The Prague Police Headquarters loomed ahead, its modern glass-and-concrete facade starkly contrasting the city’s historic skyline. Tom stepped through the sliding doors. The flop of his worn slipper echoing in the cavernous lobby garnered few curious glances—some wary, others outright hostile. The air carried the smoke, coffee, and printer toner stench, clinging to the station like a second skin. Overhead, lights buzzed, casting a harsh, unflattering glow on the rows of desks and the officers hunched over them.

  Tom didn’t need to look up to feel the weight of their stares. It was always the same—eyes darting away as soon as he met them, whispers trailing behind him like a shadow. The faint clatter of keyboards and the occasional phone ring did little to mask the tension that followed him.

  Kelly walked beside him with an easy stride, hands in her pockets, her eye sweeping the room with calculated indifference. She didn’t miss the way people tensed, the subtle change in posture. Her presence did nothing to the disgusted looks nor the muttered remarks.

  “Charming place,” she said dryly. “Everyone here always this friendly?”

  Tom smirked, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “You should see them on a good day.”

  They passed a cluster of officers gathered near the coffee machine. One of them, a wiry man with a buzz cut, leaned in to whisper something to his companion. Both snickered, the sound sharp and knowing.

  Kelly’s eyes narrowed. “What’s their problem?”

  “I’m their problem,” Tom said flatly. “They think I’m a liability. Or a lunatic. Depends on the day.”

  Kelly shook her head, but a voice rang out behind them before she could respond. “ Capt’n Everly! Didn’t think you’d be back this soon.”

  Tom turned to see Officer Marek. He grinned in smug satisfaction and sauntered towards them. “Marek,” Tom greeted him calmly. “Still wasting oxygen, I see.”

  Marek’s lips twitched, but he recovered quickly. “Just saying, Captain. You’ve been gone a while, and we never missed your presence.” He stepped towards the vending machine, punching in a selection. “Figured you finally retired. Or gotten yourself killed.”

  “Not yet,” Tom snickered. “But don’t worry, you still won’t get my position, no matter how well you suck the chief’s cock..”

  The laughter from the coffee machine died abruptly.

  Marek’s face reddened. His jaw tightened, unable to recover, but Tom didn’t wait. He turned and walked toward his office. Kelly followed, amusement flickering in her eyes.

  “I thought you were the office sweetheart,” she mused. “What’d you do to piss them off so much?”

  “Exist,” Tom exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “And solve cases they couldn’t. Or maybe not. I dunno what’s wrong with them.”

  Kelly shot him a sidelong glance, “You’re hateable enough, captain.”

  Tom shrugged. “Same difference.”

  They reached his office at the end of a dimly lit hallway. The door creaked open to reveal a small, cluttered space. The walls were lined with case files, crime scene photos, and pinned-up maps, haphazardly arranged as if the chaos reflected the state of his mind. Amidst the mess was a single photo—a young woman, her face frozen in time.

  Kelly stepped inside, eyes scanning the room. “Cozy,” she remarked. “Where’s the rest of your team?”

  Tom dropped into his chair, leaning back with a sigh. “What team?”

  Kelly raised an eyebrow. “You’re a captain. You’re supposed to have a team.”

  Tom smirked, but it was empty. “Had one. Like you said, everyone hates my guts.”

  “Why? Unsavory ways of handling cases?” Kelly leaned against the desk, arms crossed.

  Tom’s gaze flicked to the case board. “Something like that. Turns out everyone wants a piece of hot case.”

  Kelly said, “Not much of news, though. I like ice cream.”

  Tom glanced at her, amused. “Sucking up to me will get you an early ticket to the grave.”

  Kelly smirked, “Keep on dreaming.” Her gaze landed on the photo frame, “She’s pretty. Your daughter?”

  Before Tom could respond, a sharp knock on the door made them both turn. The door swung open to reveal Mareks’s smug, punchable face.

  “Captain Everly,” he sneered. “The chief wants to see you. Right now!”

  Tom exchanged a glance with Kelly, pushing himself up. “Stay here,” he muttered, grabbing his coat.

  Marek’s smirk widened, “She’s coming along.”

  Bob’s office was everything Tom’s wasn’t—spacious, well-lit, and meticulously organized. A large panoramic window overlooked the city skyline, casting long shadows across the polished desk. Bob sat behind it, his gleaming shoes propped up on the edge, exuding the self-satisfaction of a man who believed he owned the station. He wasn’t a large man, but he carried himself upright—deliberate, had a weight to it. His graying hair was combed back with precision, and the deep-set crease between his brows twitched slightly as he smiled—slow, measured, predatory.

  To Tom, he looked every bit the snake he was.

  “Tom!” Bob said, his voice dripping with false cheer as they walked in. “Good to see you. And who’s this?” His eyes flicked to Kelly, his smile widening.

  “Sergeant Kelly,” she answered coolly, stepping forward. “Prague 2 precinct. I’m keeping Captain Everly under watch for the café fire case.”

