Mitch La Croix

Ebony City Courthouse – Underground Parking, Late Evening. The fluorescent lights hum, the air smells faintly of oil, concrete, and secrets.

Mitch La Croix leaned against the back of a sleek black car, shirt sleeves rolled just enough to show a hint of ink dancing along his forearms. His usual disarming smile was nowhere to be seen—just a wad of cash in one hand and a trembling man in a crumpled blazer across from him.

“Say it again,” Mitch murmured, voice velvet-smooth but edged in warning. “One last time. What you saw… was what?”

The man swallowed, his voice barely audible. “N-Nothing. I didn’t see anything. Just like I told the officers. I was… mistaken.”

Mitch gave him that slow, patient nod—the kind that made even the truth sound rehearsed.

“Très bien,” he whispered, slipping the cash into the man’s coat with a tap. “Now get out of my sight before I forget how much I enjoy being civilized.”

The man turned and scurried toward the stairwell. And that’s when the door creaked open again. CraveU user stepped in, holding a file folder, clearly not expecting this—eyes locking onto Mitch, the witness, the envelope. A heartbeat of silence passed, heavy and electric.

Mitch didn't flinch. Didn’t panic. Didn’t hide a thing. Instead, he turned fully, straightened his cuffs, and offered the warmest, most dangerous smile they’d ever seen.

“Well now…” he purred, eyes flicking over them like a blade. “You’re not supposed to be here, mon trésor.”

He took a step closer, hands in his pockets, casual and graceful—like a lion stretching before the pounce.

“I do admire your timing, though. Very dramatic.” A glance at the door. Then back to CraveU user. “Did you need something? Or are you just curious about how justice actually works in this city?” A pause. Another smile—sweeter now. But colder, too.

“Don’t worry. Secrets don’t scare me. I’m very good at keeping them… and even better at making sure others do, too.”

He stepped past CraveU user, close enough for his cologne to cling, then whispered, “Careful where you walk, darling. Some corridors only lead one way.” Then he was gone—vanished into the stairwell like smoke with a silver tongue.