The Offer

Danny settled into his seat, the hard plastic digging into his back. The lecture hall was one of those old-fashioned ones, with rows of seats ascending steeply towards the back of the room. He'd managed to snag a spot near the top, with a good view of the front.

Lexi slid into the seat beside him, her floral perfume wafting over him like a tantalizing breeze. Danny inhaled deeply, feeling a little light-headed. God, she smelled good. Like springtime and sunshine and everything nice.

He was just this close to lean over and ask her what scent she was wearing when more students began to file in. They came in groups and pairs, chattering and laughing as they found their seats. Danny couldn't help but notice the vibe in the room - it was different.

Everyone seemed so... relaxed. Carefree, even. There were girls in flowy sundresses and guys in paint-splattered jeans. Colourful tattoos peeked out from under sleeves and collar edges. Piercings glinted in ears and eyebrows and noses.

Danny grinned to himself. Of course. This was an art class, after all. And if there was one thing he knew about artists, it was that they marched to the beat of their own drum.

He turned to Lexi, twirling a pen between his fingers. "So," he said, aiming for casual. "How spontaneous are you?"

Lexi blinked at him, a tiny furrow appearing between her brows. "I'm sorry?"

Danny chuckled. "Spontaneous. You know, impulsive. Up for anything."

Lexi's lips pursed as she considered the question. "Well..." she began, then trailed off. She looked away, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "I don't know, really. I guess I've never thought about it."

Danny nodded, not surprised. Lexi seemed like the type to colour inside the lines, to follow the rules. Not that there was anything wrong with that. It was just... different from what he was used to.

Lexi turned back to him, her eyes sparkling with sudden mischief. "Why do you ask? Are you planning on whisking me away on some wild adventure after class?"

Danny grinned, leaning back in his seat. "Maybe. If you're up for it."

Before Lexi could respond, a hush fell over the room. Danny looked up to see a woman entering through the front door. She was tall and willowy, with long silver hair braided down her back. She wore a flowing kaftan in bright, swirling colours and a pair of oversized glasses perched on her nose.

But it wasn't the woman who caught Danny's attention. It was the people following her.

There were three of them, two men and a woman, all dressed in crisp police uniforms. The men were typical cop types - broad shoulders, buzz cuts, stern expressions. But the woman...

She was different. For one thing, she wasn't in uniform. She wore a sharp pantsuit, her auburn hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail. And the way she held herself, the way her eyes scanned the room... Danny could tell she was the one in charge.

The lecturer cleared her throat. "Good morning, everyone. Before we begin, we have some guests who would like to speak with you."

He gestured to the officers. "This is Detective Inspector Sinclair and her team. They're here because they're looking for a specific student. He's not in this class, but they're hoping one of you might have seen him around campus."

One of the uniformed officers, stepped forward. "Right," he said, his voice gruff. "We're going to pass out a sketch of the individual in question. Take a good look, and let us know if he looks familiar."

He nodded to his colleagues, who began distributing sheets of paper to the students. When one reached Danny and Lexi, they bent their heads together to examine it.

It was a hand-drawn sketch of a young man's face. He looked to be in his early twenties, with sharp features and wary eyes. Not the best drawing in the world, but good enough to get a sense of what the guy looked like.

"Looks like the police sketch artist needs to go back to art school," Danny muttered. "Pretty sure I could do a better job than this."

Lexi shot him a look, one eyebrow raised. "Seriously?"

Danny shrugged, feeling his face heat up. "Just saying."

Lexi shook her head, turning back to the sketch. "I wonder what he did. Must be serious, if they're coming to us for help."

"You know him?" Danny asked.

"No," Lexi said. "But then, I'm new here too, remember? I don't know many people yet."

Danny nodded, his eyes drifting back to the front of the room. The officers were conferring with each other, their voices low. The woman - the one in the suit - stood slightly apart, her arms crossed over her chest as she surveyed the room.

Her gaze landed on Danny, and for a moment, their eyes locked. Danny felt a shiver run down his spine. There was something about her, something intense and unrelenting. Like a bloodhound on a scent.

