Chapter Text
The rain fell in a slow, mournful drizzle over the cobblestone streets, pooling around the lifeless body sprawled at an awkward angle near a streetlamp. A murder in the dead of night—how appropriately cliché.
Wriothesley, Chief of Investigations, stepped under the police tape, his heavy boots splashing into a shallow puddle. His broad shoulders carried a fatigue that no amount of coffee could fix, though his icy blue eyes scanned the scene with sharp precision.
"Cause of death?" he asked the forensics officer brusquely.
"Still determining, Chief," the officer replied, gesturing to the body. "But we called in some extra help... just in case."
Wriothesley raised an eyebrow. "Extra help?"
As if summoned by fate or divine mischief, a slender figure appeared in the mist. A long trench coat, tailored impeccably, billowed behind him as he approached. Blonde hair gleamed under the flickering streetlamp, and lilac eyes—bright, mischievous, and far too smug—locked onto Wriothesley.
"Good evening, Chief," Lyney purred, as if they were old friends catching up over drinks instead of standing over a dead body. "You may call me Private Investigator Lyney. Though most just call me brilliant."
Wriothesley froze, his usually impassive face giving way to something resembling a deer caught in headlights.
Lyney froze too.
For a heartbeat, the bustling crime scene faded into nothing but an awkward, tension-thick silence.
Then it hit them both.
Wriothesley’s breath caught as vivid memories slammed into him like a freight train. Lyney beneath him, golden hair spread across his sheets, lilac eyes glassy, moans spilling from trembling lips. The headboard slamming against the wall with every rough, deliberate thrust. Lyney's fingernails dragging fiery paths down his back. The way Lyney—
Wriothesley choked, coughing so violently the forensics officer jumped.
Lyney, meanwhile, also inhaled wrong and doubled over in an ungraceful fit of sputtering coughs, clutching his knees for balance. His face turned a mortifying shade of red, utterly betraying his usually suave demeanor.
The officers on the scene exchanged confused glances. Was... was this some kind of inside joke? A secret code between investigators?
"Are you okay, Chief?" one officer asked hesitantly.
Wriothesley straightened, forcibly clearing his throat. "Fine," he growled, though the tips of his ears burned.
Lyney, finally catching his breath, stood upright, a hand delicately pressed to his chest as though trying to calm a galloping heart. He looked at Wriothesley with wide eyes, searching, calculating, before flashing a nervous, tight-lipped smile.
"So," Lyney said, his voice just a touch higher than usual. "What do we know about the case?"
Wriothesley glared at him, though his usual intimidating edge was dulled by the blush creeping up his neck. “Shouldn't you be the one telling me that, 'private investigator'? I thought you’d done your homework.”
Lyney’s lips twitched into a grin, his composure slowly recovering. "Oh, but I already know everything I need to," he teased. "Like, for example..." He leaned closer, just enough for his breath to ghost over Wriothesley's ear. "...you clearly didn't forget me."
Wriothesley clenched his jaw, taking an aggressive step back and gesturing to the corpse. "Focus on the body, not your ego."
Lyney chuckled softly, his voice carrying just enough heat to make Wriothesley's gut twist. "Oh, Chief, you’ll find my ego is as hard to ignore as me."
Lyney crouched beside the body, careful not to let the hem of his coat brush the blood pooling underneath the victim. His delicate, gloved fingers moved with a precision that belied his showman's flair. He tilted his head, his lilac eyes scanning the scene with unnerving intensity.
"Hmm," he murmured, brushing his fingertips against the dirt near the victim's hand. "A scuffed sole, faint traces of clay, and..." He paused, leaning closer. "A single dog hair, black and coarse, likely from a large breed. Fascinating."
Wriothesley crossed his arms, looming over him like a storm cloud. "I don’t know why a murder case requires a chief and a private fraud, but here we are."
Lyney smirked without looking up. "Perhaps they needed someone with actual deductive skills to balance the brute force."
"Brute force?" Wriothesley scoffed. "I could solve this case with my eyes closed."
