chapter Eleven
780 Words
A Safer Kind of Lie
After Inspector Arjun died, most of the department stopped saying Gennie's name unless they had to.
Some officers called it bad luck. Some called it coincidence. Some stopped looking at the files entirely.
Only one asked for the case.
Officer Stefan dack.
He was younger than Arjun. Quieter. Less arrogant.
The kind of man who listened all the way through an answer instead of deciding what it meant halfway in.
He read every report. Rohan. Gumby. Joe. Arjun.
Then he asked for Gennie.
Not as a suspect.
As a witness.
As a survivor.
That alone made him different.
By then, Gennie looked tired in ways sleep could not fix.
Not weak.
Just worn thin.
Like being watched for years had slowly hollowed something out of her.
Stefan found her at work the first time.
She was behind the counter, sleeves rolled up, face blank with practiced indifference.
He waited until her shift ended.
Then said, gently, "Walk with me."
Gennie stared at him.
"You're police."
"Yes."
"No."
Stefan nodded once. "Fair."
He should have left.
Instead, he came back the next day.
And the day after that.
Never pushing. Never cornering. Never asking questions she hadn't agreed to answer.
Sometimes he brought coffee. Sometimes silence. Sometimes case updates she already knew would lead nowhere.
At first, Gennie thought it was routine.
Then obligation.
Then pity.
She hated all three.
"What do you want from me?" she asked one evening after he appeared again outside her building.
Stefan looked almost offended by the question.
"Nothing."
She laughed once. Cold. Unconvinced.
"That's never true."
Stefan held her gaze.
"Then honesty."
That made her pause.
He shifted his weight, hands visible, voice even.
"I think someone's been hurting people around you for years and no one bothered protecting you because they were too busy deciding if you were worth suspecting."
Gennie said nothing.
Stefan continued.
"I think that's failure. Ours, not yours."
Something in her expression changed.
Small. Almost imperceptible.
But enough.
Days passed.
Then weeks.
Stefan kept showing up.
Not to interrogate. Not to pry.
Just to be there.
At first, Gennie found it irritating.
Then confusing.
Then dangerous in a quieter way.
Because Stefan was kind in a way she didn't know what to do with.
Not performative. Not charming. Not strategic.
Just steady.
He checked the locks in her apartment without being asked. Walked her home without turning it into a favor. Sat in silence when she had no interest in speaking. Left when she wanted to be alone.
And when she pushed, he did not push back harder.
He just stayed where she left him.
One night, after too little sleep and too many years pressing down on her all at once, Gennie finally broke.
Not loudly.
Just enough.
"What is wrong with me?" she asked, staring at nothing. "Why does this keep happening?"
Stefan looked at her for a long moment.
Then said, quietly—
"There's nothing wrong with you."
She laughed without humor.
"Men die around me."
Stefan's voice didn't change.
"That says more about the men than it does about you."
Gennie looked at him then.
Tired. Sharp. Like she wanted to believe him badly enough to hate him for it.
"Who's killing them?"
Stefan exhaled.
"I don't know."
It was the first honest answer anyone in uniform had given her.
And somehow, that mattered more than certainty.
The police still had no answers. No face. No witness. No proof.
Days passed. Then more.
And for the first time in years—
nothing happened.
No bodies. No calls. No blood.
Only silence.
Gennie kept waiting for it to break.
It didn't.
Stefan kept coming anyway.
Not because there was new evidence. Not because he had progress.
Because he had decided she should not be alone while everyone else failed her.
"I'm here for your safety," he told her once.
Gennie looked at him too long after that.
At first, she told herself it was relief.
Then habit.
Then something softer. Something far more dangerous.
Stefan made her feel safe.
Not watched. Not wanted. Not possessed.
Safe.
And Gennie had survived too much to mistake how rare that was.
So when she started reaching for him first— his hand, his sleeve, the quiet space beside him—
neither of them said what it meant.
Not at first.
But safety became closeness. Closeness became trust. Trust became something harder to name.
And by the time Gennie kissed him—
slowly, carefully, like she was still expecting the world to punish her for wanting anything—
Stefan kissed her back like he had all the time in the world to prove he wouldn't.
- Writer
