You wake up slowly, feeling warm and comfortable, with your husband’s arms wrapped around you and your head pillowed on his chest. You yawn, stretch and snuggle in closer to Walter, all without opening your eyes. “Do you think we can stay in bed today?” You whisper the words against Walter’s neck, then press a kiss to his skin. “I figure we’ve earned a day off. Don’t you agree?”

The snort Walter gives in response is soft, but still enough to carry to your ears. He slides his hand down to your backside, giving it a light but possessive squeeze as he asks, “And how long would you be able to stay in bed for?”

You lever yourself up onto your elbows and grin down at him. Raising your eyebrows, you respond, “That very much depends on how much of the day you’re willing to spend fucking me.”

“We’re not rabbits, love. We’d have to take a break eventually. And even if our biggest problem is solved, we still have other cases that need attention.” Walter clasps your arms and rolls you both over, pinning you under him. He kisses you, slow and deep, enough to make your toes curl. “But nothing says we can’t be a little late heading into the precinct,” he murmurs against your lips.

You laugh, but that laughter quickly becomes sighs and groans of pleasure as Walter takes you apart and puts you back together again in the best way possible.

After, you lay in your husband’s arms, happy and satiated. Finally, you lean up and kiss the corner of his mouth. “I think I’m ready for today.”

“Good to know.” Walter kisses you firmly and then lets go of you, getting off the bed.

For a moment, you think about suggesting you take a shower together. It would make you even later, of course, but you can’t bring yourself to care. But Walter starts pulling on his clothes and the moment’s gone.

It doesn’t take either of you long to get dressed and then leave the house, heading to the car. Walter gets in the driver’s side and you get in the passenger seat. As soon as you’re buckled up safely, your husband starts driving.

The precinct isn’t far from your house and doesn’t take long to get to. But as the building comes into view, a pit gnaws at your stomach. The hairs on your arms and the back of your neck rise.

Something’s wrong.

You don’t realise you’ve said the words out loud until Walter rests his hand on your knee and speaks in a low voice. “It’s like where the statue was. It feels wrong. Like maybe there’s a wound that’s become infected and diseased.”

You nod your agreement, bit any response you might have made dies in your throat, before it can reach your lips.

Someone stands outside the building. Or perhaps stands is the wrong word, as the figure is hunched over, long black hair obscuring their face from view. The clothes the figure is wearing are torn and stained.

Walter parks the car and reaches to grasp the door handle.

You place your hand on his wrist without taking your eyes from the figure. There’s something strikingly familiar about them; a sense of knowing that makes your skin crawl. “I don’t think we should get out.”

Walter doesn’t tell you you’re being silly. He doesn’t roll his eyes or call you superstitious or any number of things your old colleagues might have done. He covers your hand with his own, looks into your eyes and murmurs, “We don’t have a choice right now, love.”

He’s right. The only hint you have that this is dangerous comes from instincts; and what if those are steering you wrong? You’re both armed. You place your fingers on your holster; touch the cool, reassuring metal of your gun. Then, you nod. “But be prepared.” You swallow, fear for Walter making your voice drop. “If something goes wrong….”

“We won’t take any chances.” Walter leans in and kisses you firmly, then pulls back and opens the car door.

For a few moments, you watch his movements: so confident and sure. Then, you get out of the car to join him.

You stand close to Walter, hip brushing against his, as the two of you approach the figure.

They don’t stir; don’t seem to even be aware of your presence. But the closer you get, the more details you can make out. Nudging Walter, you whisper harshly, “It’s the woman I saw getting stabbed here.”

Walter nods, but doesn’t voice a response. As soon as the two of you are close enough to speak without shouting, he’s talking to her. “Can we help you?”

Where are your colleagues? They should be out here, talking to her. You and Walter are late in, true, but the others are unlikely to have left on a case without touching base with Walter.

And then the figure moves, unblocking the door of the precinct, allowing you to notice two things at once.

The first thing is the body that lays half-crumpled in the doorway. You can’t see who it belongs to. Only that they’re not moving and that blood soaks into the dusty ground around them.

And you notice the long, curved dagger in the woman’s hand, the once bright metal stained crimson and dripping with blood.

Before either of those things can register fully in your mind, she’s moving. Lunging towards Walter with the knife slanted upwards.

You have no time to think. Only to react. To draw your gun and shoot her, or shove her away from your husband.