February 14, 2030 — Evening
Detective William Vexley squinted into the snowfall as he exited the precinct building, tugging his scarf tighter around his neck. The streets of the city were slushed with melting ice, and soft jazz hummed faintly from the café across the street, mingling with the chorus of Valentine's laughter and clinking wine glasses. Couples walked hand-in-hand, some with red roses peeking out from brown paper wrappers, others with boxes of chocolates or shy smiles. It was, by all accounts, a romantic night. Vexley, however, felt more like a ghost in someone else's memory.
He was halfway down the block when he heard the click of heels behind him.
"No date tonight, detective?" came the voice, sultry and familiar.
He turned. She was there again. Victoria. That was the name she'd given him. And yet everything about her suggested layers beneath the name—layers not yet revealed.
She wore a fitted crimson coat, the collar flared high, and her dark hair was pulled into a soft knot at the base of her neck. Her eyes glinted under the lamplight with equal parts amusement and something else—intent.
"Not in the mood," Vexley replied, offering a dry smile. "Though the city's doing a good job reminding me of it."
Victoria stepped closer, brushing snow from her sleeve. "Then let me make tonight more interesting. You hungry?"
He hesitated. Every instinct told him to keep his distance. But curiosity had a way of beating instinct in his world.
"I know a place. Quiet. Private. The food's not half bad either. My treat."
The restaurant was tucked into an old alley beneath a worn sandstone archway. Dimly lit, with red velvet booths and flickering candlelight, the ambiance leaned on the edge of noir. A saxophone played a slow rendition of "Blue Moon" in the corner. The hostess didn't ask for a reservation; she simply gave a knowing nod and led them to a booth in the back.
Victoria ordered for them both—red wine, duck confit, garlic potato purée, and a dessert she described as "a necessary indulgence."
"You still haven't told me what this is about," Vexley said after their glasses clinked.
She took a sip of her wine and leaned in slightly.
"I want what you want. Justice. Real justice. Not the type they offer in courtrooms rigged with politics and secrets. The kind that turns a scalpel on the infection, not the symptoms."
Vexley studied her. "You've got a poetic way of putting things for someone who can steal a gun faster than I can blink."
She gave a soft laugh, eyes lowering. "Old habits."
They ate in silence for a few moments, but it was a silence rich with awareness. The city murmured beyond the frost-glazed windows, and between them sat the electric crackle of something dangerous pretending to be casual.
Vexley finally asked, "Who are you really?"
Victoria tilted her head. "Names are like coats. You wear the one that fits the weather."
He didn't press further. Instead, he reached for his wine. "So what is it you want me to do?"
"I want you to keep doing what you're doing," she said. "But I want to help. And in return, maybe one day, you help me."
He smirked. "That's dangerously vague."
She smiled back. "The truth usually is."
After dessert—chocolate mousse with a dollop of whiskey cream—Victoria reached into her coat and retrieved a small black box, about the size of a deck of cards. It was tied in a thin red ribbon. On top of the box was a small gift card with an embossed lipstick kiss mark.
"Happy Valentine's Day, detective," she said, sliding it across the table.
He opened the box slowly. Inside, nestled in black foam, was a small disk drive. Simple. Unmarked.
He looked at her.
"What's on it?"
She rose from her seat, slipping her gloves back on. "Answers. Names. Coordinates. Shadows. Enough to make the right enemies very nervous."
Victoria leaned over and whispered, "Just promise me you won't open it in a public place. And don't try to trace me. You won't like what you find."
With that, she turned, leaving behind the lingering scent of jasmine and iron.
Vexley remained at the table long after she left, staring at the box, heart pounding like a drumbeat behind his ribs.