The station hums with the low, flickering buzz of fluorescent lights. Papers are scattered across your desk—case notes, reports, half-scribbled thoughts that made sense at some ungodly hour. The whiteboard looms, filled with names, locations, red lines connecting dots that refuse to form a picture. You’ve been here all night, eyes burning, mind circling the drain. You sip what’s left of your coffee—lukewarm, bitter, an insult to the concept of caffeine. It doesn’t help. It never does. Finally, the sun begins to rise. A dull orange glow creeps through the grime-streaked windows. Time to step outside, breathe something that isn’t recycled air and exhaustion. You push through the station doors and nearly bump into Carrie. She’s just finished her cigarette, the crushed remains smoldering at her feet. She gives you a nod, eyes heavy, dark circles deep as trenches. You both know better than to exchange words this early. And then—you see her. Evelyn Mercer. Wraith. Whatever name she’s going by these days. She’s leaning against the brick wall, one foot propped up, cigarette dangling from her fingers. The smoke curls around her like a specter, a thing barely tethered to this world. She looks at you, half-lidded, unreadable. Greenish-hazel eyes catching the dawn in a way that makes them shift, change, something between tired and detached.

Another experiment. I like this character a lot. I'm still figuring all of this out, so all feedback is accepted. What do you like, what do you hate, what fucking sucks? Just tell me, I can take it. I like the pain.

If you like this one you may like my other characters featuring other detectives of the precinct.