"Because of what that idiot said? I don't care what he thinks or even if he comes after me..."
The light turned green. I accelerated smoothly. Navigated through wet streets.
"It's not about him."
"Then what is it about? Because it sounds like you're trying to get rid of me."
A slow exhale. "You didn't sign up to be assigned housing with someone like me."
"Someone like you?" Confusion colored the question. Then understanding dawned. "Wait. Are you talking about what he implied? About you being..."
"It's not a rumor. I'm gay. Only the Inspector knows, though clearly there was gossip."
A beat of silence filled the car. Rain intensified. Drummed harder against the roof.
"So?"
A brief glance sideways before returning my gaze forward. "So, it changes things."
"Does it? Because from where I'm sitting, the only thing that's changed is now I know he's an even bigger asshole than I thought."
I gripped the wheel harder. "Don't pretend this isn't awkward for you."
"Oh, I'm not pretending anything. I'm awkward all the time. Ask anyone. But if you think you can use this as an excuse to ditch me and get out of our probation, think again. You're not getting rid of me that easily, Hawley."
I tried to process the reaction. Or rather, the lack of one. It was difficult.
"Look, I don't know what year you think this is, but... love is love. Who you are is who you are. And I couldn't care less who you're attracted to, as long as it's not Sergeant Saunders. Because that would seriously make me question your judgment."
Despite myself, the corner of my mouth twitched. He caught it. Met it with a grin.
"Did the Bear just smile? Somebody call the news."
"Don't push it." But the crushing weight that had settled on my chest since the outburst began to lift.
He didn't flinch.
He hadn't made the confession into a moment. A revelation. Or worse, a joke. He'd just absorbed it and moved past.
It was the kindest thing anyone had done for me in a long time.
Chapter 12: The Boost
Ryan
The downpour traced cold fingers down my neck as I followed Hawley into PixelLab. The gaming café sat half a block off Yonge-Dundas Square, the city's busiest intersection, where the billboards stacked four storeys high stayed lit at three in the morning and the sidewalk crowd never quite thinned. Air-conditioning hit us. Along with the blue glow of dozens of monitors and rapid-fire clicking of keyboards.
"This is definitely where he was." That unmistakable certainty colored his voice. No hesitation. Just facts. "Computer 27, back corner, arrived at 22:47, left at 01:32."
I nodded. Scanned the rows of gamers hunched over their screens. Most wearing headphones. All lost in digital worlds where real-life problems didn't exist. Not one person glanced up as we walked through.
"Perfect hiding spot. Anonymous. Open 24 hours. No one makes eye contact. Question is, where did he go after?"
The place smelled of instant noodles, energy drinks, and the faint musk of bodies that had been sitting too long in one place. I trailed my partner to the counter where a bored-looking manager in his thirties scrolled through his phone. He barely acknowledged us. His expression soured immediately at the sight of our badges.
"Police? Again? I already sent the footage to your station."
"We need to know if anyone spoke with this boy." I pulled up Min's photo on my phone. Turned it toward him. "Or if you've seen him return since that night."
