Ramirez stood at the entrance of the police headquarters, staring at the large glass doors before him. His reflection stared back, worn and hollow. It had been over a week since his family disappeared—vanished without a trace.His wife. His daughter, Ava. Gone.He had lost things before—friends, partners, a sense of peace—but never his family. That was the one thing he had always sworn to protect.He had spent days tearing through every lead, interrogating street informants, combing through surveillance footage—only to find nothing. The kidnappers had been ahead of him from the start. Somehow, they had overridden the security systems before snatching his family. No footage. No traces. No mistakes.Now, he was failing.He took a deep breath and pushed through the doors, his boots echoing against the polished floors as he walked in. The station was alive with activity—officers at their desks, radios buzzing, papers rustling. Some of them glanced his way, their expressions unreadable. Ot

The patrol car sped through the dimly lit streets, sirens off, its occupants locked in a silent battle of will and suspicion.Oscar sat in the passenger seat, his jaw tight, his mind racing. His fingers tapped against his knee as he glanced at Captain Doe, who was gripping the wheel with a firm, steady hold. In the backseat, the prisoner—a thickset man with a rough beard and nervous eyes—shifted uncomfortably, his handcuffs rattling slightly.The plan had been simple. Oscar had caught this man sneaking around Ramirez’s house—one of the last places linked to the detective’s missing family. That meant the guy knew something. Taking him to the station, though? That would be a mistake. The higher-ups were compromised. Oscar had seen it happen too many times—witnesses disappearing, evidence vanishing, criminals walking free because someone in power wanted it that way.He couldn’t let that happen again."Turn here," Oscar said, his voice controlled but firm.Captain Doe frowned, his gaze fl

The roar of the engine shattered the night’s quiet as the massive truck hurtled through the hospital gates. Its headlights bathed the driveway in harsh white light, casting long shadows of the security guards running toward it."Are you out of your damn mind?!" one of the security men yelled, waving his hands frantically. "What business does a truck have in a hospital?!"The truck didn’t stop. It rolled forward with purpose, plowing through the well-kept driveway of Sainte-Marie Hospital, a little-big facility on the outskirts of Paris. The hospital was known for its excellent medical services and privacy—perfect for those who wanted to stay hidden from prying eyes.The security team scrambled to react. Three guards flanked the truck, shouting orders, but the driver ignored them, his focus fixed on the building’s entrance. He didn't stop until the truck’s front wheels nearly kissed the emergency doors.The hospital staff inside turned, startled by the commotion. The security team, now

Ramirez gripped the steering wheel tightly, his breath heavy with exhaustion. The night air was thick, pressing against the windshield of his car as he sat in the dimly lit parking lot outside his apartment. He had driven home, but stepping inside didn’t feel safe. Not when he knew they were watching. Not when he had spent the last twenty-four hours trying to find his family, only to hit dead end after dead end.He exhaled, rubbing his tired eyes. His back ached from stress, his mind a tangled mess of desperation and suspicion. He couldn’t trust anyone. Not his colleagues, not his superiors—hell, not even the so-called “friends” who had warned him to back off. The moment he started digging into Javier Montoya and his criminal network, the threats came in waves, whispered behind closed doors, sent in untraceable messages, hinted at in the cold, lifeless gazes of men he once called his brothers in uniform.And then, his phone rang.He flinched. The sound cut through the silence like a k

The car door swung open, and Ramirez stepped out, his polished boots slamming onto the pavement with firm authority. He was a man of presence—tall, broad-shouldered, and exuding the kind of honor that made him stand out even in a city like New York. His jet-black hair, neatly combed back, glistened under the streetlights, and his sharp brown eyes carried a depth of experience that few could comprehend. At 33, Ramirez was a man built for resilience, a man who had seen too much yet carried himself with dignity. His chiseled jaw, accentuated by a slight five o'clock shadow, gave him a rugged appeal, and his tailored black suit hugged his frame perfectly.Tonight, he was on Madison Avenue, not far from NewYork-Presbyterian Hospital—where Oscar was recovering. As he pulled up, his mind raced with memories. He and Oscar had been through everything together. From the cold streets of the Bronx to high-stakes busts in Brooklyn, they had always had each other’s backs. Sure, Oscar had his moment