I stepped into my cold, vacant apartment, the chill seeping into my bones as I shut the door behind me. Flicking on the heater, I savored the soft hum that promised a slow but certain warmth. The heater was a rare luxury in this modest two-room place, something I'd managed to acquire along with the apartment itself. The previous tenant had let it go for a fair price—a lucky break I hadn't questioned too much.
Without wasting a moment, I dropped the documents and the neatly wrapped gifts from Sasha onto the chair. One for me, one for Samuel. Her thoughtfulness was something else, even if I didn't always say it aloud. For now, exhaustion dragged at me, and I closed my eyes, letting the coziness of the room—still faint—lull me into stillness.
The heater began its slow work, soft clicks and warmth spreading like a tentative embrace across the apartment. I could hear the distant hum of the city outside, muffled by the walls. It wasn't much, this place—two rooms, a kitchen that barely fit its name, and a view of nothing—but it was mine.
The gifts caught my eye again, perched awkwardly on the chair next to the scattered documents. Sasha's enthusiasm was almost infectious, her energy filling even the quietest spaces. Samuel would laugh when he saw his—probably crack a joke about her taste. Mine? I wasn't sure if I'd open it tonight or let it sit, untouched, a reminder of the rare moments of connection in this chaotic life.
I sank into the worn couch, the creak of old springs beneath me. The weight of the day pressed down, but for the first time in hours, the silence felt like a friend rather than an enemy.
I managed to fall asleep quickly, the weight of the day pulling me under like a heavy tide. The soft hum of the heater became a lullaby, blending with the faint sounds of the city outside. My thoughts, once scattered and restless, dissolved into the growing warmth of the room.
For a brief moment, the world outside—cases, questions, and unanswered calls—ceased to exist. In the quiet cocoon of my apartment, sleep came as both an escape and a small mercy.
******
The following morning came too quickly, the light creeping through the blinds and casting narrow strips across the floor. The apartment was still too cold, but the heater had worked its magic. I could feel the dull ache in my muscles, the aftereffects of a restless night catching up to me.
I blinked the sleep away, rubbing my eyes before glancing at the gifts Sasha had left me. For a second, I debated whether I should open them now or leave them for later, but the urgency of the day quickly took over. A case wasn't going to solve itself, and there were people waiting—people who counted on me.
I dragged myself out of bed, the day already demanding my attention, and began to get ready.
I fueled myself with two eggs and some whole-grain bread, a simple routine that never changed. While the eggs sizzled on the pan, I prepared some instant coffee—nothing fancy, but it did the job. Coffee and beer were my staples; they always had a place in my cramped kitchen, a testament to the odd balance of my lifestyle.
With breakfast in hand, I stepped onto the terrace, my refuge from the chaos inside. The stool and tiny table were hardly comfortable, but they gave me a front-row seat to the world outside. The neighborhood was alive with the glow of Christmas lights, the air humming with warmth despite the chill. Across the street, a family was gathered near a small Christmas tree, their laughter floating up to where I sat. The joy was almost tangible, even from this distance—a stark contrast to the solitude I'd wrapped myself in.
I let my gaze drift back to my apartment through the open door. It wasn't filthy, just… lived in. Papers scattered here, clothes piled there. A month's worth of neglect from nights spent chasing answers and mornings running on fumes. I blamed it on my absence, but a part of me knew that even if I'd been home, the place wouldn't look much different.
I pulled out the cigarette pack and felt the cold metal of the lighter in my pocket. I placed them both on the table in front of me, staring at them like they held answers to questions I couldn't articulate. My smoking habit wasn't out of control—or so I liked to tell myself. A harmless indulgence, I'd deluded myself into believing.
Picking one cigarette from the pack, I hesitated, the lighter heavy in my hand. Should I light it or let it rest unlit, a silent companion to my thoughts? Before I could decide, a voice cut through the stillness.
"Merry Christmas, Mr. Hoffman," the voice called again, this time more insistent. I turned my head and spotted a boy, no more than five years old, standing across the terrace. His oversized winter coat made him look even smaller, the sleeves nearly swallowing his tiny hands. A kid, really—barely old enough to be out on his own, let alone wishing strangers a Merry Christmas.
"Merry Christmas," I replied, the words automatic but softened by his earnestness.
He rocked on his heels, his breath visible in the cold morning air. "Are you having Christmas all by yourself?" he asked, his tone equal parts curiosity and concern.
I raised an eyebrow, taken aback by the question. "Something like that," I said. "What about you? Shouldn't you be with your family?"
"They're inside," he said, pointing toward the glowing windows of one of the neighboring apartments. "Mom said I could say hi to the neighbors."
"Well, you've said hi," I replied with a faint smile. "What's your name, kid?"
"Alex Dawson," he said proudly, puffing out his little chest.
"Dawson?" The name stirred something in the back of my mind. "Are you related to Noah Dawson?"
He frowned, his tiny face scrunching up in confusion. "Noah?" he repeated. "I don't know any Noahs."
I chuckled softly, shaking my head. "Figures. Never mind, kid."
He lingered a moment longer, as if debating whether to say more, then gave me one last wave before scurrying back inside, his boots squeaking on the terrace floor.
I watched him go, the cigarette still between my fingers, unlit. The kid's unexpected cheer stayed with me longer than I'd admit, a fleeting moment of warmth on a morning that otherwise felt as cold as the air around me.
I stood up, leaving my soulmate—the unlit cigarette—on the table. Its absence felt almost symbolic, but I brushed the thought aside and stepped back into the apartment. The cold hit me again, though the heater was doing its best to push back the chill.
I sank into the chair at my desk, where two neatly wrapped gifts rested. Sasha had gone the extra mile, using furoshiki cloth instead of typical wrapping paper. Her attention to detail was something I'd come to appreciate in quiet moments like this.
I picked up my gift and carefully untied the cloth. Inside was a small Japanese lantern—an andon. Its minimalist design reminded me of Sasha's fondness for things that carried meaning. I set it on the desk and flicked it on, its soft glow immediately warming the room in more ways than one. She always had a way of making the world feel just a little less cold.
Turning my attention back to the desk, I opened the drawer and pulled out Noah Dawson's file. His death had left a ripple of unresolved questions, and in my line of work, ripples often turned into waves. The document contained the usual details—associates, personal notes, and background information. My eyes skimmed the list of names until I reached a section marked "Colleagues."
Picking up my notepad, I started jotting down the connections I couldn't ignore:
1. Womanizer
2. Pregnant girlfriend
3. Company's gossip
The whispers about Noah painted a man with no shortage of enemies. But one name stood out from the rest, someone who hadn't been under enough scrutiny yet:
4. Jake Brooks (the present team leader)
I tapped the pen against the desk, my mind circling back to Cassandra Cottingham. Something told me she wasn't just a coincidence in all this. The name Noah Dawson and her calculated demeanor were threads in a web I was still trying to untangle.
I was working with assumptions—playing a filthy, high-stakes game of intuition and hunches. But my gut rarely steered me wrong. And right now, it told me I was closer than I'd ever been.