Chapter 001: Thunderstorm.

The sky, once a canvas of twinkling stars, became a brooding expanse of inky grey. Fat clouds bulged, pregnant with the promise of a heavy downpour. The playful glint of the stars vanished as if chased away by a celestial bully, leaving behind a thick cloak of gloom that seeped into the city, stirring different thoughts in different souls.

For some, a rainy night was a romantic symphony, a chance to snuggle up with loved ones, the gentle patter on the roof a cosy lullaby. Others saw it as movie night, the rumble of thunder providing dramatic accompaniment to a horror flick, even if the acting was as wooden as a park bench. But none of these thoughts flickered across the face of the young man sprawled lazily on the bench.

Oliver, perched on a park bench with his steaming coffee, the rain was just another nuisance.

His expression was as plain as the chipped mug cradled in his hands, filled with warm, bitter coffee. The acidic brew scraped down his throat, leaving a dull ache in its wake.

The bitter brew, a cheap necessity in this city where everything cost an arm and a leg. Most would have grimaced or spat it out, but Oliver was used to swallowing hardships along with his coffee. Survival on a shoddy income in this city meant pinching pennies wherever he could. Besides, it kept him warm on this chilly night.

The symphony above him, the thunder pounding its drums, would have gone unnoticed were it not for its sheer volume. His gaze wasn't fixed on the bustling chaos around him, nor on the female officers who couldn't seem to help but steal glances his way, drawn to his quiet intensity. His eyes were focused on a different kind of battle, a familiar one.

His car.

Not the sleek, powerful machine he dreamt of, but the old patrol car assigned to him. It creaked and groaned like a rusty gate, but it was his chariot, his horse in this urban jungle.

"Time to get your backside moving, Olive," Came a playful shout. It was his mate, the sheriff's son, who seemed to find hanging around the station far more appealing than attending classes.

One look at Oliver's youthful face could fool anyone, but a glance down his frame revealed a different story. Beneath the worn uniform lay a physique hardened by years of navigating the city's rough underworld. He wasn't just another cop- he was a survivor, a protector forged in the crucible of the streets.

He stood, pushing himself off the bench with a sigh. Unlike his mate's easygoing persona, Oliver carried a quiet seriousness. He wasn't one for idle chatter or unnecessary dramatics. He preferred his actions to speak for him, whether it was in the calm efficiency with which he handled calls or the quiet strength he exuded during even the most tense situations.

A chuckle rumbled from Edward, the sheriff's son, who'd noticed Oliver's unwavering gaze locked on the patrol car like a hawk eyeing its prey. He sauntered over, a similar mug of coffee clutched in his hand.

"Staring holes into it won't make it magically appear better, you know?" Edward quipped, removing the lid and taking a sip. His eyes darted between Oliver and the car before he choked, a series of spluttering coughs erupting from him. "Bloody hell!"

His narrowed gaze darted to Oliver's hand, still firmly wrapped around his own warm cup. He watched, bewildered, as Oliver calmly took another sip, seemingly unfazed by the bitter concoction. It wasn't the ability to swallow the brew that bothered Edward, but the question of why Oliver continued to torture himself with it.

"Oliver Wright?" The familiar voice of Sheriff Edgar cut through the air. Oliver's gaze snapped away from the car, searching for the source. His shoulders slumped with resignation. Yep, there he was, standing tall outside the park's playground.

Oliver straightened his posture, not out of fear, but to project an air of competence. He approached the sheriff, his steps echoing on the dry pavement.

"What seems to be the trouble, Oliver?" Sheriff Edgar's tone wasn't one of authority, but rather genuine concern. "If you're still feeling under the weather, I can easily find someone to cover your shift for a few days."

Oliver's back stiffened, not because he feared losing his job, but because he didn't want to appear weak. "I'm perfectly fine, sir," he assured him, his voice firm yet respectful.

The sheriff still eyed him with a hint of doubt, but Oliver's declaration carried enough conviction to silence any further argument. "Right then. Your shift started six minutes ago," he informed him, clapping Oliver on the shoulder before heading back to his car- probably to leave the park.

As the sheriff's retreating figure disappeared, Oliver turned towards his car when Edward jogged up beside him, brimming with youthful enthusiasm.

"Mind if I tag along, Olive? Got nothing better to do tonight anyway," Edward offered, bouncing on his toes with an enthusiasm that bordered on hyperactivity.

Oliver sighed, a hint of annoyance flickering in his eyes. Edward was a good kid, seventeen years old with a heart of gold and a laugh that could brighten the gloomiest day. However, their close friendship had fueled accusations of nepotism among the station gossipmongers. Oliver, unfortunately, always seemed to get assigned the toughest jobs.

"Go bother someone else, Edward," Oliver muttered, strapping on his police gear.

"Please, Oliver," Edward pleaded, a hint of sadness clouding his features. "My girlfriend just dumped me, I need some… guy time."