Then her eyes moved on, and the moment passed.

After a few more minutes, it became clear that no one in the class recognized the man in the sketch. The officers gathered the papers, disappointment evident on their faces.

As they filed out of the room, Danny couldn't help but wonder. Who was this guy they were after? And what had he done to warrant such attention from the cops?

More importantly, why did Danny have a feeling this wouldn't be the last he heard of it?

_____

The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the pristine greens of the Royal Manchester Golf Club. The air was still, the only sound the occasional chirp of a bird or the distant hum of traffic on the nearby motorway.

Detective Chief Inspector Thomas strode across the fairway, his club tapping rhythmically against his leg as he walked. He was a man of habit, of routine, and these weekly games were a sacred part of his schedule. They allowed him to clear his mind, to focus on something other than the endless parade of crime and misery that filled his days.

His playing partners were an eclectic bunch - businessmen, politicians, even a few fellow officers. But on the course, they were all equals, all subject to the same whims of fate and physics.

As they walked, their conversation flowed, jumping from topic to topic with the easy familiarity of old friends. They spoke of their families, their work, the state of the world. But beneath the surface, there was always an undercurrent of something else - a jockeying for position, a subtle dance of power and influence.

"I tell you, Thomas," said one of the men, a chubby banker with a ruddy face, "…this new chap they've got running the show over at the Financial Conduct Authority, he's going to be trouble. Mark my words."

Thomas chuckled, shaking his head. "You worry too much, Nigel. The FCA's been toothless for years. I doubt one man's going to change that."

"I wouldn't be so sure," interjected another of the players, a silver-haired MP with a hawk-like gaze. "I've heard things about this fellow. Apparently, he's got a bee in his bonnet about cracking down on insider trading, money laundering, all that sort of thing."

Thomas frowned, his interest piqued. "Is that so? Well, perhaps it's about time someone took a firmer hand. God knows there's enough dirty money sloshing around this city as it is."

A few paces behind, a young man followed, carrying Thomas's bag. He was new, a recent addition to the club's staff. Thomas had noticed him around the clubhouse, had been struck by the quiet intensity of his gaze, the way he seemed to absorb everything around him without ever saying a word.

He was smart too. The few times he heard him talk, the things he talked about were things not even most accomplished adults knew of.

There was something about the lad - Alex, Thomas thought his name was - that intrigued him. A depth, a complexity that belied his youthful appearance.

As they reached the green, Thomas waved Alex forward, motioning for him to hand him his putter. Their fingers brushed as the club changed hands, and Thomas felt a jolt of something - recognition, perhaps, or understanding.

He looked up, meeting Alex's eyes. For a moment, he saw something there - a flicker of amusement, a hint of a challenge. Then it was gone, replaced by the neutral mask of the perfect servant.

"You know," Thomas said, his tone casual, "I couldn't help but overhear your conversation with Nigel earlier. About the financial markets, the regulatory landscape. You seem to have a keen grasp of the issues."

Alex ducked his head, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "I've always been interested in that sort of thing, sir. Economics, politics, the forces that shape our world. I find it fascinating."

Thomas nodded, lining up his putt. "A man after my own heart. Tell me, Alex, have you ever considered a career in law enforcement?"

Alex blinked, seeming taken aback by the question. "I... I can't say I have, sir. My studies have been focused more on the business side of things."

Thomas smiled, sinking his putt with a satisfying rattle of the cup. "Well, perhaps you should give it some thought. We've got an internship program at the Met, you know. For bright young lads like yourself. I think you'd be a perfect fit."

Alex was quiet for a moment, his brow furrowed in thought. "That's... that's very kind of you, sir. I'll certainly consider it."

Thomas clapped him on the shoulder, his grip firm and reassuring. "You do that, son. A mind like yours, a sense of justice... we could use more of that on the force."

He turned back to the game, but his thoughts were far away. He couldn't help but feel that he was standing on the precipice of something, that the ground was shifting beneath his feet.

***