Who's the Real Detective Here?

Florenze City, Carmoria State

"Cap, we're set. Just waiting on your go."

That voice yanked me out of my head. I couldn't believe I was back—right here, right now.

"This case ate up three months. Once it's done, we're partying hard."

The squad buzzed, dead tired but hyped.

My chest tightened. They had no clue this mission wouldn't make us heroes.

Still, I checked my watch. Ten minutes before schedule.

"Let's roll. West path—fastest in."

They looked at me, confused. I couldn't explain—I just stared at the clock, nerves shot.

When we hit the site, my stomach dropped.

Jenna Blake had already stormed in with the Florenze PD. Right into the traffickers' base.

Late. Again.

One of the tech guys froze, then scrambled to boot up the live feed.

The second he saw it, he freaked, smacking his leg like that'd help.

"Why's FPD charging in like that? There's a trap in that left-side building—we set it earlier!"

Faces went ghost-white. Everyone bolted for the doors.

I blocked the exit, eyes locked on the monitor.

Jenna was tearing through the base like she owned it—dodging every trap we set, skimming past every ambush spot like she had the playbook.

Nobody said a word.

I flipped to the drone feed. The parents of the kidnapped children were already halfway up the hill.

Deep breath. I stopped the team mid-rush.

"Fall back."

Same script, different day. Three months of digging, and Jenna swooped in after three days to save the kids like some hero.

The second the parents saw their kids, they broke—hugging, crying, grateful... until the blame hit.

"You're even the captain of the State Bureau. This case was your job! How'd the Florenze PD crack it in three days when you couldn't in three months?"

"Do you even do anything? Or are you just useless?"

"My kid suffered because of you! What now?"

One angry voice lit the fuse. The rest followed.

The parents swarmed us, yelling, some so fired up they started throwing rocks. Blood ran down our faces.

Later, I stepped up as captain to show the three months of work we'd put in.

But Jenna got there first.

At her press conference, she dropped the act:

"I can see things from a criminal's POV. Detective Mercer doesn't have that, so of course she's slower.

"Last time I stopped by their office, they were playing poker on a pile of unsorted case files. That's not okay."

The crowd lost it.

I was ready to fire back, but Alan Whitmore—our mentor—stepped in and shut me down.

He pointed straight at me, eyes blazing.

"You've lost what it means to be a cop, chasing clout like this. I'm disappointed."

That was it. No defense, no second chances. To everyone watching, I was done—corrupt, incompetent, finished.

Even when I died, I never figured out how Jenna kept getting ahead. How she always leaked my findings before I even opened my mouth.

My temples pulsed just thinking about it.

But this time? I was back. And I wasn't letting it happen again.