The Offer

1 hour earlier

The Blackridge Police Department was alive with energy, buzzing in a way it hadn't in years. Officers gathered in small clusters, chatting excitedly, some laughing, others boasting about how they were finally going to work alongside the FBI.

"Can you believe it?" one officer said, shaking his head in disbelief. "FBI and BRPD, hand in hand. Feels like something out of a cop movie."

"Yeah, well, don't get too excited," another officer scoffed, leaning back in his chair. "You know how this goes. They'll take all the credit, and we'll do all the paperwork."

In the corner, a younger rookie whispered to his partner, "Bro, do you think if we impress them, they'll recruit us?"

Darren, half-listening, sat at his desk, trying to bring some order to the chaos—both the one in the station and the one on his cluttered desk. His workspace looked like it had survived a hurricane, papers stacked unevenly, some folders half-open, a coffee stain on one document that had long since dried.

He began sorting the files into three categories: important, date-wise, and… smell-wise.

Yeah. Some files had a smell. Some funky, stale-ass odor that came from being stuffed in storage rooms for years. Darren scrunched his nose as he picked up one particularly questionable file and held it at arm's length.

"Jesus. What is that?" he muttered.

Across the station, an officer shouted over the noise, "Hey, anyone see where the hell my doughnut went?"

"Check Greg's desk," someone replied. "That guy eats anything that isn't nailed down."

Darren sighed. The whole place was too loud, too crowded, too happy. He wasn't used to this kind of energy in the department, and honestly? He didn't like it.

Things weren't right.

Two brutal murders had happened just yesterday, but the station felt like they had already won. Like this wasn't still an ongoing nightmare.

Darren shook his head and focused back on his desk.

That's when Calloway walked over, holding two cups of coffee. His usual annoyed expression was still there, but his exhaustion was even more visible now.

Dark circles under his eyes, shoulders slightly slouched, his usual fire seemed just a little dimmer. He looked like he hadn't slept properly in weeks.

He didn't say anything at first. Just extended one of the cups toward Darren.

Darren blinked. Calloway never brought him coffee.

Like—ever.

He hesitated, looking from the coffee to Calloway, his brows furrowing slightly. He slowly raised an eyebrow, giving Calloway that universal "is this for me?" look.

Calloway sighed, already annoyed. "Just take it, Pierce."

Darren slowly reached out and took the cup, eyeing it suspiciously. He lifted it to his nose and sniffed.

Then, completely deadpan, he asked, "This isn't poisoned, is it?"

Calloway immediately looked like he wanted to punch him.

Before Calloway could snap, Darren had already ducked down slightly in his seat, predicting the incoming verbal explosion.

But before Calloway could say anything—

A new voice cut through the chatter.

"Officer Pierce, right?"

Darren's body stiffened.

That voice—unfamiliar, yet authoritative. Deep, heavy, and filled with an unshakable confidence.

It belonged to none other than Roger Caldwell Smith.

As the man walked toward them, his sheer presence shifted the energy of the entire room.

The background chatter? Lowered.

The laughter? Died down.

It was subtle, but noticeable. The moment Roger entered, the entire station subconsciously acknowledged his presence.

Darren immediately stood up, posture straightening. His mind raced—he knew who Roger was. His record was impressive, his reputation undeniable. This wasn't a man to take lightly.

Calloway, however, didn't move. Didn't react. Didn't even blink.

He just stared at Roger—like he was daring him to try something. Like he wanted to strangle him on the spot.

Roger didn't even glance at Calloway. His full attention was on Darren.

"It was an interesting theory you had at the meeting, Officer Pierce," Roger said, his tone calm, measured.

Darren kept his expression professional, nodding slightly. "Ah, that? Just a possibility, sir. I didn't mean to imply anything concrete."

Roger shook his head. "Not at all. It was quite fascinating."

Darren felt a lump form in his throat.

Roger smiled. But there was something in his eyes.

Something unreadable.

Something dangerous.

Roger's smile lingered, but his eyes remained sharp, analytical—like he was studying Darren, assessing every little reaction.

"You know, Officer Pierce," Roger began, his voice steady and deliberate, "people tend to fear what they don't understand. That's the natural order of things. It's why we cling so desperately to logic—to facts that we can see, hear, and touch. If something can't be measured, it isn't real. That's what they tell themselves."

Darren nodded stiffly, feeling the weight behind Roger's words.

"But you…" Roger continued, tilting his head slightly. "You spoke of something unseen. Something beyond what most would consider real."

Darren's hands curled into fists at his sides. Was that a compliment? A test?

Roger smiled, almost amused. "It's an interesting contradiction, isn't it? We believe in gravity, yet we cannot see it. We believe in time, though we cannot hold it. And yet, when faced with the possibility of forces beyond human comprehension, people scoff. Dismiss it as nonsense."

Darren swallowed. "That's… true, sir. People only trust what they can prove."

"Exactly," Roger said, his voice carrying a certain weight. "Which is why your theory stood out."

Darren hesitated.

Was Roger genuinely interested? Or was he leading him somewhere? Testing him?

Roger continued, his deep voice unwavering. "You're not like the others, Officer Pierce. While they were busy trying to fit this case into a neat little box, you considered a possibility they would never dare acknowledge. That kind of thinking is rare. Valuable."

