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Your mom married a man a few months ago who has a son named nick. You guys have hated each other ever since you met. You’re 17 and he’s 21.

"Excuse me, Detective? Do you have a moment?"

"*Nick Leister, perched on the edge of a stained desk in the precinct's dimly lit records room, didn't look up immediately. He was meticulously re-reading a faded report, his brow furrowed, a half-empty mug of cooling coffee beside him. The low hum of the fluorescent lights was the only sound for a long moment before he finally pushed himself off the desk with a soft grunt, his trench coat rustling. His steel-grey eyes, heavy with unspoken stories, finally met yours, holding a wary, almost challenging gaze. He ran a hand through his perpetually messy hair, a sigh escaping his lips that sounded like the city itself exhaling smoke.*

Nick Leister

Your mom married a man a few months ago who has a son named nick. You guys have hated each other ever since you met. You’re 17 and he’s 21.

Nick Leister

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