Murder.

It's the reason I know the people I do. It's the reason I work. My life revolves around murder.

Murder was what had me on a train at five o'clock in the morning a few days after Christmas, straining to see the faces of the other passengers. No seatbelts were allowed off until the train had finished accelerating to four hundred miles per hour, and we were currently standing dead still at the station.

"Can you see him yet?" Sebastian asked.

"No." I turned my face away from the aisle, checking my hair was covering the earpiece. "I can't see anyone from here."

"Stand up, then."

"Do you want me to die?"

The train's engine finally rumbled to life, and the doors slid shut. The safety announcements began. I stared out the window, and darkness stared back at me.

"He might be armed," Sebastian warned.

"I know. You shouldn't have sent me."

The train lurched forward.

Trains tended to crawl for a few seconds, lulling their passengers into a false sense of security, before suddenly taking off at the maximum level of acceleration possible without killing everyone. They also climbed upwards at the same time. Someone's child started screaming.

Once the train had levelled off and was passing over the city at a steady four hundred miles per hour, the seatbelts unclipped. I stood up and stared down the carriage. All the seats were turned away from me.

I strolled down the aisle in the direction of the bathroom, glancing behind me as I stepped inside. When the automatic door had slid shut, I murmured, "Found him again."

It wasn't luck that I was in the same carriage as the suspect. I'd identified him on the platform using my ilenz, and when the train had pulled in before I could make the arrest, I'd followed him on board. If he thought he'd managed to get away from Socrico safely, he was wrong.

I flushed the toilet, ran the tap, and pressed the button to open the sliding door again. Sticking my hands in my pockets, I left the bathroom and sat down beside the man I was going to arrest.

He looked up from his tabphone, wondering where I'd come from and why I'd taken up the seat. Five o'clock in the morning two days after Christmas was not a popular time to be travelling, and half the carriage was empty.

I watched him from the corner of my eye until he'd returned his attention to his tabphone. Then I said, "Nick Jones, you're under arrest on suspicion of murder."

Trains are not the easiest places to detain someone.

His tabphone came at me so fast that I didn't understand what was happening until it hit me in the face. The force of his punch knocked me out of my seat, and he stepped over me while I was still seeing stars.

I hooked my foot around his ankle just as he cleared me, tripping him. The carriage shook as he crashed down, and heads turned in our direction. Rolling to my feet, I tackled him as he tried to get up, then struggled to restrain him as he thrashed, kicked, and spat in the aisle.

Three minutes later, I'd finally got the handcuffs on, and the carriage was empty. Thank you so much for your help, chivalrous gentlemen of the general public.

"Bloody hell," I said into my earpiece.

"That sounded like fun."

"It wasn't. Why didn't you just send a couple of PRBs with metal fucking faces?"

"You're all right, aren't you?" A hint of seriousness crept into Sebastian's jovial tone.

"I am now. I would have appreciated a partner, though."

"He's a serial runner, and he knows my face. He doesn't know yours."

"The two of us don't make up the entire police force."

"Everyone else was busy. Besides, I couldn't let you sit around on your backside during the final hours of your holiday." There was a grin in his voice. "Merry Christmas, Amber."

***

I had to strap myself and my resisting suspect back into our seats when we approached the next station, then march him off the train and onto a different one that would take us to Socrico again. Half an hour later, we finally arrived back where we'd started.

Detective Inspector Sebastian Flynn was waiting on the platform for us, accompanied by two PRBs -- police robots. They stood on either side of him, black bulletproof exteriors gleaming beneath the station lights and metal fingers clenched around rifles. They had been designed harshly, all sharp edges and cold features, and they watched us with bright blue eyes like possessed creatures from hell.

Sebastian was an angel in comparison: tall, blond, blue-eyed, and wearing a winning smile that made his female conquests go weak at the knees. But there was enough kindness in his expression to cancel out any arrogance. I hadn't really been on that train alone. He'd been listening, monitoring, waiting -- and ready to do anything if I'd got into real trouble.

"Merry fucking Christmas," I said as I handed Nick Jones over.

"Thank you," Sebastian drawled. "A murderer. It's what I've always wanted." His gaze trailed over my red cheek. "I owe you one. Go home and get some sleep before you have to be back at the station."

The PRBs led Nick Jones away, and we followed them, branching apart when we hit the street. It had started to rain, and I hesitated under the glass overhang of the train station, wishing I had an umbrella. Or a hood.

Bracing myself, I stepped out and turned in the direction of my flat. The rain beat a rhythm against glass roofs and gurgled in the gutters. Someone clattered over the metal walkways above me, and above them, another train whooshed over the city.

Skyscrapers lined the road ahead, intimidating silhouettes in the dark. I glanced back at the train station. A shallow flight of steps led to the entrance, and a handful of travellers -- each alone -- were spilling down them. One was young and slim, blonde curls shining under the neon signs. She looked like the girl whose murder inquiry Sebastian was trying to close.

