"I'm a friend of Derrick's. He sent me here to get help."
"And how's that my problem?" Alicia said flatly.
"He's been arrested for a crime he didn't commit. The mayor comes today, and if he hears of it, Derrick might be locked up for good."
"So where do I come in?"
"Honestly, I don't know. I was just asked to find you," Charles said, voice trembling.
Alicia sighed, lowered the gun, and offered her hand. Charles felt relief wash over him—at least he wasn't dying today. Still skeptical, he ignored her hand and got up on his own, brushing dust off his clothes.
"Uhhh… nice place you've got here," Charles muttered, glancing around at the cluttered, dimly lit room.
Alicia scoffed and walked into the kitchen.
"Coffee?" she called.
"No thanks, I'm good," Charles said, wandering toward a wall plastered with newspaper clippings—crime scenes, missing persons, old case files.
"You know it's rude to stare at people's walls," Alicia said, sipping from her mug.
"You know it's basically right in front of me, right?" Charles raised a brow.
Alicia didn't answer. The silence stretched.
"This isn't why I'm here," Charles said, waving a hand as if pushing the distraction aside.
"Then why are you here?" Alicia asked, her expression suddenly innocent.
"Don't do that."
"Do what?"
"Act like you don't know why I'm here. I've literally been saying it since I walked in."
"Okay." Her face went blank—too blank.
Charles sighed. "Look, we only have three hours to prove his innocence."
"Might I ask who 'we' are?" Alicia said, retreating into the kitchen again.
"We as in you and I," Charles said, though he sounded like he didn't fully believe it.
Alicia emerged again, arms folded. "And what makes you think I'll help you?"
"Because Derrick said your name. He said you were a detective." Charles watched the flicker of pain cross her face.
"That's right. I was a detective." Her jaw tightened. "Was. I quit two years ago."
"So that's why your home looks like this," Charles mumbled before he could stop himself.
Alicia's eyes hardened. "Times up. You need to leave." She grabbed his arm, pushing him toward the door.
"What about Derrick?"
"Sorry, buddy. I can't help you." She shoved him out and kicked the door shut.
"Derrick needs you! Please, Alicia!" Charles yelled, pounding on the door.
"Goodbye," she said through the wood, her voice final. A moment later, silence.
"Fine! I'll do it myself!" Charles shouted as he walked away, frustration echoing down the hallway.
Inside, Alicia slid to the floor, back against the door. Memories hit her like waves—the case that ruined her career, the partners she lost, the promises she failed to keep. And Derrick… Derrick who had pulled her out of a burning warehouse the night everything went horribly wrong. Derrick who she had promised to help if he ever needed her.
She never expected the day to come so soon. She never expected it to hurt this much.
Alicia dragged a hand over her face and exhaled shakily.
She could walk away. She had every reason to.
But she already knew she wouldn't.
With a groan, she pushed herself to her feet and stared at the mess around her—the forgotten detective gear, the abandoned case files, the walls she couldn't bring herself to tear down.
"It's going to be a long day," Alicia muttered to herself.
Then she grabbed her coat.
And the old detective in her, the one she tried so hard to bury, snapped awake.