Chapter 10: Scars and Coffee

The VDPD headquarters at three in the morning was a study in controlled chaos. Emergency lights cast harsh shadows across the bullpen while crime scene technicians processed evidence from the Meridian Estate. The air smelled of burnt coffee, magical residue, and the particular brand of exhaustion that came from preventing the end of the world on a Tuesday night.

Jade sat at her desk, methodically filling out forms that would never adequately capture what had really happened in those catacombs. Her formal gown had been replaced by spare clothes from her locker—tactical pants, a faded t-shirt, and boots that had seen better decades. The transformation back to Detective Hawkins should have been comforting, but something felt different now.

"Injury report?" she muttered, staring at the blank line on Form 847-B. "Let's see... minor bruising from being grabbed by an immortal archmage, temporary dimensional displacement, and possible reality-induced vertigo."

She crossed out what she'd written and put down "minor contusions sustained during arrest of suspect."

"Having trouble with the paperwork?"

Jade looked up to find Captain Morrison standing beside her desk, his usually pristine uniform wrinkled and his expression caught somewhere between relief and exasperation. Behind him, she could see Drew being debriefed by a team of Fae Enforcement officers, his patient smile wearing thin as they asked the same questions for the fourth time.

"Just trying to figure out how to explain interdimensional combat in triplicate," she replied. "The forms weren't really designed for this kind of thing."

Morrison pulled up a chair and sat down heavily. "None of us were designed for this kind of thing. Three months ago, my biggest concern was gang activity in the Foundry District. Now I've got detectives who are secretly royalty and cases that require consulting with beings older than civilization."

"Having second thoughts about the Supernatural Crimes Division?"

"Every day. But then I remember that without it, we'd all be speaking in unison while bowing to an ancient madman." Morrison's smile was tired but genuine. "Besides, someone has to keep you two from destroying the city while you're saving it."

Jade glanced across the bullpen to where Drew was finally extracting himself from the Fae debrief. His tuxedo jacket was gone, his shirt sleeves rolled up, and his usually perfect hair was disheveled. He looked human again—tired, rumpled, and reassuringly mortal.

"Captain," she said carefully, "about Drew's... situation. The prince thing."

"What about it?"

"Are we going to have problems? Political complications, jurisdiction issues, that sort of thing?"

Morrison followed her gaze to where Drew was now arguing with what appeared to be a very official-looking Fae clerk about proper diplomatic protocol. "Probably. But that's tomorrow's problem. Tonight, he's just Detective Hemley, and you're both going home to get some sleep."

"I'm not sure I remember how to sleep without worrying about reality collapsing."

"You'll figure it out. You always do." Morrison stood and straightened his uniform. "Take tomorrow off. Both of you. That's an order."

As the Captain walked away, Jade turned back to her paperwork. The forms were endless—witness statements, evidence logs, interdepartmental notifications. Each one a small piece of the massive bureaucratic machine that kept the city functioning, even when that city occasionally needed saving from cosmic threats.

She was halfway through describing the "routine investigation" that had led to the arrest of a "suspected alchemist" when she caught a familiar scent: expensive cologne mixed with coffee. Real coffee, not the industrial sludge the department usually provided.

"Peace offering," Drew said, setting a paper cup on her desk. "From that place on Fifth Street you mentioned."

Jade picked up the cup and inhaled. The coffee was perfect—dark, bitter, with just a hint of the char that came from beans roasted slightly too long. It was exactly the kind of terrible coffee she preferred, the kind that tasted like honesty and didn't pretend to be anything other than what it was.

"How did you know?" she asked.

"I pay attention." Drew pulled up a chair and sat down beside her desk, his own coffee cup steaming in his hands. "Besides, after the night we've had, I figured we both deserved something that wouldn't try to kill us or merge us into a collective consciousness."

"Fair point." Jade took a sip and felt some of the tension leave her shoulders. "So, Prince Andreth. That's really your name?"

"One of them. I've had several identities over the years." Drew's expression was carefully neutral. "The Fae courts require a certain... flexibility when it comes to personal history."

"And the engagement to Elara?"

"Arranged marriage. Political alliance between the Summer and Winter Courts." Drew's smile was rueful. "I was young, idealistic, and convinced that I could change the system from within. Elara was... less idealistic."

"What happened?"

"I fell in love with someone else. Someone human." Drew's voice was quiet now, almost lost in the ambient noise of the bullpen. "The Courts didn't approve. There were... consequences."

Jade waited, sensing there was more to the story. Around them, the late-night shift continued their work—filing reports, processing evidence, maintaining the mundane machinery that kept the city safe. It was peaceful, routine, and utterly normal.

