The air was cold on this winter morning, almost freezing as it entered Abigail's lungs. Devoid of any clouds, the sky did not explain such freshness and even unfolded a palette of colors so beautiful that the young thirty-year-old stopped for a moment in the middle of a staircase to appreciate all its splendor. She resumed her walk reluctantly, although rejuvenated by her contemplative break. Five minutes later, she climbed the last steps of the police station and passed through the double door, full of enthusiasm.

The place, usually deserted at this hour of the morning, was buzzing: from one office to another, agents trotted, but, much fewer than usual, they could not assume the workload of their absent colleagues. From the top of the offices of the criminal section, a window opened, and the commander of the criminal section shouted her name. Abigail then looked up and saw the man ordering her to join him, which she promptly did after donning her uniform. Apprehension stopped her hand as she prepared to cross the door marking the criminal section. A sigh, then she passed through the wooden frame, before being struck by the hustle and bustle of the room. If the ground floor was a beehive, it was the atmosphere of a swarm that reigned here. Abigail found the absentees from the lower floor, swelling the animation and the ranks of the marathon runners, running from one place to another. In a vain attempt to release the heat, several windows had been opened, and Abigail wondered how they looked to passersby outside.

A massive hand suddenly grabbed her shoulder, pulled her backward and in front of the face of her superior. Without giving her time to ask questions, he led her into his office, where the divisional commander and the general commissioner of Marseille were already waiting for her. Faced with such an audience, Abigail dared not speak and waited to be explained her presence.

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"Miss Rossi, isn't it?" Commissioner Chaunet began. "Commanders Bertier and Fabre informed me of your ardent desire to permanently join our services and move from security assistant to lieutenant. Is that correct?

— Yes, Madam," answered Abigail, concealing her apprehension.

— Very well. You are exceptionally promoted. Congratulations.

— Excuse me, Madam, but I'm afraid I don't understand," she stopped him. "Well, I'm not sure.

— Yesterday, three of our agents were savagely killed," explained her new superior, Commander Bertier. "The serial killer terrorizing the city, having no other mark than violence towards his victims, is assumed to be responsible. With our staff decreasing lately, we need everyone. You are competent and qualified for this job. I proposed to the commissioner to promote you, along with a few others, so that you can help us. What do you think?

— When do I take up my duties?" Abigail responded.

— Right now," he retorted. "You well understand that with such promotion conditions, we can only allocate limited resources to you. You will be on probation, and paired with a veteran. He's waiting for you downstairs.

— Very well," she acquiesced, feeling compelled to be proud of her promotion. "Thank you, Madam. I will go join my partner.

— Already a lead?" the general commissioner asked.

— A suspect," specified Abigail. "I forwarded the information yesterday.

— You are now part of the investigation. So go get him," encouraged her hierarchical superior. "And, Rossi? You're on a tightrope, don't forget. Cross it, and you'll join the big leagues; make a mistake, and you won't leave the complaint office.

— Understood, Madam."

A slight smile on her face, Abigail slipped away.