It was my least favourite time of the month. The time of the month where I was barely able to drag myself out of bed. But, as pleasant as it would have been, the inevitable couldn't be avoided. Inevitable was the right word to use. There were two… three things that were certain in life: Death, taxes, and bills. The last was the reason my hand hovered over the door handle to my office.

It had been a day to remember when the words were finally stencilled onto the tinted glass. It made it official. Rising Arc Investigations was off the ground. I'd thought it would be so easy. Well, not easy, but with a lot of hard graft I'd thought I'd be able to go it alone. Make a name for myself. Become a big shot. It just hadn't been the case, and cases were what I needed. So far there had been close to none.

Screwing up my eyes, I pushed open the door, hoping beyond hope I wouldn't hear the scrape of envelopes behind it. It was a futile wish. There came the familiar scratching of paper on carpet. Inevitable, like I'd said. Letting out a sigh, I took in the damage.

It could have been worse. There were only four pieces of mail on the floor. The two covered in unrealistic pictures and slogans could be discounted. The other two envelopes were plain brown apart from the large red letters: Overdue, Final Notice.

Guys shouldn't cry. I knew that. But I couldn't help the tightness around my eyes or the catch in my throat. It was the frustration more than anything. The dream I'd harboured for as long as I could remember was coming crashing down around me. It was just so pointless. No matter how hard I tried, I just couldn't make it work.

"Fuck!" I slammed the door hard enough that it shook dust—probably asbestos—from the tiles overhead. The little motes drifted through the rays of light that filtered between the slats of the blinds. There was no reason to raise them. It wasn't like anyone else was going to see the inside of my office today. Swearing didn't help. Half of me wanted to punch something; the other half thought it would be a good idea to just lie down on the floor. I met myself half way.

The leather chair swallowed my body as I slumped down into it. Just like the door, I'd been so pleased with how the office had turned out; it was exactly like those noir films. I'd even found an oak desk. That it was third-hand didn't matter in the slightest. It looked good. It looked professional. It looked as if I wasn't a kid playing at being a detective.

Well, not quite a kid. I'd done my apprenticeship, gone to college, got the licence. But a fat lot of good that was doing me now. The interest on loans was just another thing strangling me. I couldn't stomach the bills right now. At least not in this state. One of the oak drawers held my salvation. The bottle wasn't as heavy as I would have liked, but that it sloshed was all that mattered.

The glass from yesterday was dirty. Washing up was just another thing I couldn't be bothered to do. It seemed pointless. Something to do when you actually had to impress someone. The two fingers of whisky lasted a single swallow. It burned angrily on the way down. The drink was rough, unrefined ̶ ̶ the sort to be drunk from a brown paper bag ̶ ̶ but you got what you paid for. I poured another two fingers. It was just as well the clock on the wall had stopped working.

My head sank into my hands and I blew out a breath. Pretty soon I would have to admit defeat. It was only a matter of time. There just wasn't work for a private eye in New York. Or at least not one like me. The business I had always dreamed of owning was going under.

Taking out more loans wasn't an option. And under absolutely no circumstances was I going to ask my family or friends for help. Not when I'd have to bear 'I told you so' from every direction. The annoying thing was they all had. They had all warned me how difficult it would be. How much I would struggle to find cases.

There was work. In the middle of New York of course there was. Port's had been busy most of the time. I just wasn't. I'd had a handful of cases that had justified my decision to go it alone—ones where I'd helped people—and I'd had several more which made me want to throw up. Cases like those were ones I would have liked to say were beneath me but, right now I would have killed to have an infidelity case walk through my door. No matter how it was dressed up, accepting those made me a professional pervert. There was no other way to describe taking photos of two people having sex through a grimy motel window. Those cases could only be forgotten in the shower, but they paid the bills. Or at least they had.

