Earlier that day
Detective Lisa Kowalska sat with her legs crossed, posture straight yet relaxed in that unnervingly controlled way of hers. Her stare—sharp, unblinking—was fixed on the monitor in front of her as an officer scrolled through CCTV footage frame by frame.
“Pause,” Lisa said calmly.
The officer obeyed. The frozen frame showed a street corner near the canal—crowds moving in blurred motion. Two men stood clearly among them: an Asian man with dark hair, head lowered, walking briskly; and beside him, a taller man, broad-shouldered, wearing a long coat. A third figure—young, blondish, clean-cut—was caught mid-fall. The tall man’s hand shot out, gripping the young man’s wrist.
“Go back two seconds,” Lisa ordered.
The officer tapped his keyboard. The footage rewound. The young man tripped over uneven pavement, stumbled, panic in his eyes. Then the tall man—calm, quick, almost reflexively—caught him. It happened in an instant, but perfectly timed.
Lisa leaned forward, narrowing her eyes.
“Stop. Zoom in.”
The officer zoomed in on the young man’s face. The resolution wasn’t great—grainy, slightly distorted—but clear enough.
Lisa studied the features silently.
Then, without looking away, she asked,
“Do you recognize him?”
The officer squinted, leaning closer. His eyebrows lifted.
“Yeah… actually.” He pointed. “That’s Daan Janssen. Junior detective. Been working here about three months, maybe four at the most.”
Lisa’s gaze flicked to him.
“Is he reliable?”
“He’s green,” the officer said. “But smart. Keeps to himself. Good kid. He’s at a training session today in the woods with the chief and a few senior officers. Should be back by evening.” The officer clicked to another frame, zooming on the tall man. “We can have him come in and identify these two. Maybe he overheard something.”
Lisa nodded.
“Yes. Question him as soon as he returns.”
Her eyes returned to the paused figures on the screen. The tall man’s face was partially hidden by his hair, light brown, messy, distinctive—but she had no record of him. No name. No match.
“And him?” Lisa asked. “The tall one.”
The officer shrugged.
“No idea. I ran facial recognition—nothing. Might be a tourist. Might be local. Doesn’t show up in our database.”
Lisa exhaled slowly through her nose, fingers steepled.
“He’s too composed,” she murmured. “Too unbothered by the commotion. Look—his grip on the boy’s wrist is stable. He doesn’t even break stride. Whoever he is, he’s used to staying unnoticed.”
Her eyes slid toward the Asian man in the footage.
But him… she recognized immediately.
“Dr. Kazou Kuroda,” Lisa said under her breath. “No doubt about it.”
The officer nodded grimly.
“So he really is in Amsterdam.”
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Lisa leaned back in her chair, the leather creaking.
“Yes. Which means we’re closer than ever.”
She tapped a pen lightly against the desk, thinking.
“I’m currently staying at the Winston Hotel,” she said. “With Kuroda’s ex-fiancée.”
“Mrs. Rose Brook, right?” the officer asked, printing the frames.
Lisa’s lips tightened slightly.
“Yes. She’s supposed to be assisting with the case… but she isn’t exactly vigilant.” She chose her words carefully, though irritation slid beneath them. “She seems to have found herself romantically interested in someone at the hotel. Her guard is down. She’s distracted.”
The officer shot her a worried glance.
“You think Kuroda might approach her?”
Lisa’s eyes flicked to the screen again—Kuroda’s face passing under a streetlamp, ghostlike.
“I think,” she said quietly, “that if he’s desperate, he might go for someone familiar.”
She folded her arms.
“We need to find him before that happens. Before she ends up his next victim.” Her voice did not tremble.
She did not blink.
The printer hummed, spitting out crisp sheets of paper—freezing each frame of Kazou Kuroda and the mysterious tall man. The officer collected them and set them in a neat stack, exhaling.
“All right,” he said. “We’ll run copies. Issue internal alerts. And as soon as Janssen returns from training, you can question him.”
Lisa tapped the edge of the printed frame with her fingertip.
“Good. The moment he walks into the station, bring him straight to me.”
She stood, smoothing her coat.
“And send a patrol to the woods,” she added. “I want the chief and the others escorted back safely. No chances.”
The officer nodded and hurried off.
Lisa stayed behind a moment longer, staring at the faces frozen in time.
Kuroda.
The unknown tall man.
Janssen—caught between them.
Her eyes sharpened, mind already piecing the edges of the puzzle together.
Something wasn’t right. None of it was aligning cleanly.
Lisa remained standing in the dim office long after the officer left, one hand resting lightly on the back of the chair, the printed CCTV frames still spread in front of her.
Her gaze drifted back to the tall man.
The grainy photograph didn’t do him justice, but certain things stood out:
His posture—upright but relaxed.
His steps—measured, unhurried.
His eyes—half shadowed by hair but unmistakably aware of everything.
Too aware.
Lisa narrowed her eyes.
“Who are you?” she whispered to the still photo.
He wasn’t just some passerby. Civilians rarely moved like that, smooth, controlled, instinctively ready to react. And he caught the falling boy with almost eerie timing.
That wasn’t luck. That was reflex. Muscle memory. Training.
She picked up the frame, tilting it closer to the lamp.
And if he was trained…
Then what was he doing with Kuroda?
Her jaw tightened.
Was he Kuroda’s target? Someone Kuroda approached? Manipulated?
Or—far worse—
Someone working with him?
Her mind calculated possibilities with mechanical precision.
Kuroda had no known associates in Europe. No family, no coworkers who followed him. But the footage showed them walking in sync, matching pace. Not arguing. Not avoiding each other.
And the tall man didn’t look tense. He looked composed. Familiar with danger. Comfortable in it.
Lisa tapped the photo with the pen again, slow, deliberate.
Two men.
“If he’s with you…” Lisa muttered, “that makes him twice as dangerous.”
She knew how these men operated—men who survived by slipping under the radar, by using charm and silence like weapons, by appearing harmless, friendly, even selfless… until the exact moment they struck.
Her eyes sharpened.
Was the tall man another victim of Kuroda’s manipulation?
Or someone who shared his ideology?
Someone who could help him?
The thought wormed into her chest.
If these two had teamed up…
If Kuroda wasn’t alone…
Then the threat doubled.
“No,” Lisa murmured. “Tripled.”
Because the tall man had a physical presence Kuroda didn’t. He could blend. He could intercept. He could gain sympathy—she saw that clearly in the way he handled the falling boy. Calm, gentle. The kind of man strangers instinctively trusted.
She set the photo down and straightened.
If Kuroda had found someone like that…
Then the web was bigger than she thought.
“And Janssen,” she whispered to herself, eyes lingering on the detective’s face in the still frame, “may be the only one who saw them up close.”
Her fingers drummed against the desk.
She needed him back here. She needed his testimony. Every detail—height, voice, mannerisms. Anything he noticed.
She checked her watch.
He should’ve been back by now.
Her stomach tightened—not with fear, but with the cold precision of a hunch clicking into place.
“Something’s wrong.”
She grabbed her coat from the chair and strode quickly toward the door.
Because if Kuroda and the tall man were working together…
Then Janssen—green, trusting, inexperienced—might already be tangled in their path.
And Lisa would not lose another witness. Not after coming this far.
Her footsteps echoed down the hall, steady and sharp.
The hunt had changed shape.
The case had deepened.
And Lisa Kowalska, relentless as a blade, was already adjusting her aim.