"Then why haven’t you?" Lyney quipped, plucking the dog hair with a pair of tweezers and dropping it into a plastic bag he had produced from... somewhere.
Wriothesley's glare deepened, his scar tightening with the motion. "You're not even officially licensed. Do you always play detective, or just when you're bored?"
"Play?" Lyney chuckled softly, glancing over his shoulder. "Oh, Chief, if you knew how much I charge for my 'games,' you'd consider a career change."
Ignoring the jab, Wriothesley crouched beside him, his broad frame dwarfing Lyney's slim figure. He gestured to the body with a gruff, no-nonsense tone. "What are you seeing, magician?"
Lyney didn't flinch at the nickname. If anything, he basked in it. "The victim was dragged here post-mortem," he said, pointing to faint streaks in the damp cobblestones. "Notice the pattern? They were unconscious or deceased before being moved—the angle suggests they were pulled by their arms. Likely two perpetrators."
"Could be one strong person," Wriothesley countered.
"Could be," Lyney agreed, a sly grin forming. "But not in this case. The drag marks are uneven—two sets of hands, different strengths. Probably a rushed job, hence the sloppy trail. And..." He leaned in closer to the body, inhaling lightly.
Wriothesley's brow furrowed. "Did you just sniff the corpse?"
"It's called using all your senses, Chief," Lyney said, unbothered. "The faintest whiff of engine oil. Our victim must’ve been near a mechanic or a factory recently. And..." He carefully examined the man's cufflinks. "These are custom-made, engraved with the initials E.D. Expensive taste. Likely a businessman. I'll wager he’s tied to the industrial district."
Wriothesley watched him work, half-annoyed, half-impressed, though he’d sooner choke on his badge than admit it. "You're oddly comfortable poking around dead bodies for someone who spends his free time pulling rabbits out of hats."
"Why thank you," Lyney said brightly. "It's all about perspective. Every detail is a clue, every observation a step closer to the truth." He glanced up at Wriothesley, his smile sharp. "Maybe you could learn a thing or two, big guy."
Wriothesley’s jaw tightened, but he kept his voice steady. "I’m learning that you love the sound of your own voice."
Lyney laughed, standing with a flourish and dusting off his coat. "And yet you’re still listening. I must be quite charming."
"Or you’re just hard to ignore," Wriothesley muttered under his breath.
Lyney pretended not to hear, but the way his lips twitched into a smug smile suggested otherwise.
"Shall we visit the industrial district, Chief?" Lyney asked, twirling his cane theatrically. "Or do you have more doubts to mutter about my methods?"
Wriothesley growled low in his throat, standing and gesturing for Lyney to follow. "Let’s just hope this circus act of yours gets us closer to solving the case."
As they walked, Lyney couldn’t resist adding, "Oh, don’t worry. I’ll solve it. Try to keep up, though—I wouldn’t want to embarrass the Chief of Investigations."
"Private fraud," Wriothesley muttered, but he had to admit—this so-called 'fraud' might actually know what he was doing.
The industrial district was a chaotic symphony of machinery, steam, and the occasional burst of shouting from workers attempting to be heard over the din. The perfect place to lose a trail—or to hide a crime.
Lyney led the way, his lilac eyes darting between people and machinery like a predator scanning for prey. Wriothesley followed, towering behind him, a silent force of authority.
Lyney, however, wasn’t one for subtlety. Spotting a group of factory workers lounging by the entrance during a break, he approached with an easy, disarming smile.
"Gentlemen!" Lyney exclaimed, spreading his arms theatrically. "Might I borrow a moment of your valuable time? It’s not every day you get to help solve a murder, after all."
The workers exchanged confused glances, some visibly intrigued, others wary.
"We’re not talkin’ to cops," one of them said, crossing his arms defensively.
"Oh, but I’m not a cop," Lyney said, his voice a velvety purr. He leaned in slightly, lowering his tone as though sharing a secret. "I’m just a humble private investigator with a passion for uncovering the truth. Think of me as... an artist of justice."
The men snickered, their suspicion easing.
