A Ghost With No Name- Bl- Officer and Thief

Elias König was not a man easily rattled.

He had seen death, had ordered men into danger, had watched cases go cold despite his best efforts. He was built for it—the pressure, the responsibility. His mind was steel, sharpened by years of discipline, by the unyielding weight of duty.

But tonight, that steel had turned brittle.

And it started with a name.

Zev.

He exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face as he leaned back in his chair. No matter how much work he buried himself in, the thought of him wouldn't leave.

Something was wrong.

He had felt it before—this gnawing unease clawing at the back of his mind. It wasn't rational. It wasn't based on evidence. But it was there. It had been since last night.

Maybe it was the way Zev had looked at him—the brief flicker of something vulnerable before he shoved it down. Maybe it was how his fingers had curled around the bag of bread, tight like he was afraid to let go. Or maybe it was the fact that Elias had never seen him that tense before.

Zev always had a sharp edge to him, but last night, it had been different.

Like he was waiting for something to go wrong.

Elias's hands curled into fists.

He should've made him stay at the station. Should've told him to sleep in the holding cells if he had nowhere else to go. Should've done something.

He was about to get up, grab his coat, head out into the streets himself—

Then the noise started.

Shouting. Heavy footsteps. Urgency in every movement.

Elias stiffened.

Then, he sighed. It was late—early, really, pushing past 3 AM. It wasn't unusual for the station to be loud, for officers to be frustrated, for some drunk idiot to be causing trouble. He rolled his shoulders, pushing away the lingering unease, and stood.

He stepped out of his office—

—and froze.

His stomach dropped.

The air was thick with voices, but none of it registered.

Blood.

A lot of it.

A limp body being carried in, dragged between two officers, leaving smears of red on the station floor.

Elias's ears rang.

Something inside him snapped.

His feet were moving before his brain could even catch up, pushing past the officers, shoving through the chaos until he was right there, in front of them—

And then he saw him.

Zev.

He knew that hair. Even soaked in blood, even half-covered by torn fabric and grime, he knew.

His jacket was soaked through, his shirt underneath nearly black with blood. His face—pale, too pale beneath the grime and streaks of red. His breathing was shallow, uneven, lips parted like he had been trying to speak but never got the chance.

Elias's body locked up.

For a second, he couldn't move.

Couldn't breathe.

It was like the world had tilted, like everything had shifted out of focus, and the only thing he could see, the only thing that mattered, was the broken body in front of him.

Someone was speaking—yelling orders, calling for an ambulance. Someone else cursed under their breath, muttering about how much blood there was.

Elias barely heard them.

His throat closed, and suddenly, nothing made sense anymore.

His worst fears had come to life.

He had failed.

Failed to protect him. Failed to keep him safe. Failed, failed, failed—

His hand lifted on its own, reaching out—meant to check his temperature, meant to do something useful—

Instead, his fingers brushed against Zev's cheek.

Blood. Warm and sticky.

He barely noticed the way his breath shook.

He should be checking his pulse. Should be giving orders. Should be doing something.

But all he could do was kneel there, staring down at him, the weight of it pressing against his chest like an iron cage.

No.

His fingers twitched. His mind screamed at him to move, damn it, move, but his body felt numb.

Then—

Sirens.

The sharp wail of an approaching ambulance cut through the fog, snapping Elias back to reality.

His head jerked up. The paramedics were here. Officers were stepping aside, making way.

His jaw clenched.

Move.

He forced himself to stand, forced his voice to work. It came out sharper than he intended, cold and commanding as he barked orders, directing his team to process what little evidence they had, to track down whoever had done this. Evidence. Statements. Surveillance.

But even as the ambulance doors swung open and Zev was lifted onto the stretcher, Elias didn't step away.

He wouldn't.

The paramedics barely spared him a glance as they worked fast, hands pressing against Zev's wounds, checking vitals, stabilizing what they could.

"Sir, we need space."

Elias didn't move.

One of them turned to him, firm but rushed. "Are you family?"

"No." His voice was clipped, distant. Then, before they could dismiss him, he pulled out his badge. "But this is an attempted murder case, and I need to be with the victim."

A lie. A necessary one.

The paramedic hesitated, then relented. "Fine. Get in."

Elias climbed in without another word.

The doors slammed shut. The sirens roared to life. The city blurred past the windows.

Elias sat stiffly beside Zev, gripping his hand.

It was the only part of him that was warm.

His own fingers trembled, but he ignored it, tightening his grip instead.

His usual composure was gone.

No sharp posture. No controlled distance. No cold detachment.

Just fear.

And the overwhelming, gut-wrenching thought—

I should've been there.