Downing my third glass before nine AM, I finally had enough liquid courage to run my finger under the top of the first envelope. The big numbers in red were just as bad as I'd feared. $272. A chuckle escaped my throat. They were barking up the wrong tree if they wanted that much. It had been a mistake renting a self-storage unit to hold all the evidence and records anyway. The filing cabinets there were filled with cobwebs. At the moment all the unit really contained was some old junk that I hadn't managed to squeeze into my tiny apartment. The self-storage company would have to take that and call it quits. They could auction it off on one of those shows.

The other bill marked overdue couldn't be so easily dealt with. My office wasn't exactly on the top floor of a skyscraper in Tribeca, but the rent was still a lot. There wasn't any other choice when trying to start a business in New York; I had to be near my potential customers.

The caretaker was a good guy ̶ ̶ he'd even given me the odd free meal from his sushi shop across the street ̶ ̶ but that didn't matter when my landlord's office was in one of those fancy glass towers. I'd only been there once. To say I didn't fit in didn't quite cut it. No one who worked in an office like that would care about any sob stories. The bottom line was all that mattered.

My gaze bored holes in the outstanding balance. I'd reached a crossroads. One I'd been running from for far too long. It was time to man up and make a decision. I could either try and scrape together another month's rent, or admit defeat. Admit that I'd been wrong to follow my dreams.

Time ticked by as I mulled over the decision. Outside the window life moved on. New York rocked. I couldn't imagine living anywhere else. I loved the noise. I loved the smells. I loved the organised chaos. I loved the people. It wouldn't be so bad to join them on the commute to their corporate offices, would it? Maybe in ten years or so I could try again. Ten years of doing a job I didn't want; I couldn't crawl back to Port.

All I had to do was find the courage to finally hang up everything I had worked so hard for. To face my friends and have them laugh. My situation wasn't going to magically turn around. Real life didn't work like that. It wasn't a fairy tale.

Someone knocked on the door.

"Hello?" The voice was tentative, as if the speaker wasn't sure if they were in the right place. It wasn't surprising really. The drawn blinds and dim room hardly screamed open for business.

"Hold on a sec." I jumped up from my seat, the floor swayed beneath me and I had to stead myself on my desk. I might have gone slightly overboard on my liquid breakfast. Opening the door, my heart fell. My visitor was definitely in the wrong place. No one who looked like that came here. Not when they were hot enough to make smoke alarms go off.

To say the woman looked out of place in the grimy corridor was an oversimplification in the extreme. Her immaculate white business suit was the cleanest thing I'd seen all week. It was expensive too. Probably more expensive than my month's rent and that wasn't including the stilettos or clutch bag. Few could have pulled off a white business suit with her colouring, especially when it showed skin in all the right places, but she managed it. Her pale flesh made her look like a porcelain doll. To top it all off, her hair was peroxide white, but it didn't seem lifeless. There was the very real chance that was her natural hair colour.

Using every facet of my deductive abilities, I came to one conclusion. The woman liked white. Like, really liked it. Like, had an unhealthy obsession with it. Still, it worked for her. It worked for her a lot. She was, if my groin had anything to say about it, the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen in the flesh.

If she had one imperfection, one tiny facet of her appearance that stood out from the norm, it was the scar over her eye. It looked old and she hadn't attempted to cover it up. She almost commanded everyone to look at it and dare to judge her. Just like a beauty spot, she used it to enhance herself.

It was only when the woman cleared her throat did I realise I'd been staring. The corridor became very warm.

"Umm… can I help you?"

"I would hope so."

Come on… I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. No one who looked like her should have voice like that. To balance the scales she should have sounded like a troll, instead she could probably sing opera if she wanted to. Some people just won the genetics lottery and then the Powerball on top of it.

Her accent was weird. As if she'd spent her life travelling around, picking up a bit here and there. It was entirely unique. It would take a team of linguistic professors a couple of months to unravel. All I knew was that the woman wasn't from around here.

"I'm looking for Rising Arc Investigations. I guess I found it." She nodded at the door.

"Umm… yeah. I guess you did." I coughed. Business face Jaune. "I mean, hello, I'm Jaune Arc, Private Investigator." I thrust out my hand. She looked down her nose at it, no doubt picking out all the minuscule stains and pieces of dirt.