  Bob raised an eyebrow. “Under watch?” His chuckle was empty, a sound designed to mock. “Tom messing up—again. What is it this time?”

  Tom didn’t react. He stood stiffly by the door, hands buried in his pockets. He knew Bob’s game—act friendly, dig for information, then twist the knife when no one was looking.

  Bob leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping idly against the polished wood. “Come on, Sergeant, don’t be shy.”

  Kelly’s expression remained unreadable. “I was under the impression you’d already been briefed.”

  “Oh, I was,” Bob said, tilting his head. “But you know how it is—I like to hear things firsthand.” His eyes flicked to Tom. “Tom’s a lot of things, but an arsonist?” He let the words hang, lips curling. “Not quite his style.”

  Malice gleamed behind the feigned amusement.

  Tom exhaled through his nose. “Chief, with all due respect, I want my lawyer and a meeting with the deputy chief.”

  Bob’s smile faltered for a split second—just a flicker, gone before it could fully register. Then, he straightened his tie, smoothing it down like it was a habit he’d trained himself into. “Ah, of course. The deputy chief. Your knight in shining armor, isn’t he?”

  Tom held his gaze. “I’ll make the call myself.”

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  Bob’s grin stretched wider, too practiced to be anything but insincere. “Oh, we’ll see about that. But first—let’s have a private chat.”

  Tom didn’t move. His gaze flicked toward the hallway, where the interrogation rooms lay waiting. The same stale routine, the same dimly lit box designed to squeeze answers out of unwilling throats. He sighed. “Not this shit again.”

  Bob chuckled, motioning toward the door. “Please, Captain. I don’t want this any more than you do.”

  Tom rolled his shoulders, pushing off the doorframe with an air of exhaustion. As he stepped out, Kelly made to follow, but Marek—grinning like he’d won a prize—cut her off, steering her toward another hallway.

  Tom walked through the dark corridor, stepping into the interrogation room himself.

  The interrogation room was as bleak as ever—gray walls, a metal table, and a single chair waiting for him like an executioner’s block. The air carried the scent of cigarettes, sweat, and coffee left to burn in a pot too long. The overhead light buzzed faintly, flickering just enough to make the shadows dance.

  Tom dropped into the chair, resting his wrists against the cool metal surface. His knuckles were still raw, the faint bruise under his right eye settling into a deeper shade of purple. He looked tired—but not broken.

  Across from him, Bob took his time settling in, fingers steepled under his chin, eyes gleaming with quiet amusement. His uniform was pristine, the badge on his chest polished to a self-important shine. But his smile—thin, razor-sharp—was anything but clean.

  Bob let the silence stretch, drinking in the moment.

  An old trick. Let the bastard stew.

  Tom smirked. “Gonna need a stronger play than that, Bob.”

  Bob chuckled, slow and measured. “Oh, don’t worry, Tom. We’ve got all night.”

  Bob leaned back in his chair. “So tell me, Everly… how exactly did you end up naked in a burning building next to a charred corpse?"

  Tom exhaled through his nose, rubbing his temple where the bandage itched. "I don’t know, Chief. Maybe I was sleepwalking."

  Bob clicked his tongue. "See, that’s the problem with you. Always got a joke. Always got a way to weasel out of things. But this time?" He leaned forward, hands flat on the table. "This time, you’re out of luck."

  Tom met his gaze, unflinching. "If you say so."

  Bob chuckled. It was a dry, reptilian sound. "Oh, you bet your ass it is. See, the evidence, it's not looking good for you. No witness. No alibi. Just you and the dead man, cozy as can be. But here’s the real kicker—" He let the words hang, watching Tom’s face for any flicker of reaction. "You don’t have a single burn on you. Not a damn scratch. So tell me, captain…” His smile widened, “How did you pull that up?"

  Silence.

  Tom stared at him. Then he shrugged. "MAGIC!"

  Bob’s smile widened, but there was nothing friendly about it. He reached into a folder, sliding out a series of crime scene photos. The café gutted by flames. The corpse—blackened, twisted. The dried soot of bloodstain on the floor beneath the body. But no knife.

  Bob tapped a finger against the image. "This man was stabbed, Everly. Before the fire."

  Tom glanced at the photo, unimpressed. "Yeah? And?"

  Bob’s voice dropped, turning into a near whisper. "And we found your fingerprints on a knife at the scene."

  A muscle in Tom’s jaw twitched—just a flicker, gone in a second. But Bob saw it. He was looking for it. Tom let out a low chuckle, “Your tricks are getting old, Bob. So, what kind of knife it was? I don’t one here.” He shuffled through all the photos that were laid across the table.

  Bob leaned back, watching him with a toothy grin. "Patience, captain. I know you’ve plenty of it— for someone obsessed with cases older than me."

  Tom yawned, stretching his arms. "Bob, Kelly was the one who swept the scene, remember?”

  Bob clicked his tongue again, shaking his head. "That’s too bad. I almost had you."

