Eloise stood in the grand marble lobby of the Eastern Police District Headquarters, clutching her brown leather folder close to her chest. The air smelled of disinfectant and burnt coffee. Officers passed by in a steady stream, their eyes glued to their phones or conversing in low murmurs.
The receptionist, an older woman with reading glasses perched precariously on the bridge of her nose, barely spared Eloise a glance.
"Excuse me, I'm here for the—"
"Conference room. Down the hall, last door on the left," the woman said, her tone flat and disinterested. She didn't even look up, her fingers tapping lazily on her keyboard.
Eloise's lips pressed together, but she nodded. "Thank you."
Her heels echoed against the polished floor as she walked down the hallway. She was early—half an hour early, to be exact. Years of academic life had conditioned her to be punctual, but her nerves made her restless.
She walked through the conference room.
Eloise sat at the long table, her polished demeanor masking the swirling anxiety underneath. Her eyes scanned the room—minimalistic, gray walls, a mounted whiteboard that hadn't been erased properly, and a row of chairs lined neatly against the wall.
She took a deep breath and double-checked her résumé. Impressive grades. Clinical experience. An internship at a forensic psychology firm. But she knew this interview wasn't just about credentials. Police work was different—messier, unpredictable.
The door swung open.
A tall, broad-shouldered man entered, his presence commanding immediate attention. He wore a dark suit, with streaks of gray lining his neatly combed hair. His sharp gaze landed on Amelia, and for a moment, he said nothing.
Then he frowned.
"I'm sorry, little girl," he said, his voice dripping with skepticism. "I think you're in the wrong place."
Eloise didn't flinch. Instead, she tilted her head, her brown eyes observing the man with a quiet intensity. Her lips curved ever so slightly.
"No, sir." She stand firmly, "I think I'm where I'm supposed to be."
He scoffed and turned his back on her. As he was about to hold the door's handle...
"Sir," she said softly, "how's your wife?"
The question stopped him in his tracks. His brow furrowed, confusion flickering in his eyes.
"What?" The question hung in the air.
"Your wife," Eloise continued, her tone neutral. "You're married." It's not a question but a statement.
"I saw a ring on your left hand... you're married." She continued
"And I also noticed the scuff mark on your wedding ring, which means you take it off frequently. Not uncommon in law enforcement... some officers prefer not to wear it during work. But there's a faint line around your finger, paler than the rest of your skin. Suggests you've been taking it off more often lately, not just at work."
The man's posture straightened, his expression guarded.
Eloise leaned forward slightly. "The wrinkle on the side of your shirt, near your shoulder, is where a bag strap usually sits. Probably your wife's. She was here recently, wasn't she? Picked something up. Left quickly."
The man's face darkened. He opened his mouth, closed it again.
She pause"Yourtie," she went on, gesturing slightly. "Loosened, but not in a casual way. More like someone who's been yanking at it. A sign of stress... Frustration, most likely emotional rather than work-related."
For a moment, the room was silent.
"How the hell—" His voice trailed off as he stared at her in disbelief.
"I just observe," Eloise said, offering a small smile. "It's what I do."
The man's face was unreadable, but his eyes—those dark, assessing eyes—studied her with a newfound respect.
"You're hired."
Eloise blinked. "What?"
"You heard me." He crossed his arms, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I don't need another pretty résumé. I need someone who is useful—and you just read me like a damn book, like a god damn Sherlock Holmes."
He chuckled as he get out of the room, leaving her alone.
"Um... so... what I'm supposed to do?" Eloise looked around the lifeless room as she talk to herself. A couple of seconds later, as Amelia gathered her things, unsure what to do next, the door open again and the man spoke again.
"One more thing," he said, his tone softer. "My daughter's birthday is next week. She's about your age. Any ideas for a gift?"
"Hmm," Eloise mused. "What's her name?"
"Isabelle Delgado. Can you send me a list, i have a meeting to catch." He said throwing a piece of paper with his contact information and rushing off without even hearing her response.
"Great..." she shrugged.
Eloise pulled out her phone and searched for the girls name on Facebook. She then, typed a list of potential gifts and send it to Chief Delgado. As her fingers tapped away, she caught sight of a tall man entering the room.
"Who the hell are you?"
The voice was deep, clipped, and filled with irritation. Eloise looked up. The man standing before her was tall, dressed in a crisp shirt with his sleeves rolled up, and had an air of quiet authority. His sharp jawline, messy wavvy brown hair, and dark eyes were unreadable, but his body language screamed impatience.
"Rubio, sir," Eloise said politely.
"Rubio who?" His eyes narrowed.
"The newly hired," she said with a polite smile.
The investigator's jaw twitched. He gave her a once-over, unimpressed.
"Where's everyone?"
"No one's here right now, sir," Eloise replied evenly.