"You seem…" she looked into the darkened office, "busy. Maybe I should come back later."

"No. No." I dropped my hand, wiping it surreptitiously on my jeans. If the woman left I would never see her again. "Please come in. Sorry about this. I was… out. On a case." Yes, make it seem like I wasn't completely and utterly desperate.

"Hmm… I suppose I did come all this way."

"Absolutely." My mouth was dry. The woman had almost got away. "Please take a seat."

Take a seat… in the office that I hadn't seen the point of tidying. The immaculately attired woman was less than impressed. I couldn't do much in a few seconds, but I tried. Throwing open the blinds and the windows, I rushed to clear the stuffy air. The woman had paused before the desk, her gaze on the envelopes and the whisky. Swallowing heavily, I swept the envelopes into an open drawer, and hid the bottle and glass there a moment later, but the damage had already been done.

"I think I should try somewhere else."

"No!" I said forcibly enough to make the woman jump. That was interesting… possible domestic abuse. Maybe that was why she was here. "Sorry. I know this doesn't look good, but please, just take a chance. You won't regret it. I promise. What have you got to lose?" Asked yesterday, I would have insisted my pride couldn't bend enough to allow me to beg. Faced with the prospect of losing a client, it was made of rubber.

"Quite a lot actually."

As perfect as the woman looked, she was in trouble.

"And I can help. Ten minutes. Just tell me. I'll be honest. If I can't help I'll say. But I'll probably be able to. Despite all this," I gestured at the office, "I'm actually good at what I do. Please." I was begging in earnest now. The woman stared straight into my eyes, evaluating. I bit my lip. I had said my piece.

"Fine."

A weight fell from my shoulders. "Thank you. Please sit." The woman did just that. Lowering herself into the chair with more grace than I could ever muster. "Do you want some coffee?"

"No." The answer came immediately.

"Yeah. Maybe for the best." I chuckled. It came out as a pale imitation of a laugh. Grime sat around the top of the mugs. I sat behind my desk. "I don't think I caught your name."

"It's Weiss."

Weiss… that was… unusual. I don't think I had ever encountered it before.

"Right Weiss, how may I help you?" I took out a notepad and pencil. A proper investigator's notepad. That at least made me look professional.

"I was robbed."

That wasn't what I had expected. Someone like Weiss, my instincts had screamed infidelity. An idiot husband who didn't know how freaking lucky he was to have a wife like that. It had only been supported by the lack of a ring on those slender fingers.

"You or your property?"

The perfect line of Weiss' eyebrow rose. I tried not to smile too much. I was good at this.

"My property. My apartment."

"Have you gone to the police?"

"Yes. But, shall we say, I am less than confident in their abilities." That set my jaw. Weiss didn't know it, but she had just insulted a lot of people I knew on the force.

"They're very good you know."

"Maybe. But several of my friends have been robbed as well. The police haven't caught the burglar yet."

"Burglar? As in one?"

"I believe so. He leaves a calling card."

A calling card. This was getting interesting. "Can I see it?"

"The police have the original, but there's a picture on here." Weiss dug a small USB with a snowflake on it from her clutch bag.

Her fingertips brushed my palm. They were ice cold, uncomfortably so. My skin tingled, though that might have just been my libido. We didn't get along. It had been far too long.

I loaded up the pictures on my laptop. Just like Weiss had said it was a like a business card. Completely blank apart from what looked like a wolf's head and three claw marks in red. It drew a blank in my memory.

"And he left one of these at each of your friends' places?"

"Yes. He seems to be a very prolific."

"So what did he take?"

"There's a list on there as well."

Some cash, necklaces, earrings, a few USBs, a music box, a diamond tiara. Judging by Weiss' clothes, they probably weren't imitation diamonds.

"What was on the USBs?"

Weiss shrugged. "Just research."

"So no sex tapes then?" In that moment I made another deduction about Weiss. She didn't appreciate jokes. At least not my ones.

"No." Her voice was completely deadpan. He scowl almost flayed me. Her nails were probably capable of doing so.

