Brooklyn. Tuesday. 9:43 a.m.
Ezra Kael walked into the 99th precinct like he already had a fan club.
He wasn't particularly loud. He didn't have flashy clothes. But something about him made people look up—maybe it was the confident walk, or the way he smiled like he knew secrets you'd want to hear at parties.
A receptionist with exactly zero interest in life gave him a bored stare over her crossword.
"You here for something?"
Ezra leaned casually on the counter. "Yeah. Looking to join the chaos."
She blinked. "...You the transfer?"
"Ezra Kael. Detective. Technically still shiny and new."
She pointed without enthusiasm. "Captain's office. Left of the vending machine that only sells gum and regret."
"Sounds like home."
The bullpen was a warm mess—clacking keyboards, raised voices, a printer coughing like it had bronchitis. A man in a leather jacket was attempting to tape two desk chairs together. Across from him, another detective was arguing with the copy machine, possibly losing.
Ezra strolled through like it was a resort.
"Yo!" a voice called. "New guy!"
Jake Peralta spun around in his chair and extended a hand dramatically. "Detective Jake Peralta. Resident genius, class clown, and undefeated precinct prank champion. You must be the new blood."
Ezra shook his hand. "Ezra Kael. Formerly of the 7th precinct, occasional karaoke champion, and proud owner of two stress plants I haven't killed yet."
Jake gave a slow, impressed nod. "Respect. That's two more plants than I've kept alive."
"Most people don't water them with Gatorade."
Jake pointed at him. "Okay, you're funny. You and I are gonna get along dangerously well."
Just then, a voice broke in—sharp, efficient, and wrapped in irritation.
"Peralta, are you bothering the transfer already?"
Amy Santiago approached like a woman on a mission. She had a clipboard, a perfectly ironed shirt, and the aura of someone who alphabetized their spice rack.
"I was welcoming him," Jake said.
"You were interrogating him."
Ezra raised a hand. "I didn't mind. It's like being hazed by a golden retriever."
Jake beamed. Amy frowned. "I'm Detective Santiago. Orientation started at nine. You're late."
"I was early for nine-fifteen," Ezra said brightly. "I just took a scenic detour through internal dread and the wrong subway."
Amy stared at him like she was trying to figure out if he was being sarcastic or just broken.
"Uh-huh."
"I like your clipboard," Ezra added.
She blinked. "...Thanks?"
"Very authoritative. I can tell you win arguments by flipping to a highlighted page."
Jake burst out laughing. "Okay, I'm calling it—this guy's a magician."
Ezra gave a little bow. "Only when there's paperclips and a bored audience."
Amy muttered something about clowns and walked off.
Ezra made his way up to the captain's office. The door said:
CAPTAIN McGINTLEY – DO NOT ENTER UNLESS BLEEDING, ON FIRE, OR HOLDING A DONUT
He knocked anyway.
A gravelly voice called out, "Is it donuts or blood?"
"Neither, sir. Detective Ezra Kael. The transfer."
The door creaked open. Captain McGintley sat at his desk with suspenders dangling off his shoulders, a coffee-stained shirt, and an old TV playing baseball highlights from what looked like 1984.
He didn't look up. "You look like a lawyer."
"Not unless there's been a massive clerical error."
McGintley squinted over a manila folder. "Kael, huh? Transferred in clean. No complaints. No commendations. You've somehow managed to be invisible and also suspicious."
Ezra shrugged. "I prefer to make an impression gradually. Like mold."
The captain barked a laugh. "You're cocky."
"I'm charming. There's a difference. One gets you punched. The other buys you time."
McGintley grunted. "Just don't get arrested and don't mess up my stats. Everyone here's a mess. You'll fit right in."
"Excellent. I was hoping for something just shy of a circus."
"You're in the right place. Dismissed."
Back downstairs, Ezra scanned the bullpen.
Detective Rosa Diaz walked in like she was about to shut down an illegal casino with her glare alone. Boyle was trying to staple something to a bulletin board and instead stapled his tie. Gina Linetti was sitting backward in a chair, texting with one hand and eating licorice with the other.
Ezra made his way to the closest empty desk. He set down his bag and looked around like a man checking the view from a new hotel room.
Gina squinted at him. "You're new."
"That obvious?"
"You've got transfer posture. All stiff. Like you still care."
Ezra smiled. "Give me a week."
"You weird?"
"Debatable."
"I like that. Welcome to the zoo."
Jake rolled his chair over. "So what's your thing? Are you the cool one? Mysterious loner? Secretly a billionaire?"
"Honestly," Ezra said, leaning back, "I'm still figuring that out."
Amy walked by, paused, and muttered, "Probably chaos with good hair."
"I take that as a compliment," Ezra said.
"It wasn't meant to be."
He smiled wider. "Even better."
He sat down, opened his brand-new notebook, and clicked his pen.
Day One. New precinct. New names. New lies.Let's see how long the truth can stay buried.
He tapped the pen against the paper, then added:
They seem...fun.