"And you, sir," Lyney continued, pointing to the most amused of the group, "look like a man with a keen eye for detail. Have you noticed anything unusual recently? Strange people, odd noises, perhaps a misplaced wrench?"
The man laughed. "A misplaced wrench? What kind of murder are you investigatin'?"
Lyney tilted his head, feigning innocence. "The kind that needs sharp minds like yours to crack. Surely someone as observant as you has seen something?"
The worker puffed out his chest a little, clearly enjoying the flattery. "Well, now that you mention it..."
As the man began recounting minor details about unusual visitors to the factory, Lyney nodded along, throwing in the occasional encouraging word or conspiratorial grin. The group, previously standoffish, leaned in closer, hanging on his every word.
Wriothesley watched from a distance, arms crossed, his jaw set. Lyney’s effortless charm was grating. Manipulative, even.
But damn if it didn’t work.
Still, when it came time to question another group, Wriothesley decided to take the lead. He squared his shoulders, approached a woman smoking near the machinery, and, instead of barking questions as usual, attempted something different.
"Excuse me, miss," he said, his tone softer than Lyney had ever heard. "I was hoping you could help us out. It’s important, and you might be the only one who noticed something crucial."
The woman raised an eyebrow, looking him up and down. "You don’t exactly look like someone who says ‘please.’"
Wriothesley gave a small, sheepish smile. "I’m trying something new," he admitted, his voice low. "Can you forgive me if I’m not very good at it?"
The woman blinked, clearly caught off guard. "Uh... yeah. Sure. What d’you need?"
From his perch nearby, Lyney nearly dropped his notebook.
The sight of Wriothesley—tall, gruff, and usually about as charming as a battering ram—being genuinely soft-spoken and almost shy made his brain short-circuit.
Did... did Wriothesley just smile? And not his usual threatening smirk, but an actual, warm smile?
Lyney’s mind spiraled. What the hell is this? He’s not supposed to be... endearing! He’s supposed to be a growling, brooding hound, not a—
"Lyney!"
Wriothesley’s sharp voice snapped him out of his thoughts. The chief was glaring at him, clearly annoyed.
"Are you just going to stand there gawking, or are you going to contribute something useful?"
Lyney blinked, schooling his expression into something resembling composure. "Oh, apologies, Chief. I was just so moved by your... evolution. Watching you embrace charm was like seeing a wolf learn to waltz."
Wriothesley rolled his eyes, though his cheeks darkened just enough for Lyney to notice.
"Get back to work, fraud," Wriothesley growled, turning back to the woman, who was now suppressing a laugh of her own.
Lyney couldn’t help but grin as he turned away. Whatever else happened today, he was definitely going to tease Wriothesley about this later.
The day dragged on as they moved deeper into the industrial district, piecing together fragments of a puzzle that was slowly beginning to take shape. Lyney’s sharp eye for detail and Wriothesley’s relentless efficiency made for an unexpectedly effective—if occasionally bickering—duo.
By late afternoon, they had narrowed their leads to a specific warehouse, thanks to a mix of Lyney’s charm and Wriothesley’s quiet intimidation. Witnesses placed the victim near the warehouse the previous night, accompanied by two individuals described as "shifty-looking."
"Shifty-looking," Wriothesley muttered as they stood outside the warehouse. "What a useful description."
"Shifty is a state of mind," Lyney replied, twirling his cane idly. "You of all people should know that, Chief."
Wriothesley shot him a look but didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he motioned to the warehouse doors. "We’ll investigate this tomorrow. It’s too late to get a warrant now."
Lyney raised an eyebrow. "Oh, now you’re following protocol? Where’s the fun in that?"
"The fun," Wriothesley growled, "is solving this case without ending up in court for illegal entry. We’ll come back when it’s legal."
Lyney sighed dramatically. "Fine. But only because you asked so nicely."
They turned back toward the main road, the fading sunlight casting long shadows across the cobblestones. The air between them felt... lighter somehow, the earlier tension softened by the shared progress.
As they approached the row of parked police vehicles, Wriothesley stopped abruptly. Lyney, not paying attention, nearly walked into him.
