The Littlest Lightrunner

Eve Rogers walked through the front door of her office, fully prepared for another exciting day of Tumblr bingeing and coffee swilling. It had been a slow month for Rogers Investigations with the rainy weather currently plaguing Chicago, and it didn’t look to be getting better any time soon.

As always, her faithful assistant �" and secret dreamboat �" Walter Carter was waiting for her as she hung her favorite peacoat on the nearby hook. He had a cup of coffee and Chicago Sun-Times waiting for her. She couldn’t help but smile, even on a Tuesday afternoon he was impeccably dressed in a pair of charcoal slacks and a crisp pale blue button-down.

“Any calls, Walt?” she asked, checking her curls in the mirror by the door. Eve might be a modern woman of 2945, but she wasn’t about to go around with hat hair. Not even from her beloved trilby.

“Nothing yet, Miss Rogers.”

She nodded idly, heading over to her desk and turning on her iScreen with a tap of one manicured finger. The vintage wood paneling came to life with everything a detective could need. News, weather, police feeds and �" of course �" the obligatory GoogleBook harassment from her sister. Something about late bills and withering ovaries. With a hearty swig of her coffee �" perfectly prepared by Walt �" Eve pushed it aside without an ounce of guilt. Her baby sister would surely get another shot at layering on the shame next Sunday, when they had their bi-monthly Family Dinner.

She was never worried about finances, Walter would never let them miss a bill. It simply wasn’t in his constitution to be late, unpressed or make subpar java. Her social life, however, was rather much like their current workload. Dismal and sparse.

“Hey Walt, you still single?” she called, as he was engrossed in paperwork.

“Yes. Is it time for Sunday supper again?” He looked up from his stack of papers, a sympathetic smile on his handsome face.

If it weren’t barely eleven in the morning, she would’ve tipped some whisky into her mug from her secret stash. She was still considering it. Early hour be damned.

“Am I that predictable?”

Walt’s answer was thwarted by a knock on their front door. For a beat they stared at one another, Eve with her mug half way to her mouth and Walt with his pen poised over a check. Clients rarely came directly to their office, preferring video calls and teleconferencing above all else. They both stood there, mentally volleying over who should answer. With a mental sigh, she called forfeit and headed back to the foyer, smoothing down her plaid skirt as she went.

As she swung the door open, Eve was shocked by the sight on her front stoop. A small boy, no more than five, with crystal blue eyes, a determined expression and a navy raincoat with orange and yellow sharks on it.

“Is this Rogers Investigations?”

“Yes,” she answered hesitantly. Surely this chap was destined for the kindergarten two blocks over. She frantically eyed the SolCab that was already zipping away. “Are you lost?”

“Are you Miss Eve Elizabeth Rogers?”

“I … am.” Her words seemed to tumble around her head like shoes in a dryer. She could feel the warm press of Walt at her back, equally confused and curious.

“Good.” He stepped inside, pushing back the hood to reveal a downright adorable mini manbun of dark blond hair, before thoughtfully shaking his umbrella out over the doormat. “Name’s Hubert Jones, I’ll be requiring your services forthwith.”

�"

Private Investigator Eve Rogers is a tough cookie, but she’s about to get in over her head, thanks to a small champion, a wounded Monochrome Campaign veteran (who might’ve missed his meds this morning) and the young magnate of the Jones Family Dynasty with her fair share of secrets.

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