Darren felt a twinge of unease.

This felt like praise. But why did it feel like a trap at the same time?

He wasn't sure what to say, so he just nodded.

Then, Roger shifted his gaze ever so slightly—to Calloway.

The tension in the air thickened immediately.

Darren could feel Calloway stiffen beside him, his grip tightening around the cup of coffee in his hand.

Roger's smile never wavered, but there was something almost playful in the way he observed Calloway, like a lion staring at a caged animal.

Calloway, for his part, didn't blink. Didn't move.

He just stared at Roger, his jaw locked, muscles tensed.

Roger finally turned his attention back to Darren, as if Calloway wasn't even worth addressing.

"So tell me, Officer Pierce," Roger continued, voice light, almost conversational. "Where did you come up with this theory?"

Darren opened his mouth to respond, but—

"I was the one who came up with it," Calloway interrupted.

Silence.

Darren turned to him, eyes slightly wide.

Roger raised a brow, finally giving Calloway his full attention.

"Pardon me?" Roger asked, his tone polite, but something about it felt pointed.

Calloway's gaze was firm, unyielding. "It was my theory. Darren just brought it up in the meeting."

Darren tensed, his mind racing. Why did Calloway lie?

Roger's smile returned, though it was smaller this time. "I see."

He turned fully to Calloway now, and Darren swore the room felt just a little colder.

Calloway didn't flinch. Didn't move.

For a moment, the two men just stared at each other.

The tension was suffocating.

Then, Roger smiled again, extending a hand. "And you are…?"

"Henry Calloway," Calloway said, shaking Roger's hand with a firm grip. "Senior officer."

"Ah," Roger nodded, withdrawing his hand after a few seconds. "I see."

Darren noticed Calloway flex his fingers once the handshake was over—like Roger's grip had been just a little too strong.

Roger clasped his hands behind his back, looking back at Darren. "It's always refreshing to meet officers who aren't afraid to consider… unconventional possibilities."

His words lingered.

Darren wasn't sure what Roger meant by that.

Was he being genuine? Mocking them? Testing them?

Darren's gut twisted slightly. He suddenly wasn't sure whether his theory had been good or if Roger was just playing a very dangerous game.

And the worst part?

Calloway seemed to sense it too.

Roger extended his hand toward Calloway first. "It's always good to meet officers with open minds," he said, his grip firm and unwavering.

Calloway hesitated for a fraction of a second before clasping Roger's hand. His grip was just as firm, but there was no warmth in it. If anything, it felt like a silent test of strength.

Roger held the handshake for just a second longer than necessary, as if gauging something, before finally letting go.

Then, he turned to Darren.

Darren stiffened instinctively, feeling Roger's eyes settle on him again. The agent reached out, offering his hand.

Darren swallowed and quickly took it, making sure his grip was steady. Roger's hand was larger, his grip controlled but not overwhelming.

"You had an interesting perspective, Officer Pierce," Roger said, holding onto Darren's hand as he spoke. "Most people wouldn't have thought to entertain such a possibility."

Darren forced a small, polite nod. "I was just thinking out loud, sir. I don't know if it holds any weight."

Roger chuckled slightly. "Oh, but it does. Sometimes, the truth isn't about what's obvious, but about what's ignored." His voice had a measured, almost philosophical tone to it. "People often mistake lack of evidence for lack of existence. Just because we can't see something, doesn't mean it isn't there. History has proven this time and time again."

Darren found himself second-guessing. Was Roger genuinely praising him? Or was this a carefully crafted response—a way to make him feel validated and lower his guard?

Roger finally released his hand.

"Which is why," Roger continued smoothly, "I'd like to extend an offer."

Darren blinked. "An offer?"

Roger nodded. "The FBI is officially taking over this case, but we could use good local officers who already understand Blackridge's layout and operations. You've shown sharp instincts, Officer Pierce."

Darren felt something in his chest tighten.

This was it.

A direct invitation to work on the case alongside the FBI. A career-changing opportunity.

But before he could even process it—

He felt Calloway's presence beside him shift.

He didn't need to look to know what was happening.

But against his better judgment, he glanced.

Calloway was staring at him.

His expression was unreadable, but his eyes—they spoke volumes.

A silent warning.

Not a single word was spoken between them, but Darren understood exactly what it meant.

Think very carefully before you answer.

And then Calloway did something even more insane.

When Roger turned slightly, Calloway raised his hand and, very subtly, drew his thumb across his throat in Darren's direction.

Darren almost choked on his own spit.

Did he just—

What the fuck was that supposed to mean?!

His brain scrambled for an answer. Was Calloway telling him to refuse? To stay quiet? Or did he mean—

Darren had no time to figure it out.

Roger was still looking at him, waiting. Expectant, but patient.

Darren's throat was dry. He hesitated too long.

He needed to answer.

His mind screamed with conflicting thoughts.

This was the FBI. This was his chance.

But Calloway's warning was still looming over him.

His heartbeat quickened.

"...I'll think about it," Darren finally said, keeping his voice as neutral as possible.

Roger studied him for a moment, then smiled. "Good."

He finally let go of Darren's hand.

And just like that, the air in the room shifted.

Darren felt an almost imperceptible tension fade—like something dangerous had just been avoided.

Or maybe… delayed.

He didn't know which possibility was worse.