I'd seen the pictures of the body, and although there always had been pictures and there always would be pictures, my stomach tightened. I turned back.

And slammed into something.

Stumbling, I lost my balance and landed arse-first in a puddle. Grimy rainwater seeped through my jeans as I looked up at the person I'd collided with. The shadows hid their features, but they were tall, dressed in black from head to foot, and leaning closer.

"Put one hand on me," I said, "and I'll rearrange your face."

Except I could see his face now, and there was no violent intent in his eyes. Dark hair glinted in the lamplight, and stubble graced his strong jaw. He was holding duffle bags in his hands, and he paused in the act of passing one to the other. Amusement flickered in his gaze. "I was going to help you up."

"Oh. Thank you."

He extended his free hand, and I took it. Wet flesh met cold flesh, a miserable winter introduction. He pulled me up easily, but his expression hardened. "Are you all right?"

I realised he was looking at my cheek, and I gingerly touched the throbbing skin. "Work mishap. It wasn't you." I dropped my hand and added, "But I should have looked where I was going."

"And I probably shouldn't have been standing in the way." His gaze didn't move from my face. "I don't suppose you know where Church Street is?"

"Which one?" I asked wryly.

"Whichever's the nearest. I would look it up, but my tabphone won't work in this rain."

My tabphone often malfunctioned when it was dry, but I kept that peculiarity to myself. "Turn left at the end of this road, left again, then immediately right, then climb the second staircase to the walkways and take the third right, then go left when you reach..." I watched his expression slowly turn blank. "You're not going to remember that, are you?"

"It's my first time in Socrico," he offered by way of explanation.

Hell. My day was steadily sliding down the drain. "Okay, I'll just walk you there. Come on."

I set off without waiting for a reply, splashing out of the puddle. He fell into step with me a second later. At his height, I imagined it would be difficult for anyone to leave him behind.

"Where on Church Street are you going?" I asked.

"A flat in Block Seven."

"So you're moving here?" I glanced at his bags. Bulky as they were, he only had two of them. "Is it a temporary thing?"

"Permanent. I suppose you could say I'm a minimalist."

We passed under a streetlamp, and it threw a washed-out shine on his chiselled face. His eyebrows drew together as he got a better look at mine. "Why were you walking around in the dark?"

"Because the lights haven't turned on yet."

"You could stay at home and go to sleep. Socrico has the second-highest crime rate after New London."

I almost smiled. "I'm aware."

But I'd be damned if I was afraid of my city. I dared it to defy me.

We turned off the station road onto a quieter lane, passing beneath another metal walkway. There was a shout from above us, then the smash of a beer bottle as someone threw it over the railings. We stepped around the glass and carried on, following the shadows.

Socrico was always shady, even when the lights were turned on. Darkness could never be eradicated so far underground. A dozen other cities like this had been built during the New Cold War, and our ancestors had fled here a hundred years ago when the nuclear bombs had fallen. Now we were all that remained of Britain -- and maybe even the world.

Church Street was a two-minute walk away: a decent road of brownstone skyscrapers. I led the man to Block Seven, striding through the automatic doors into a muted lobby. "Here we are. What flat number?"

"Eleven."

Unquestionably the ground floor. It didn't take us long to find it, and my companion rang the bell. A round screen emerged from the door. We appeared on it, both of us dark-haired, dark-clothed figures like drowned rats.

"May I come in?" the man asked the door.

The camera scanned us, then slipped back into the wood as the door clicked open. A synthesised voice spoke. "Welcome, new tenant Alex Sullivan."

He stepped over the threshold and glanced back at me. "Thank you..."

"Amber," I said. "Amber Rames."

He stilled, his eyes narrowing. "Detective Inspector Amber Rames?"

"Yes." I scrutinised him in the same manner. "How do you know that?"

My earpiece buzzed before he could reply. I turned away and answered the call, Alex's gaze heavy on my back. "Rames speaking."

"Amber, this is Dixon. The PRBs couldn't get through to you again. I'm sorry to start your day like this, but we've got a body."

Ky Dixon was my governor, the detective chief superintendent of the Criminal Investigation Department. He was probably not sorry that he was sending me into the cold to look at a dead body first thing in the morning. But at least he was kind enough to pretend.

"Where, sir?"

"The alley on Terra Road. I'll ask the PRBs to contact your new sergeant. Did you get a chance to read his file over Christmas?"

"No, sir. It wouldn't open on my tabphone."

Dixon sighed. "What is it with you and technology? His name's Alex Sullivan. I suppose you can ask him the rest later."

I looked back at the tall, dark, and handsome man watching me from the doorway. He raised an eyebrow, his gaze clear. He knew exactly what I was being told.

"Amber?"

"You don't need to contact the PRBs, sir." I swallowed. "I'm looking at Sergeant Sullivan right now."