"She died," Drew said finally. "Not directly because of the Courts, but... the stress of being involved with someone from my world. The constant scrutiny, the political pressure, the magical complications. It was too much."

"I'm sorry."

"It was a long time ago. But it's why I left the Summer Court, why I became Drew Hemley instead of Prince Andreth." He took a sip of his coffee and made a face. "This really is terrible coffee."

"I know. It's perfect."

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, drinking their coffee and pretending to work on paperwork. The bullpen was quieter now, most of the emergency response teams having finished their initial processing. Soon, the day shift would arrive, and the city would return to its normal rhythm of crime and investigation.

"Jade," Drew said eventually, "about what happened in the chamber. What you did with the convergence points."

"What about it?"

"That kind of power... it's not something you should have been able to access. Not without years of training and preparation."

Jade looked at him over her coffee cup. "Are you saying I'm dangerous?"

"I'm saying you're unique. And in our line of work, unique tends to attract attention." Drew's expression was serious now. "The Fae Courts are going to want to study you. The human magical authorities are going to want to register you. And there are probably other organizations we haven't even heard of yet."

"Let them come." Jade's voice was flat with determination. "I've spent my whole life being treated like a freak. I'm not about to start hiding now."

"I'm not suggesting you hide. I'm suggesting you be careful. And that you let me help you navigate the political complications."

"Why?" The question came out sharper than Jade had intended. "Why do you care what happens to me?"

Drew was quiet for a long moment, staring into his coffee cup like it might contain answers to questions he didn't know how to ask. When he finally looked up, his expression was more open than she'd ever seen it.

"Because in the three months we've been partners, you've never once treated me like I was anything other than exactly who I claimed to be. You didn't care about my mysterious past or my political connections or my magical abilities. You just cared about whether I could do the job."

"You can do the job."

"Most of the time. But tonight, when it really mattered, you were the one who saved everyone. Not the prince, not the Fae nobility, not the one with training and resources. You."

Jade felt something shift in her chest—a crack in the cynical armor she'd built around herself over the years. "Don't get sentimental on me, sunshine. I have a reputation to maintain."

"Wouldn't dream of it." Drew's smile was warm and genuine. "Though I should probably warn you—after tonight, Morrison is going to want to expand the Supernatural Crimes Division. More cases, more responsibility, more opportunities to prevent interdimensional catastrophes."

"Good. Normal cases are boring."

"You say that now. Wait until we're investigating a murder committed by a time-traveling vampire with a grudge against the city planning department."

"Is that a real case?"

"It is now. I just got the call twenty minutes ago."

Jade stared at him, then began to laugh. It started as a chuckle, then built into something deeper, more genuine than anything she'd felt in years. The absurdity of it all—the supernatural murders, the ancient conspiracies, the fact that she was sitting in a police station at three in the morning drinking terrible coffee with a Fae prince who'd chosen to be a detective—was somehow perfect.

"Time-traveling vampire," she managed between laughs. "Of course. Because why would we get a simple robbery or domestic disturbance?"

"Where's the fun in that?"

"There isn't any. That's the point." Jade wiped her eyes and took another sip of coffee. "Alright, sunshine. Time-traveling vampire it is. But I'm driving."

"Deal. Though I should mention—the crime scene is in the middle of the Temporal Displacement District, and according to the preliminary report, the murder happened next Thursday."

"Next Thursday?"

"Next Thursday."

Jade looked at her partner—her friend, she realized with some surprise—and felt something she hadn't experienced in years. Hope. Not just for the case, or for the job, but for the possibility that she might actually belong somewhere.

"Drew?" she said as they stood to leave.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for the coffee."

"Thanks for saving reality."

"Just doing my job."

"No," Drew said quietly, "you were doing something much more important than that. You were being exactly who you are, without apology or compromise. And that made all the difference."

As they walked toward the exit, leaving their finished reports on Morrison's desk, Jade felt the weight of the last few days settling into something manageable. The murders were solved, the conspiracy was ended, and the barriers between worlds would hold for another day.

Tomorrow would bring new cases, new challenges, new opportunities to prove that being different didn't mean being less than. But tonight, she had terrible coffee, a partner who understood her, and the quiet satisfaction of a job well done.

The city sprawled around them as they stepped into the pre-dawn darkness, its lights twinkling like stars in a universe that was, for now, exactly as it should be. Somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed—crime never stopped, even in a world where reality itself occasionally needed saving.

But that was tomorrow's problem. Tonight, Detective Jade Hawkins was going home to sleep the sleep of the righteous, secure in the knowledge that she'd found her place in the world.

Even if that place involved preventing interdimensional catastrophes while drinking coffee that could strip paint.

It was, she thought as she unlocked her car, exactly where she belonged.