When I finally stepped out of the airport, the air felt different. Heavier. Like the city was holding its breath.
I pulled out my phone. The contact my mother had saved—"Grandfather"—stared back at me. My thumb hovered over the screen.
Siver floated beside me. "Going to call the mystery man?"
I locked the phone and slipped it back into my pocket. "Not yet."
He tilted his head. "You're seriously just... going to take a bus?"
"I need to see this city first. On my terms."
I spotted the bus terminal across the street and started walking. Behind me, Siver laughed softly.
"Stubborn," he said. "I like it."
The bus stop was crowded. People with luggage, tired faces, the usual airport spillover. I found a spot near the curb and waited.
That's when I heard the shouting.
"Stop! Thief!"
I turned. A man was running toward the terminal—no, staggering. His legs were unsteady, his face slick with sweat. Behind him, a younger man in a police uniform was giving chase but losing ground.
The runner's chest heaved. His steps grew shorter. Slower.
I knew the signs before he did.
One.
His hand clutched at his chest.
Two.
His face went pale under the sweat.
Three.
His knees buckled.
Four.
He collapsed face-down on the concrete.
I was already moving. even Siver knew what was happening
My bag hit the ground. I knelt beside him, rolling him onto his back. His skin was cold and clammy. Pulse thready, racing. Respiration shallow.
"Heart," I muttered. "Myocardial infarction. Probably left anterior descending."
Siver appeared beside me. "You have figured it out quicker than i expected"
"I'm trained for field intervention now will you please keep quiet."
I yanked open my bag. Every forensic specialist carries a medical kit—you never know when evidence becomes a patient and patient becomes dead.
The officer arrived, gasping. "Hey—who are you? He's a wanted thief. Leave him. This is police business hurry up and leave. NOW"
I didn't look up. "He might die if I wait a minute more."
"Who are you to just—"
I pulled out a pre-loaded syringe. A vasodilator compound—nitroglycerin analogue, fast-acting. Standard issue for the forensic response teams in the capital. Designed to buy time until an ambulance arrives.
I tied the rubber strap around his arm. Found the vein.
"You can't just inject someone!" The officer's voice was rising.
I pulled out my ID with my free hand and tossed it toward him. "Forensic specialist."
He caught it. Stared at it. Then at me.
I didn't wait for permission. I injected.
The officer—young, maybe late twenties, name tag reading Drake—stepped forward. "But..."
I watched the man's breathing. Watched color return to his face.
"Ambulance," I said. "Call it."
Drake hesitated.
"Now."
He pulled out his radio. "hellow this river dark main airport terminal 1 we have a thief who need urgent medical attention please send an ambulance we are right infront of the bus stop"
Siver leaned against a pole, watching. "You just injected a thief in front of a cop. Bold strategy."
I ignored him. I was already checking the man's airway, pulse, responsiveness.
By the time the ambulance arrived, the man was breathing on his own.
The paramedics took over. One of them gave me a look—the kind that said who the hell are you—but he didn't argue. They loaded the man onto a stretcher.
Drake stood beside me, my ID still in his hand.
"You... you saved his life."
"I delayed his death," I corrected. "The hospital will do the rest."
He handed my ID back. "You're Andres. The new specialist assigned to the bureau."
"Seems my reputation arrived before me."
"Something like that." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm going to need you to come to the station. That man was wanted for theft. There's a process."
"I just got off a plane."
"I know. But..." He gestured vaguely at the scene. "Procedure."
Siver appeared on my other side. "First day in Riverdark and you're already going to a police station. This is faster than I expected."
I picked up my bag. "Fine. Let's get this over with."
Drake led me toward a police car parked near the terminal.
"You always carry cardiac medication?" he asked.
"I carry what's necessary."
"You're not a doctor."
"No," I said. "But I work with the dead. And the dead don't stay dead if you can keep them breathing."
He didn't have a response to that.
The car door opened. I glanced back at the airport terminal. My bus was long gone.
"Guess I'm taking the scenic route," I muttered.
Siver slid into the back seat beside me. "I like this city already."
I buckled my seatbelt.
I wasn't sure I did.
The police car smelled like coffee and stale air freshener.
Drake slid into the driver's seat. I took the passenger side. Siver floated into the back, stretching out like he owned it.
Drake started the engine but didn't pull out immediately. He reached into his jacket, pulled out a pack of cigarettes, and tapped one loose.
Drake lit a cigarette and offered me one. "Want?"
"I'd rather not speed up the process."
He raised an eyebrow. "The process of what?"
"Dying."
He stared at me for a moment, then shook his head with a half-laugh. "You're something else, specialist."
He pulled out of the lot.
I didn't answer.
Behind me, Siver grinned.