The sirens had faded.But not the tension.
Inside the police van parked near the abandoned building, a man stood still—arms crossed, eyes narrowed.
Officer Levan Adair.Commander of the city's Street Division.
Sharp jawline. Hair slicked back.But behind the badge and uniform, there was something else.
A past.
He stepped over broken chains and scattered blood drops, scanning the scene like someone who'd seen it all before.
Because he had.
Fifteen years ago, these kinds of places were his playground.
"Sir," a junior officer called, "We found no one. Just signs of a serious fight."
Levan didn't answer immediately.He crouched, ran his fingers over a cracked metal pipe.Fresh blood.
Then he smiled.
A small, knowing smile.
"They're getting sloppy."
Back at the precinct, he walked into his office, loosened his collar, and stared out the window.
City lights flickered like memories.
Then—his phone buzzed.
A message.From one of his trusted contacts still lingering in the underground:
"Name's Rayzen. Leading the Black Fangs now. Reminds me of someone I used to be."
Levan chuckled under his breath.
"Great," he muttered. "Another me."
He turned to the framed photo on his desk.A young girl smiling. Sweet. Innocent.
Alea.
"Don't worry, sis," he said softly."I'll keep this mess away from you.Even if I have to break a few rules again."
To be continued...