A vein pulsed in his temple. "Figures."
Without another word, he extended his hand.
"Hand."
Amelia frowned, unsure of what he meant, but placed her hand in his.
"What am I? A dog?"
He turned her palm up, inspecting it for a moment before scoffing.
"Small hands," he muttered. "Figures."
Before she could ask what that meant, he grabbed her wrist and practically dragged her outside.
Into the sewer...
"Excuse me—what are you doing?" Amelia protested as he led her to the parking lot.
"My keys fell into that damn sewer." He pointed to a grate by the sidewalk.
Eloise blinked. "And?"
"You're small. Get them."
Her jaw clenched. "Are you serious?"
The look on his face said he was very serious.
Muttering under her breath, Eloise knelt down, her small hand fitting through the bars of the grate. She fumbled for a few seconds before her fingers grazed cold metal.
"Got it," she said, pulling the keys out and handing them to him, her hand covered in grime.
"Good," he grunted. "Let's go."
"Go where?"
"You're coming with me."
"Excuse me?"
"Crime scene. You're hired, right? Consider this as an orientation."
☆☆☆
Eloise stood on the damp grass, the fog rolling in like a sinister blanket. The air smelled of dew and something… off. They were in a small, fenced backyard behind a modest suburban home.
"Victim's name is Mrs. Cruz," the investigator muttered. "Reported a break-in. Claims someone stole P50,000 she had stashed away. Her dog…"
Eloise's gaze fell on the lifeless body of a golden retriever lying near the back door, its fur matted with blood.
"Dead," he finished, his jaw tightening.
"Poor thing," Eloise murmured. She crouched near the body, her eyes scanning the scene with precision.
The observations begin... she scan the perimeter but didn't say anything. The investigator on the other hand, can feel her stare behind his back.
"If you wanna say something... say it." He said without looking back. "I'll never guess what's on your head, unless you talk to me."
She hesitated, then sighed deeply.
"Blunt force trauma," she muttered, glancing at the wound on the dog's head. "But… this is odd."
"What?" the investigator asked.
"No sign of a struggle near the door," Eloise noted. "The dog wasn't killed trying to protect the house."
She stood up, her eyes narrowing as she surveyed the area. The fog thickened, making it harder to see.
"Ma'am," she called to Mrs. Cruz, who was sobbing by the patio. "Where was the money kept?"
"In the kitchen," Mrs. Cruz sniffled, pointing inside.
"Locked?"
"No. It was in a drawer. I always kept it there."
Eloise's mind raced. Something didn't add up.
"Sir," she said softly to the investigator. "I think we're looking at this wrong."
The investigator looked confused but didn't stopped her.
Eloise eyes flickered back to the fog. It was too dense, too unusual for this time of year.
"The fog…" she murmured.
"What about it?"
"It's too thick for this neighborhood. It's not natural," she said softly, her mind piecing things together. "I read about it before. When water hits something hot, it produces a lot of steam or fog."
Her gaze fell on the patio where a hose was left running, the ground wet beneath it.
Eloise's lips pressed together. "I need to see the back of the house."
As she about to walk towards the backhouse, the investigator yanked the back of her polo, like a mother cat carrying her kitten by the neck.
"Not so fast missy. If you wanna wander around my crime scene, ask me first." He looked straight to her eyes, his eyes are not mad but looks something that is hard to explain.
She nod and walked carefully around the perimeter beside the investigator, her eyes scanning. And then—
"Here," she whispered.
Barely noticeable, small muddy footprints. Too small to belong to an adult.
"It wasn't a break-in," Eloise murmured. "And it wasn't an outsider."
The investigator's eyes narrowed. "What are you saying?"
Eloise stood up, her expression grim. She grab the investigator's report indicating the victim's testimony and saw something.
"The son."
Everyone went silent.
"The dog didn't die protecting the house because it knew the person who killed it," Eloise said softly. "And the money… I bet if you check, the boy has been acting out recently. Trouble in school? Angry? Maybe feeling neglected?"
The investigator's jaw clenched, as if he already realized what is happening.
"Kids can be unpredictable," Eloise said softly. "But anger and frustration can lead to dangerous behavior, especially if they feel unheard."
The investigator's face darkened. "Son of a…"
"We need to talk to the boy," Eloise said quietly.
As the pieces fell into place, the fog around the scene seemed to lift—both literally and metaphorically.
☆☆☆
Back at the station, the investigator stood silently as he processed what had happened.
"Not bad, Rubio," he muttered, his tone less condescending than before.
Eloise smirked. "That's Miss Rubio to you, Sir."
His lip twitched, but he didn't argue.
"Welcome to the team," he said begrudgingly, handing her a cup of coffee.
Eloise took it with a satisfied smile, knowing this was only the beginning.