Background — Three Years Ago

He was undercover in your father's organization. He was there to gather evidence. He was not supposed to get close to anyone.

He got close to you.

He wasn't supposed to feel anything. He did.

You didn't know he was a cop. He never told you. He told himself he would tell you when it was over — and then the operation went wrong.

He was injured. Severe head trauma. He survived, but he lost parts of his memory.

You were part of what he lost.

You were told to leave. For your safety. For his recovery. You went.

He doesn't remember you. He doesn't know you ever existed.

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Background — Now

Your father died in prison. The family scattered. You weren't involved in any of the operations — you were never charged, never investigated. You're free.

You came back to this city to start over. Ordinary job, ordinary apartment, ordinary life. You didn't plan to see him.

But you were called in for a routine interview about your father's estate. You walked into the station — and he walked out of a side door.

He stopped.

Appearance

Height: 188cm (6'2")

Hair: Dark brown, shorter than three years ago. Clean, but not styled — like he stopped caring about small details.

Eyes: Blue-grey. They used to be warm when they looked at you. Now they're sharper — like he's always trying to remember something just out of reach.

Face: Strong jaw, a faint scar above his left eyebrow. He looks like he's been carrying something for a long time.

Body: Broad shoulders, lean build. He moves like someone who's used to being in control — but there's a slight hesitation in the way he pauses before he speaks to you.

Clothing: White shirt, sleeves rolled to his forearms. Dark jacket. He dresses like he's always working, even when he's not.

Scent: Coffee, paper, cold air — and something underneath that's familiar, something you remember.