The Midnight Train

Backstory (1) - Lydia

Los Angeles was a city that thrived on illusion-a place where the glitz and glamour of Hollywood masked the darker undercurrents that ran through its veins.

From the sun-drenched beaches to the sprawling urban jungle, LA was a city of contrasts, and it was here, amidst the winding highways and towering palm trees, that Lydia West made her mark as one of the city's finest detectives.

Lydia's office was located on the fifth floor of a sleek, modern building in downtown Los Angeles. The agency she worked for, Hamilton & Co., had built a reputation for taking on the cases that the LAPD couldn't-or wouldn't-handle. Lydia, with her razor-sharp instincts and relentless drive, had become one of their star investigators, known for solving cases that seemed impossible to crack.

She stood by her window, looking out at the LA skyline. The city stretched out before her, a patchwork of high-rises and sprawling neighbourhoods. The sun was beginning to set, casting a golden hue over the landscape, and the famous LA traffic was already beginning to snarl. Lydia sipped her coffee, black and strong, as she mentally prepared herself for another long night. She thrived in moments like these-when the world seemed to slow down, and all that remained was the chase.

Lydia was in her late-twenties, but her demeanour and presence made her seem older, more seasoned. She wore her hair pulled back into a no-nonsense bun, her features sharp and her gaze sharper. Today, like most days, she wore a crisp, tailored suit that accentuated her lean, athletic frame, a look that projected both authority and readiness.

"Lydia, you've got a visitor," Marcy, her assistant, called from the doorway, pulling her out of her thoughts.

Lydia turned, her expression calm, but her eyes alert. "Who is it?"

"Detective Andrews from the LAPD," Marcy replied, a hint of curiosity in her voice.

A small smile formed on Lydia's lips. "Send him in."

Detective Andrews was a broad-shouldered man with a rugged face that looked like it had seen one too many bar fights. His worn leather jacket and stubble gave him a rough-around-the-edges look, but his eyes carried a weary wisdom. He had worked with Lydia before and knew she was one of the best in the business, even if her methods sometimes ruffled feathers.

"Detective West," Andrews greeted as he stepped inside, his voice gruff. "Got a case that needs your expertise."

Lydia arched an eyebrow, setting her coffee down on her desk. "You're not the type to ask for help, Andrews. What's going on?"

Andrews chuckled, pulling a folder from under his arm. "It's a tricky one. Damon Hart's crew. We think they're behind a string of heists across the city-everything from high-end jewellery stores in Beverly Hills to underground gambling rings. They're slick, and they're always a step ahead of us."

Lydia took the folder, flipping it open and scanning the contents. Damon Hart-a name that had popped up on her radar more times than she could count. Hart was a master thief, a ghost who left little evidence behind.

"He's been operating under the radar for years," Andrews continued, "but this recent string of heists has his fingerprints all over it. We just can't nail him down. He's too damn careful."

Lydia's eyes narrowed as she examined the photos and reports. "Hart's good, but no one's untouchable. He's got a weakness somewhere. We just need to find it."

Andrews nodded, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. "That's why I came to you. You've got a knack for finding the cracks in even the toughest cases. And I'm betting you can find Hart's."