Oliver ignored him, climbing into the driver's seat. Without giving Edward a chance to finish his sob story, he started the engine.

"Guys time!" Edward whined, but the car shot forward, leaving him standing in the dust

Oliver could feel the weight of guilt settle on his chest. Edward's girlfriends seemed to have a revolving door policy, and while Oliver wasn't exactly a love guru, he understood Edward's pain. But romance was a foreign language to him, a jumbled mess of confusing emotions he couldn't decipher.

It wasn't because Edward wasn't charming or good-looking those girls kept ending things with him. The truth was- Oliver sighed. He couldn't understand the intricacies of the female mind. Each time Edward sought his advice on relationship woes, Oliver would deflect, fearing the responsibility of giving the wrong words. He had no personal experience, no romantic novels under his belt to offer sage advice. Telling Edward to threaten his ex with his father's gun or scaring off her new boyfriend seemed more like something from a twisted crime novel than real-life solutions.

Taking a deep breath, Oliver pushed his personal concerns aside and focused on the night ahead. Rain lashed against the windshield, blurring the city lights into streaks of gold and crimson. The familiar hum of the engine and the rhythmic patter of rain became a comforting soundtrack, urging him forward.

Buzz…

The radio crackled through the static, jolting Oliver out of his failed attempt to hum along to a forgotten melody. He lifted the device closer.

"Unit 32, come in, please. Over." The voice crackled through the radio.

His voice remained calm and collected as he responded, "Dispatch, this is unit 32, go ahead. Over."

A disembodied voice crackled back, "Unit 32, routine check-in. Any updates from your patrol? Over."

"Negative, Dispatch. All quiet on my end. Patrolling sector 3, streets clear, no incidents to report. Over." Oliver's eyes scanned both sides of the rain-slicked road, the glow of streetlights painting fleeting reflections on the puddles.

"Roger, unit 32. Copy that. Maintain patrol and be advised, there's a report of a possible suspicious vehicle near the market on Ambers Street. Be on the lookout for a blue sedan with tinted windows. Over."

The report sent a jolt of tension through Oliver. His voice remained steady as he responded, "Copy that, Dispatch. I'll head towards Ambers Street and check it out. Over."

"Understood, unit 32. Proceed with caution. Over."

"Will do, Dispatch. Unit 32, out."

Dropping the radio, Oliver ran a hand through his damp grey-blonde hair, a sigh escaping his lips. The routine was nice, but a little action added spice to the night. Reaching the junction of Ambers Street, he slowed down, scanning the area with cautious eyes. The market seemed unusually still, not a single flicker of light betraying any late-night activity.

"Maybe a false alarm," he muttered, a sliver of disappointment gnawing at him.

Pulling over, he grabbed his flashlight and exited the car, the rain drumming a steady rhythm on the pavement. The air tasted metallic, tinged with the ozone tang of approaching thunder. His gaze swept across the deserted street, searching for any hint of blue amongst the shadows.

Nothing.

Ambers Street, notorious for its proximity to the county jail, was known for its lack of excitement. With a shrug, he decided to check in with the officers stationed at the jail outlet, a small apartment-like building tucked away down a side street. It served as a watchtower, a first line of defence against threats approaching the underground prison.

As he approached the building, a rumble of thunder echoed overhead, casting a momentary flash of light that revealed a bulky figure emerging from the doorway. It was George, a seasoned officer with a reputation for both sharp wit and pizza box companions.

"Hey, mate," Oliver called out, seeking shelter from the downpour under the building's overhang.

George offered a pizza-free hand for a handshake, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Haven't seen you around much, Olive. Settling some woman trouble, eh?" His booming laugh filled the air, knowing full well it would rile Oliver up.

"Oh, piss off, George," Oliver grumbled, feigning annoyance but secretly enjoying the friendly banter. "Anything interesting happened here lately?"

Despite his laid-back demeanour and frequent pizza breaks, George was one of the best at his job. His keen eyes missed nothing, and Oliver knew a gun likely lay hidden beneath the cardboard box, a silent guardian against unforeseen threats.

George shrugged, popping another bite of pizza. "Nah, just a few lost souls looking for a shortcut. They don't seem to understand that walls are there for a reason."

Oliver raised an eyebrow. "No suspicious cars? Blue sedan, tinted windows?"

George shook his head, chewing thoughtfully. "Not that I recall."

With a nod, Oliver pushed himself off the wall. "Alright then, got a sector to cover."

"See you around, Olive," George called after him, a grin plastered on his face.

As Oliver slipped into his car, the rain hammered down harder, blurring the world outside into a watery mess. He was about to head towards the designated patrol stop when a flicker of movement caught his eye. In the periphery of his headlights, a blurry image darted across the road, vanishing into the shadows near the jail entrance.

His pulse quickened. Had he really seen something, or was it just the rain playing tricks on him? Curiosity gnawed at him, refusing to let him ignore the fleeting vision. With a sigh, he put the car in gear, drawn deeper into the mystery hidden within the veil of rain.