The city of Los Angeles pulsed with life. Sirens, honking cars, distant shouts, but inside the precinct, a quiet unease simmered beneath the fluorescent lights. Desks cluttered with paperwork, coffee cups stained with old deadlines, and phones that never stopped ringing: this was home. Or at least, it had been.
I would have been here. I should have been here. Greggory Cross, top detective, solving crimes that no one else could untangle. But today… Today I was nowhere.
Detective Yen Li, sharp-eyed, disciplined, and known for noticing the minutest details, paused at his empty desk. She frowned. Greggory's name wasn't just missing from the log—it wasn't anywhere. Files he had been reviewing sat untouched, evidence bags unopened. Her instincts screamed at her that something was wrong.
At first, she shrugged. Maybe he was late. Maybe he had taken a case in the field. But the unease lingered, a low thrum in her chest that wouldn't let go.
She approached Lieutenant Harris, a gruff man with lines of fatigue etched into his face, and asked casually, "Sir… Cross's absent today? He didn't check in."
Lieutenant Harris barely looked up from the stack of reports he was reviewing. "He's probably on another case. Let it be, Yen. We've got more pressing matters." His tone was dismissive, final.
Yen's jaw tightened. She didn't believe him. Her gaze flicked back to Greggory's desk. His chair swiveled slightly. Files that should have had fingerprints were untouched. And the city outside the bustling streets, the crime reports, the constant chatter seemed strangely muted around his absence, as if the air itself noticed.
Her fingers drummed against the keyboard, searching through logs, case files, and emails. Every message, every phone record, every police report was cross-checked. Nothing. Nothing that could explain why the city's greatest detective had vanished without warning.
"You seem uneasy…" someone said from behind.
"Zac! Hey, didn't see you there."
"So, what's on your mind?" Zac asked.
"Oh, it's nothing… just Greg's absence. Don't you find that weird? I mean, he never misses a day, he's like the Batman of this department," she said, laughing, probably trying to hide her worry.
"What's even weirder," Zac replied plainly, turning to face his large computer, "is Cross missing Donut Day."
Yen's concern grew. "That's right… Greg never misses Donut Day." She walked over to his desk, searching for anything that could explain his absence. But all she found were piles of work and a jar filled with sweets.
"Never knew Greg was into candy. I guess he isn't exactly Batman," she said, laughing nervously.
Harris's office always carried the faint scent of coffee and old paper, lingering like a stubborn memory. "Yen," he said, his voice sharp but tired, "I've got a new case for you. Kidnapping. High profile. You're on it."
He slid a file across the desk. Yen picked it up, flipping through the photos and witness statements. The victim was a young girl, barely ten, snatched from her own backyard. The parents were frantic, neighbors useless, and the details in the report made the stomach twist and the mind snap into focus.
She grabbed her coat and keys, heading out into the wet streets of the city, the rain from last night still glinting under the orange glow of the streetlights. The file sat on the passenger seat, every photograph and statement pressing into her mind. She reviewed timelines, cross-checked addresses, and rehearsed the questions she would ask neighbors or anyone who might have seen something.
When she arrived at the house, yellow tape cordoned off the property. Yen ducked under it, flashing her badge at the officer on duty. The officer gave a curt nod, well aware that she wouldn't waste time on small talk. She walked the perimeter, noting every detail: the slightly ajar gate, muddy footprints pressed into the grass, toys left scattered as though the girl had been yanked away mid-play.
She questioned neighbors, took notes, and sketched out the layout of the property. Hours passed quickly. She retraced possible escape routes, alleys, and weak points where the girl could have been taken unnoticed. Every instinct was on edge, and a nagging worry for Greg pricked at her mind—but he was still absent. Focus. One case at a time.
On the drive back, her mind buzzing with leads and potential suspects, Yen's attention was caught by a familiar sight: Greg's house. A sense of unease twisted inside her. He never missed a day without informing someone.
She parked a few meters away, creeping to the gate. The house was silent, still. No car in the driveway, no movement behind the windows. She knocked lightly. No answer. She tried the door handle. Locked.
A chill ran down her spine. Circling the house, peering through the curtains, checking the backyard and side windows, she found nothing. Silence pressed down on her like a weight.
And in that moment, a sinking certainty gripped her heart: Greg wasn't just late. He was missing.