"Careful, Chief," Lyney said with a smirk, stepping back. "You almost ran me over."
Wriothesley didn’t respond immediately. His icy blue eyes were fixed ahead, his expression unreadable. Then, he cleared his throat—loudly, awkwardly.
"Lyney," he began, his tone unusually gruff.
Lyney tilted his head, intrigued. "Yes, Chief?"
Wriothesley shifted his weight, looking everywhere except at Lyney. "I, uh... I was wondering if you wanted to... grab dinner. Or something."
The words tumbled out in a low, almost embarrassed mutter.
Lyney blinked. For a moment, he thought he’d misheard. Then, realization hit, and his smirk grew impossibly wide.
"Dinner?" he repeated, the word dripping with amusement.
"Yeah," Wriothesley said, crossing his arms defensively. "You’ve been working all day. Figured you’d need to eat. And it’d give us time to... discuss the case."
"Discuss the case," Lyney echoed, clearly enjoying the sight of Wriothesley squirming. "How practical of you, Chief. Very professional."
Wriothesley’s jaw tightened. "If you don’t want to—"
"Relax," Lyney interrupted, his tone softening. "I’d love to."
Wriothesley blinked, caught off guard by the sudden sincerity. "You would?"
"Of course," Lyney said, brushing imaginary dust off his coat. "How could I say no to dinner with the city’s most... charming chief of investigations?"
Wriothesley grumbled something under his breath but didn’t argue further.
As they headed toward the nearest restaurant, Lyney couldn’t help but glance at Wriothesley, his lilac eyes gleaming with mischief.
"Should I be worried, Chief?" he asked lightly. "Or are you planning to interrogate me over appetizers?"
"You’ll see," Wriothesley said, though the faint hint of a smile tugging at his lips didn’t go unnoticed.
The restaurant was quiet, lit by warm, flickering candlelight that contrasted with the cold industrial atmosphere they'd just left behind. Wriothesley chose a corner table—secluded, away from prying eyes, the kind of spot where no one would interrupt two men in deep conversation.
Lyney sat opposite him, his elbows resting casually on the table as he swirled his glass of red wine, watching the way it caught the light. The wine was surprisingly good—smooth, with just enough bite. He let it coat his tongue while Wriothesley seemed... hesitant.
For the first time all day, the chief looked less like an imposing wall of authority and more like a man unsure of what to do with himself. His fingers tapped lightly against the base of his own glass, his icy blue eyes fixed on the tablecloth.
"You’ve been staring at that glass for three minutes, Chief," Lyney teased lightly, breaking the silence. "I promise it doesn’t bite. Though if it did, that might make the evening more exciting."
Wriothesley looked up, startled, before huffing a quiet laugh. "It’s not the wine."
"Oh?" Lyney tilted his head, his lilac eyes gleaming with curiosity. "Then what is it?"
For a moment, Wriothesley didn’t answer. He took a sip of his wine, his grip on the glass tightening just slightly. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, careful.
"I need to apologize."
Lyney blinked, caught off guard. He wasn’t expecting that. "For what? Dragging me around the city all day? I think I’ve forgiven you already."
"No," Wriothesley said, his eyes meeting Lyney’s. They were softer than Lyney had ever seen them, the usual icy edge thawing into something... raw. "For... that night."
The words hit like a drop of cold water. Lyney stilled, his grip on his glass tightening just enough to make the stem creak. He covered the reaction with a casual smile, leaning back slightly in his chair.
"That night," Lyney echoed, his tone light, though his chest felt heavier. "Ah, yes. The night we—"
"Were very unprofessional," Wriothesley interrupted, his voice rough. "The night we... lost control."
The way he said it—low, almost hoarse—made something twist in Lyney’s stomach. He took another sip of his wine, forcing a laugh.
"Well, if you’re apologizing for the headboard, I can assure you it survived. Sturdy craftsmanship and all that."
Wriothesley didn’t laugh. He just stared at Lyney, his expression crumbling ever so slightly.
