right mix of friendly and businesslike. “I’m here to ask a few questions about the gallery’s recent acquisitions. I’m looking for anything unusual. Maybe a connection to some stolen pieces.”

She stiffens for just a second, but it’s barely noticeable. She’s good at keeping her composure. “I’m afraid I don’t know anything about that. Everything here is above board.”

I nod, keeping my tone neutral. “I’m sure it is. But I still need to look through the inventory. Can you help me with that?”

She hesitates, glancing at the other patrons milling about. “Of course, I’ll get the records for you.”

I follow her to the back office, where the real business happens. She’s trying to remain polite, but I can see the tension in her shoulders, the way her eyes flicker toward the door every few seconds. It’s not subtle. She’s nervous.

And I’m starting to wonder why.

The inventory records are neatly organized, cataloged by artist, year, and provenance. It all looks fine at first glance, but I’ve learned to trust my gut over appearances. My fingers trail over the pages, scanning for anything that stands out, anything that could connect this gallery to the stolen goods.

And then I find it.

A name.

It’s a piece from a private collection. A painting that’s supposedly been off the market for years. And yet, here it is—listed as a recent acquisition, no questions asked. The name of the person who sold it? It doesn’t match any known collectors. There’s no history, no trace. It’s like the painting simply appeared out of nowhere.

I jot down the details quickly, before the curator can notice what I’m doing. “Thank you for your time,” I say, flashing her a smile that doesn’t reach my eyes. “I’ll be in touch.”

As I leave the gallery, the weight of the discovery presses down on me. The painting is a key. I know it. But it’s just a thread, and I’m nowhere near the end of the trail. Still, I feel something shift. Like the pieces are finally starting to fall into place, but I can’t see the full picture yet. I’m close. Closer than I’ve ever been.

I slide into my car and start the engine, ready to head back to the office. The city stretches out in front of me, its lights flickering as the day begins to fade. There’s a strange kind of calm that settles over me now. It’s like the storm is brewing, but I’m standing right in the middle of it, watching it all unfold.

I can feel it in my bones. This case is bigger than I thought.

And I’m just getting started.

Time skips and the evening had fallen quickly, the city skyline lighting up as the sun dipped behind the horizon. I was making my way back to the office after a long day, running through the files in my mind—trying to piece together the painting, the mysterious seller, and how it all connected to the bigger picture. But the city had other plans.

I hadn’t even made it to my car when I felt it—something off, like a sudden chill in the air. I stopped walking, my boots planted firmly on the sidewalk as I glanced around. The streets were busy as usual—pedestrians hustling by, taxis honking, and the distant hum of city noise—but something in my gut told me I wasn’t alone.

I scanned the crowd, my instincts kicking into high gear. I’ve been trained for this kind of thing. I don’t wait for danger to show itself—I find it. But tonight, something was different. I couldn’t pinpoint the source, but I could feel eyes on me.

I reached into my jacket, my fingers brushing the cold metal of my gun. No one would make the first move, not with me around. Not if they knew what was good for them.

And then, it happened.

A shadow darted from an alleyway to my right, too quick for anyone to notice. But I noticed. My heart rate picked up, but I didn’t show it. I took a step back, my body already in motion as I turned toward the alley.

The shadow hesitated, just for a split second. Then, it moved again, faster this time.

I didn’t think twice. I took off after it, my boots hitting the pavement with a rhythmic pace, cutting through the noise of the city. The adrenaline kicked in. I knew I was being followed, but I wasn’t the one running. Not anymore.

I turned the corner sharply, the alley narrow and dimly lit. The figure ahead of me didn’t turn around, but I saw the silhouette of a man—tall, lean, but quick. He was moving fast, weaving in and out of the shadows, using the cover of the night to his advantage.

I wasn’t going to let him get away.

I pushed myself harder, narrowing the distance between us. A few more steps, and I’d have him.

Just as I was about to reach out, a sharp pain shot through my side. I gritted my teeth, instinctively pulling away and turning just in time to see a figure slip behind a stack of crates.

I didn’t have time to process what happened before I felt the warm trickle of blood soaking into my shirt. My hand moved to the wound on my side, and I swore under my breath.

“Shit,” I muttered to myself.

I had to keep moving. I couldn’t stop now. I couldn’t lose him. Not when I was this close.

I pressed my back against the wall for a moment, steadying my breath, but the pain was starting to make my movements sluggish. No time for weakness. Not here. Not now.

I pushed off the wall and kept moving, my gun at the ready, the alley feeling like it was closing in on me. Every corner held a new danger, but my eyes were locked on that one goal—the man in the shadows. He was close. So close.

I turned another corner and—

There he was.

I caught a glimpse of him before he disappeared again, but this time I saw his face—familiar, but not one I could place immediately. He was someone I should’ve known. The realization hit me like a slap. This wasn’t some random criminal. This was calculated. Someone who’d been watching me for a while.

Before I could react, I felt another presence behind me, and I spun around, but it was too late. My world went black.

When I woke up, I was in an unfamiliar place.

My body ached. My side burned like hell, but I wasn’t going to let it slow me down. I opened my eyes slowly, taking in the dim, claustrophobic space I was in. My wrists were bound to a chair, and my gun—my lifeline—was nowhere to be seen.

I stayed calm, methodical. I’ve been in worse situations before. I wasn’t about to let some lowlife have the upper hand.

I twisted my wrists, testing the bonds. They were tight, but not impossible to break. I could get out of this, I just needed time.

Footsteps echoed in the room, and I knew they were coming for me. The same man. The one I saw in the alley. He was smart—he knew what he was doing.

He walked into the room, his silhouette casting a long shadow across the floor. I couldn’t see his face yet, but I could feel his presence, the danger in the air.

“Well, well,” a voice said, smooth and calm, “looks like you’ve finally caught up with me.”

My pulse quickened. I was still in the dark. I had no idea who this was, but I wasn’t going down without a fight.

“I’m not the one who’s caught up,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “You’re the one who’s made a mistake.”

The figure chuckled darkly, and I felt his presence draw closer. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s you who’s made the mistake. You have no idea what you’re up against, Evelyn.”

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