Julian's apartment was small, almost skeletal in its design. There was no fancy furniture, no decoration beyond what necessity demanded. A single table was buried under stacks of case files, loose papers spilling onto the floor. A corkboard on the wall was cluttered with a chaotic mess of scribbled notes, photographs, and faded post-its.
The lighting was dim, a single, bare bulb casting more shadow than glow. A ceiling fan creaked lazily above, its blades stirring the heavy, stale silence rather than breaking it.
Julian dropped his jacket onto the back of a chair. He collapsed onto the bed, the springs groaning in protest under his weight. He stared upward, his eyes following the fan's slow spin, his face expressionless but etched with exhaustion. The steady, indifferent hum of the fan filled the room.
His phone buzzed in his pocket.
He pulled it out, the screen's bright white light harsh in the dim room. A message from an unknown number.
"You should take up this case, Julian. 13th Feb, Victoria Hall"
Julian's eyes widened. The exhaustion was gone, replaced by a jolt of shock. He pushed himself up, sitting straight, groaning as his muscles protested. He placed the phone on the nightstand and buried his head in his hands, looking around his empty room as if the walls themselves held an answer.
---
The next day, the squad room was crowded and smelled of burnt coffee. A projector hummed at the front, casting a bright square of light on a portable screen. Peterson stood before the department, pointing to slides of crime scene photos and bank statements. Rows of officers sat in silence. Julian and Alina shared a table near the back, watching closely.
"And this is the bank statement," Peterson said, his voice calm and professional. He pointed to the screen with a laser. "Our city official made some deals with people like Vega, to Jasper. Using public funds."
The room filled with murmurs. Julian listened intently.
Peterson clicked to the next slide. "We found something even more interesting. And that is..."
The screen changed, displaying a graphic, close-up photo of a human body. On the skin was a star-shaped tattoo, or perhaps a brand, dark with blood.
Alina glanced sideways at Julian, but he didn't look back. He was looking down at his hands.
"It is the star-shaped killer," Peterson said.
The murmurs this time were loud, a wave of shock and disbelief. Peterson smirked, confident in his investigation.
An old man in the front row, with a sharp, gray moustache, spoke up. "So, you are saying the star-shaped killer is back?"
"Yes sir," Peterson said.
The old man nodded. "Can't it be an imposter trying to spin this case?"
The question grabbed everyone's attention.
"Sir," Peterson said, his confidence unwavering, "the star killer always killed people who are corrupt, mostly. We had a lot of imposters before as well, but they all killed innocent people." He paused, letting the weight of his next words land. "I am not saying the city official is a bad person. I'm saying the city official's a corrupt person."
The room went silent.
In the back, Julian let out a low, soundless chuckle. Alina noticed it.
---
They were in a smaller room now, empty except for a desk cluttered with files. The only background noise was the low, electric hum of a vending machine down the hall.
"You know something, don't you?" Alina's voice was serious.
Julian looked up, a thin smile playing on his lips. "Why are you so smart?"
Alina didn't smile. She shook her head, slowly. "No. I'm not smart." They held eye contact. "You are dumb."
Julian chuckled. Alina did not seem happy. She slowly leaned forward. "Julian, I'm serious."
Julian's laugh died. "Alright."
A pause. Julian sighed. "Yesterday, I got a message. Sender unknown. It had an address and a date three months ago."
Alina listened, focused.
"I went to the area," Julian continued. He remembered standing in front of the dark, imposing auditorium, the sky pitch black. "I broke into the auditorium."
Alina raised an eyebrow but didn't interrupt.
"I checked the footage of that date." He pictured the CCTV feed, the grainy, black-and-white figures. "You know what I found?"
The screen in his memory had shown a meeting, a conference held by the city official.
"A conference," Julian said, his voice flat. "City Official's the guest speaker." He didn't look up. "I sent the footage to someone, and he transcribed it." A pause. Julian finally looked up. "He made fun of philanthropists like Damon."
As soon as the word "Damon" left his mouth, Alina rolled her eyes, groaning. "Oh for fuck's sake, Julian!"
Julian sighed, his frustration rising. "This is why I didn't want to tell you."
Alina laughed, a mocking, bitter sound. "Oh why? Because I won't believe your bullshit obsession about a beloved philanthropist?"
Julian looked at her, his expression turning hard. "It's not a bullshit obsession."
A tense silence stretched between them.
Alina sighed, her voice softening slightly, but heavy with disappointment. "I thought you would be different after being away, but you are still the same guy who is—"
"Who is what?" Julian snapped. "Say it!"
"Paranoid."
The word hung in the air. Julian was pissed. "Paranoid?" he shouted, his voice cracking. "Then explain the messages, the address and everything!"
"Exactly," Alina shot back, her own voice rising.
Julian breathed heavily, his chest tight.
"Did you get enough sleep yesterday?" she asked, her tone shifting to condescension.
"No! Fuck my sleep! Fuck you!"
Alina reeled back, genuinely surprised by his venom. "I really don't think you should be speaking like that to your superior."
Julian looked up, his eyes flashing. He slammed his fists on the table. "I will! Fuck you and your superiority! What will it cost me? My shitty job?"
He ripped his ID card from his belt and slammed it on the table. The sharp _clack_ of the plastic echoed in the small room.
Alina sighed, her anger draining away, leaving only disappointment. "Get some rest."
She stood up and walked away from the frustrated, panting Julian, slamming the door shut behind her.
Julian was left sitting alone, holding his head in his hands.