"I should’ve said something," Wriothesley muttered. "Afterward. I shouldn’t have just... left."
Lyney paused, caught between wanting to brush it off and wanting to let Wriothesley speak. In the end, he opted for levity.
"You don’t have to check up on a one-night stand, Chief," he said lightly, though the words felt like a shield. "It was casual. We both knew that."
Wriothesley frowned, shaking his head. "I don’t think it was casual for me. Not entirely."
That admission made Lyney falter, his smile wavering. He hadn’t expected Wriothesley to be this... open. Vulnerable, even.
"I just..." Wriothesley ran a hand through his hair, looking frustrated. "I didn’t know how to face you after that. It wasn’t just about the... physical part. It was everything. The way you looked at me, the way I felt like—" He stopped himself, exhaling sharply. "I don’t know. I screwed up."
Lyney set his glass down carefully, watching Wriothesley with an unreadable expression. He wanted to say something, to brush it off with a joke or a clever remark, but the sight of Wriothesley—this strong, imposing man—looking so raw and unsure stopped him.
"Hey," Lyney said softly, his voice lacking its usual teasing edge. "You don’t have to beat yourself up over it. It was what it was." He hesitated, then added, "But... I won’t lie. It feels kind of nice seeing you like this."
Wriothesley’s brow furrowed. "Like what?"
"Human," Lyney said simply, his lips curving into a faint, genuine smile. "You’re always so... guarded. It’s good to know there’s more to you than the scowling chief persona."
Wriothesley looked at him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, to Lyney’s surprise, he let out a quiet laugh.
"You’re exhausting," Wriothesley muttered, shaking his head.
"Why, thank you," Lyney said, his grin returning. "I do try."
The tension between them eased slightly, the air growing warmer. They didn’t talk about that night again, but the weight of the unspoken words lingered, softer now, like an unfinished sentence waiting to be completed.
Lyney watched Wriothesley in the soft candlelight, a wicked grin slowly pulling at his lips. He swirled his wine glass again, the red liquid catching the light in a way that mirrored the mischief in his eyes.
"Well," Lyney said with a teasing lilt, "Should I take this as you’re craving another night? You know, a repeat performance? Maybe this time, I'll even let you pick the venue."
Wriothesley’s breath hitched, his gaze sharpening for a moment before it softened again. His fingers flexed against the stem of his wine glass, but his eyes never left Lyney. For a second, there was no deflection, no shield. It was just the two of them, a quiet space where their words held weight.
"Lyney..." Wriothesley started, his voice lower, hesitant but steady. "I’m not—" He stopped, rubbing the back of his neck, as if the right words were just out of reach.
Lyney leaned forward, his chin propped up by his hand, watching Wriothesley’s internal battle with a mix of curiosity and amusement. He hadn’t expected to hit such a nerve. “Come on, Chief, it’s just a question. I’m not going to bite—unless you ask me to, of course.”
The corner of Wriothesley’s mouth twitched, but it was his next movement that caught Lyney by surprise. Slowly, almost deliberately, Wriothesley reached across the table and took Lyney’s hand in his—large, rough, and calloused fingers curling around Lyney’s much smaller, more delicate ones.
Lyney froze. There was an electric charge in the air now, palpable, and the weight of Wriothesley’s touch sent something unfamiliar flooding through him. He hadn’t expected this, hadn’t expected Wriothesley to... this.
"I’m not asking for a repeat of that night," Wriothesley said softly, his voice thick with a mix of uncertainty and something else, something Lyney couldn’t quite name. "I just... I want to make sure I’m not screwing this up again." His thumb brushed across Lyney’s palm slowly, like he was testing the waters. "I don’t want to mess this up."
The words hung in the air, and for a long moment, neither of them spoke. Lyney could feel the roughness of Wriothesley’s touch against his skin, grounding him in a way that he didn’t understand. Something in his chest tightened, and for the first time in a long while, Lyney didn’t know exactly what to say.
But then, as if the weight of the moment became too much for his usual mask to hold, Lyney laughed softly, the sound warm and real.
