Victor

"Quinn, wait, this is crazy. We just met-" His words spilled out, muffled against her mouth as his tongue darted in eagerly, kiss turning messy and deep.

She grabbed his shirt, calm fingers steady, silencing him with firmer pressure. His hands roamed her back haphazardly, breath hitching. 'God, you taste, OH crap, the doors!' The ding echoed; lobby lights spilled in.

Quinn broke away, eyes locked on his, cool command in her gaze. "Come with me." She tugged his hand, leading him out.

At her door, keys turned smoothly. She backed him against the wall, kissing him deeply, hands stripping his shirt with precise tugs. "Oh wow, you're very... hyper." He gasped as she pushed him to the bed, shedding clothes in a frantic trail, his pants kicked off awkwardly, hers folded aside.

Straddling him, she moved with deliberate rolls, drawing him inside her heat. Damian moved messily, hands clutching her thighs. "Am I- oh fuck, yes, you like that? I'll... move deeper." His rhythm jerked fervent, words pouring even as sweat slicked them, building to shuddering release.

"I have got to make you shut UP." Quinn kissed him hard, Damian moaned as they moved in sync.

Next morning, Quinn woke up to warmth, which felt weird. The arm draped across her waist confirmed it.

She went still for a second before turning her head slightly, finding Damian asleep beside her, face half-buried in her pillow like he belonged there. Quinn stared at him, unimpressed.“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

She pushed his arm off and sat up, running a hand through her hair as last night came rushing back all at once. The case. The elevator. The decision she definitely shouldn’t have made.

Behind her, Damian stirred.

“Hm.. what-” He blinked awake, confused for a moment before reality hit. “Oh. Right... That happened.”

“You were supposed to leave,” Quinn said flatly.

“I was going to,” he replied quickly, sitting up, hair completely wrecked. “I just sat down for a second and then… sleep happened.”

She gave him a look.

“That’s not better.”

“Yeah, I figured.”

A brief pause passed before he glanced toward the kitchen. “I can make breakfast.”

“No.”

“I cook when I’m stressed,” he added, already moving. “It’s a thing.”

“I need to work.”

“We need to work,” he corrected.

Quinn turned to him. “You’re not part of anything until the lab confirms your theory.”

“I’m about ninety-nine percent sure it will.”

Quinn exhaled. “…fine. I’m hungry.”

Fifteen minutes later, she leaned against the counter, watching him cook like he’d done it a thousand times before. It didn’t match the rest of him. The chaos, the nerves, the constant talking. Here, he was steady.

“You do this often?” she asked.

“Cook? Yeah. Easier than thinking.”

“That’s concerning.”

He smiled faintly. “You’d be surprised.”

Quinn didn’t respond, but she didn’t look away either. Her phone rang.

“Hale, office. Now,” Mark said. “Lab results are in. It’s poison.”

The call ended. Quinn grabbed her jacket. “Don’t start.”

Damian just smirked slightly. “I told you.”

Mark was waiting when they arrived, sleeves rolled up, presence sharp and controlled. His eyes moved between them immediately. “You brought him back.”

“Lab confirmed it,” Mark said, gesturing to the report. “Contact toxin. Fast-acting.”

Damian let out a quiet breath.

“That means-”

“It means you’re in,” Mark cut in. “For now.”

Minutes later, they stood around the board. Mark slid a file forward. “Victor Blackwood. Thirty-two. Investor. Clean on paper.”

Quinn flipped it open while Damian hovered just behind her. “Divorced. Lives alone,” Mark continued. “Routine is predictable.”

“So the killer knew it,” Quinn said.

“Or studied it,” Damian added, quieter now.

Quinn kept reading. “Financials?”

“Messy,” Mark replied. “Offshore accounts.”

“Not random,” Damian muttered.

Quinn closed the file halfway. “No forced entry. No theft. This wasn’t about money.”

“They came for him,” Damian said.

Quinn looked at him.

This time, she didn’t disagree.

Mark placed another file beside it. “Two more cases. Same pattern.”

Quinn’s focus sharpened. “Why wasn’t this connected?”

“Different jurisdictions,” Mark said.

Damian leaned in, eyes scanning quickly. “They’re linked.”

“Then find how,” Quinn said.

She crossed her arms. “This isn’t the first.”

“I know,” Damian replied.

That made her pause.

“I’ve been tracking it,” he added. “Same structure. Clean scenes.”

Mark frowned slightly. “And you didn’t report it?”

“I didn’t have proof.”

Quinn studied him. “Why this case?”

For once, he hesitated.

“I studied criminology,” he said. “We got a version of this case. It stuck.”

It didn’t feel like the full truth.

Quinn noticed, but let it go.

“For now.”

Damian stepped closer to the board, focus locking in again.

“There’s a pattern,” he said. “Victims, locations… something connects them.”

Quinn followed his gaze. “Then we find it.”

And this time, neither of them questioned it.