DEREK

The sharp lights of the precinct always had a way of buzzing right at the frequency of a migraine. But still, this was my job. This was the way I gave back to the society— keeping law and order.

It was a Tuesday, the air thick with the smell of coffee, disinfectant and printer ink. I was sitting at my desk, staring at a stack of reports that felt like they were written in hieroglyphics rather than a language I understood.

At thirty-two, I had the kind of life people likely called stable. I was a lead detective in the NYPD, had a comfortable apartment downtown, a very loyal...