"Well," Lyney said, squeezing Wriothesley’s hand gently. "It’s not like I’m going anywhere. So... you’re not messing up anything yet, Chief. And as for that night..." He smirked, leaning in just a little closer. "You don’t have to apologize for it, Wriothesley. It was... memorable."
Wriothesley’s fingers tightened slightly around his hand, and for a brief moment, Lyney could have sworn he saw something flicker in Wriothesley’s gaze—a flicker of hope, maybe.
"Good," Wriothesley said softly, his voice almost a whisper now. "I didn’t want to make you feel like it was a mistake."
Lyney’s smile softened. He wasn’t sure what was happening between them, not exactly. But in that moment, with Wriothesley’s hand still clasped around his, he figured they’d both crossed a line that couldn’t be undone. Whatever came next, he wasn’t about to back out now.
"Don’t worry, Chief," Lyney said, his voice gentle but still carrying that mischievous undertone. "It wasn’t a mistake. Not yet, anyway."
And with that, the unspoken understanding between them shifted, settling in a new, uncertain space—one that neither of them could quite define, but both were willing to explore.
The next morning, the police station was quieter than usual. A handful of officers drifted in and out of rooms, checking paperwork and making calls, but there was a certain stillness to the place. The heavy weight of unfinished business from the night before hung in the air, though neither Lyney nor Wriothesley had acknowledged it outright.
That is, until Lyney barged through the doors, his footsteps loud and brisk against the tile floors as he practically stormed past the front desk. He was wearing that damn smirk again, the one that could make anyone feel like they were about to be caught in a trap.
"Lyney!" One of the officers called, raising an eyebrow as Lyney breezed past him.
"Important business," Lyney called back over his shoulder, not breaking stride. He didn’t even pause as he rounded the corner and made a beeline for Wriothesley’s office, much to the surprise of the few officers who were still lingering in the halls.
When Lyney reached the door, he didn’t knock. He didn’t even consider it. He just swung it open with the kind of dramatic flair that only someone like him could pull off.
Wriothesley, who had been sitting behind his desk and sorting through a pile of case files, looked up at the sudden intrusion. His icy blue eyes narrowed, and the slightest flash of annoyance crossed his face as Lyney strode in without a care in the world.
"Didn’t anyone teach you how to knock?" Wriothesley’s voice was sharp, though there was a hint of something else there—something like amusement that Lyney was just starting to catch onto.
"Didn’t have time for that," Lyney said, not missing a beat. He didn’t wait for Wriothesley to respond before he practically slammed a file onto the desk. "I’ve been thinking about the case all night. And I’ve got a theory."
Wriothesley didn’t react immediately. He stared at the file, then back at Lyney. A long silence passed before he leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. "A theory, huh? And I suppose you think it’s a good one."
Lyney’s grin widened. "Better than yours."
Wriothesley didn’t say anything for a moment, his gaze flickering between the file and Lyney, clearly not amused by the interruption but intrigued nonetheless. "Alright, then. Let’s hear it, Mr. Private Investigator."
Lyney ignored the sarcastic tone and plopped into the chair across from Wriothesley, his long legs crossed in front of him as he leaned forward. "First, we’ve been looking in the wrong direction this whole time," Lyney began, his voice steady and confident. "The victim was hiding something—something big. They weren’t just in the wrong place at the wrong time, Wriothesley. They were targeted. And not for the reasons anyone thinks."
Wriothesley raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. "You’ve got something more than that to back it up, I hope. Because right now, it sounds like you're just making wild assumptions."
Lyney grinned, unfazed. "If I was making assumptions, Chief, I wouldn’t be here right now, would I? I’ve already talked to a few people—someone who was close to the victim, and it turns out..." He leaned in, lowering his voice slightly. "They had ties to a group we didn’t even know existed until now."
Wriothesley’s interest piqued, and he leaned forward slightly, the stern expression on his face replaced with something more intense, more focused. "Go on."
Lyney smiled, thoroughly enjoying the effect he was having on the usually unflappable chief. "This group, Wriothesley, they're not just a criminal organization. They’re connected to some of the city’s more... influential figures. And the victim? They were one of the biggest investors."