  Tom mock-clapped, slow, and exaggerated. “Congrats?”

  Bob smirked, basking in the fake praise, “Thank you.” He sighed, reaching into his pocket, and slowly slid a smaller photo before Tom. Bob tapped the metal surface, a rhythmic beat, “So, what were you saying?”

  The knife was bloody, stainless steel. The handle wrapped in worn leather.

  Tom tilted his head, studying it. He let the silence stretch. Bob watched Tom like a snake watching a cornered mouse.

  Tom smiled. "You’ve been taking brain boosters lately, it seems. Tom raised his hands in surrender. “I am sleeping on the cell floors tonight, it seems.”

  He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, “Get a lawyer."

  Bob smirked as if he’d been expecting it. "Of course you do." He stood up, straightening his uniform. "But you see, there’s just one problem, Everly."

  Tom didn’t bite. Just stared.

  Bob’s grin widened. "You’re not under arrest. Not yet."

  Tom’s brow furrowed as he stood up, “I’ll be leaving then."

  Bob let out a slow, exaggerated sigh. "You can try."

  Tom clenched his jaw. "The lawyer was for you, Bob."

  Bob’s amusement faded. His eyes darkened, and his fingers drummed against the table. "Gosh, can you ever shut up?”

  Tom replied flatly, “Nope.” He held his gaze with Bob’s. “What is it that you want, Bob?”

  Bob smirked. “Justice?" He slowly walked to Tom and leaned close enough to tell him what he had for dinner. "You are not walking out of this one, Everly."

  Tom’s stare didn’t waver. “We’ll see about that."

  Bob bared his teeth in something that wasn’t quite a smile. "Oh, we sure will." He turned to the door and opened it. Two officers stepped inside. They looked happy. One of the fatter ones said, “No hard feelings, Capt’n.”

  Tom gave them a curt nod, “None taken.” His gaze flicked to Bob, “And Bob, can I give a call?”

  Bob didn’t bother looking back. Tom sighed, following the officers toward the holding cells.

  "Let me know if you remember anything, Everly!"

  That was the last thing he heard before Bob’s footsteps faded down the corridor. Tom muttered a few curses under his breath, glancing at the officers beside him. “So… Can I borrow your phone?”

  They shook their head in dismissal.

  Figures.

  _______________

  Tom sat on the metal bench, arms draped over his knees, head tilted back against the cold brick wall. The fluorescent lights above buzzed like angry insects, drilling into his skull and worsening his headache. The pungent stench of booze and puke clung to the air, a familiar cocktail of regret and cheap justice.

  Then came the slow, deliberate click of heels against the concrete floor.

  He didn’t have to look to know who it was.

  "Well, well, look at you," Kelly drawled, arms crossed as she leaned against the bars. “And here I was, thinking I’d be the one to have the honor.”

  Tom cracked an eye open. “You were missing me already, Sarge?”

  She smirked. "Mm. Regrettably. Missed my chance to slap the cuffs on you." She tilted her head, feigning disappointment. “Bob stole all the fun.”

  Tom let out a dry chuckle, rubbing his temple. “Yeah, well. He’s good at stealing the limelight.”

  Kelly leaned in slightly, dropping her voice just enough to cut through the teasing. “You good?”

  Tom sighed, rolling his shoulders. The cot in the corner looked about as inviting as a slab in the morgue. "Oh, you know. Fantastic accommodations, great company. Maybe I’ll extend my stay.”

  Kelly snorted. "Right. I’ll see about getting you a room upgrade." Then her smirk faded slightly, her eyes sharpening. "You sure you don’t want to tell me what’s really going on?"

  For a second, Tom just looked at her. And for a second, he felt it. The weight of it all pressing against the cracks in his head, the edges of something bigger clawing at his ribs. But he just shrugged it off like an old coat.

  “Nah. Wouldn’t want to ruin your fun.”

  Kelly exhaled, watching him for a beat longer before pushing off the bars. “Fine. I’ll be off then.”

  Tom shooed her with a lazy flick of his fingers.

  She took two steps back—then turned right back around, gripping the bars. “Seriously, man. Let me in on some juicy bits.” Her eyes sparkled, a mix of curiosity and mischief. Tom had seen that look before. “Please, Cap’n. I won’t get any sleep at this rate. And I promise I’ll have indigestion for weeks.”

  Tom huffed out a laugh. She reminded him of himself once.

  Yawning, he stretched and reached through the bars, palm open. “Phone.”

  Kelly didn’t hesitate. She pulled it from her pocket and placed it in his hand.

  Tom silently typed in a number, his fingers moving with practiced ease. Then he locked eyes with her.

  “Send a voice message. ‘No ghost. Only fudge.’”

  Kelly frowned one brow arching. “The hell does that mean?”

  Tom didn’t answer. He returned the phone, yawned again, and lay on the bench, tucking an arm behind his head.

  “Goodnight, Sarge.”

  Kelly sighed, uncertain of whether to take it seriously or not.