Wriothesley’s expression darkened as the implications started to sink in. His fingers drummed against the desk, and he stared at Lyney, processing everything. "So, you’re saying this wasn’t just a simple murder?"
"Exactly," Lyney replied, his voice tinged with satisfaction. "It’s much bigger than that. And we’ve been chasing ghosts, thinking we’re dealing with a simple case of a scorned lover or a botched robbery."
Wriothesley stood up abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. "I want everything you have on this. Now. If what you’re saying is true, we’ve got a lot more to deal with than just a single dead body."
Lyney stood too, but he didn’t move immediately to hand over the file. He lingered for a moment, just watching Wriothesley—studying the way the chief’s face had shifted from his usual cold detachment to something else entirely. There was fire in his eyes now, urgency in the way he moved.
"You’re welcome," Lyney said, a touch of smugness in his voice. "But I don’t think you’re in a position to give orders right now. I’m the one holding the cards, remember?"
Wriothesley looked at him, and for a fleeting second, there was something else in his eyes—something warmer, maybe even a little... grateful. But it disappeared as quickly as it came, replaced by his usual hardened expression.
"Fine," Wriothesley muttered, his voice clipped. "Just get your files in order. We’re not done with this yet."
Lyney watched him for a beat longer than he should have, something stirring inside him at the way Wriothesley’s tough exterior was beginning to crack. But before the moment could stretch on too long, Lyney grabbed the file and stood, ready to leave.
"Don’t worry, Chief. I’ll make sure it’s worth your while," he said with a wink, before turning on his heel.
Lyney paused mid-step, the sound of Wriothesley’s voice cutting through the air like a sharp blade. He turned slightly, a teasing grin already playing at his lips as he glanced over his shoulder.
"Yes, Chief?" Lyney drawled, one eyebrow raised, clearly enjoying the fact that he now had Wriothesley’s undivided attention.
Wriothesley hesitated for a moment, his hand resting on the edge of his desk as if grounding himself. His icy blue eyes bore into Lyney’s, and for a brief second, there was something uncharacteristically vulnerable there—something that caught Lyney off guard.
"Be careful," Wriothesley said finally, his voice low but steady. "If you’re right about this case—and I think you are—then you’re sticking your neck into something dangerous. More dangerous than you realize."
Lyney blinked, momentarily stunned by the sudden shift in Wriothesley’s tone. It wasn’t often that the stoic chief let his concern show, especially not for someone like him.
"Aw, are you worried about me, Chief?" Lyney teased, though his voice carried a softer edge now. "How sweet. I didn’t know you cared."
Wriothesley’s jaw tightened, and he ran a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated but not entirely denying it. "Just... don’t do anything stupid," he muttered, his gaze flickering away for a moment before locking back onto Lyney’s. "I mean it, Lyney."
Lyney tilted his head, his grin softening into something more genuine. He could tell Wriothesley meant it, and while he wasn’t about to admit it out loud, the concern in the chief’s voice did something to him—something that made his heart beat just a little faster.
"Don’t worry," Lyney said, giving Wriothesley a playful salute. "I’m always careful. You, on the other hand, should worry about yourself. I’d hate for you to get more wrinkles from all that frowning you do."
Wriothesley sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, but there was a ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Just go," he said, waving Lyney off. "Before I regret letting you barge in here."
"Too late for that," Lyney quipped, turning fully now and heading for the door. But just as he reached it, he paused again, glancing back over his shoulder.
"For what it’s worth," Lyney said, his voice softer now, "I’ll keep your warning in mind. Thanks, Chief."
Before Wriothesley could respond, Lyney slipped out the door, leaving the chief alone in his office with nothing but the faint scent of Lyney’s cologne lingering in the air.
Wriothesley stared at the door for a long moment, his thoughts tangled in ways he couldn’t quite untangle. "That man’s going to drive me insane," he muttered to himself, shaking his head.
But deep down, he knew he wouldn’t have it any other way.