"Right." Best just to move. Yang might have been proud, but I had rather put my foot in it. "So you want me to get this stuff back?"

"Preferably, but I'm largely ambivalent about most it. I want you to find my music box."

Now that Weiss mentioned it, it had been rather different from the rest of list. There were pictures of that too. Small figurines of a man and a woman were locked in an eternal embrace on a dancefloor of glittering gold and green. The countless jewels screamed extravagance, but staring at the image I got the strangest sense of déjà vu.

"Have I seen this before?"

"Quite possibly, if you watched cartoons."

"What?"

"Anastasia. You know, the animation. This is the music box that was presented to Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolaevna. She was a distant relative."

"You're Russian?" That at least explained part of the accent. Now thinking back, I could pick up certain strains. Another thought hit me. "And royalty?"

Weiss gave a small smile. "Not anymore. And as I said, distant relative."

"Still… shouldn't I be bowing or something?"

Weiss laughed. My eyes flicked to the window. No pigs glided between the skyscrapers. It had really happened. It might have been quiet and for less than a heartbeat, but I had definitely heard it. "I don't usually require it."

"So you want me to get the music box back?"

"Yes."

"It must be worth a fortune." Several fortunes at least.

"Probably." Weiss seemed nonplussed. It had been clear before that she came from money.

"Isn't it insured?"

"Of course it is. But… it was gift from my mother." There was a finality to the way Weiss said it. A finality that I recognised.

"I'm sorry." The words were out of my mouth before I'd even taken the time to think. It was society's expectations that I answer that way. It was what you were meant to say wasn't it? I'm sorry. It was meant to make it all better. To alleviate the guilt. A quick apology that didn't matter in the slightest, and then you could carry on with your life.

One of the few times I had seen Ruby truly angry was when I said them to her after her mom passed. She had rounded on me. Told me she had heard those words a hundred times a day. That they'd never helped. Never made her feel any better. Never stopped the pain. All they'd done was remind her of who she had lost, and of who she would never see again. She'd broken down again after that. I had held her until she'd stopped crying, but I'd somehow forgotten the lesson.

"It was a long time ago." Weiss turned her head and looked out the window. I took the coward's way out and stared at my desk. I didn't want to see her pain. Time helped, but only slightly. Ruby still missed her mom, and evidently so did Weiss.

I've always been a sucker for damsels. I can't help it. It's what happens when you grow up with seven sisters. Women were my kryptonite. All one had to do was come in here and start crying and saying no became impossible, even if they couldn't pay. Ruby laughs at me for that, but I can't help it. Of course Weiss didn't cry, but it didn't matter. I didn't have a choice. "I'll help you."

It wasn't just because Weiss was the first person to walk through my door in fortnight. There was a connection between us. Maybe one I was imagining, but I felt her grief. Her sadness. I would have helped Weiss even if I'd had a dozen different cases waiting. Weiss was hurting, even if she tried not to show it. I couldn't imagine losing something my mom had given me if she'd passed. It would have torn me apart.

Weiss smiled then. It didn't match the rest of her exemplary appearance. It didn't show her perfectly white teeth. In fact it was a little more than an upturn of the corners of her lips. It wasn't a showy smile, one which would grace the cover of a magazine, but somehow it seemed more genuine.

"Thank you." Weiss' voice was light and heartfelt.

I nodded. The smile and the sincere gratitude were likely as much to blame as the alcohol for the warmth spreading to my cheeks. I might have been a sucker for damsels, but it didn't mean I could take their gratitude tastefully. I can read people. It's one of my talents. Weiss didn't seem like one to trust easily, and yet here she had. Despite all the reasons I had given her to walk straight out the door.

For that, she deserved the truth. "I want to be honest with you though. I might not be able to find anything. If the police can't, I'm not sure how much more I can do."

"I understand. I can only ask that you do your best."

"Of course I will. You can rely on that." I'd never half-assed anything. Well, apart from homework. But who had the time for that?

I stared into Weiss' eyes. They were striking. Not only because of the intensity of their colour, but because of the intelligence behind them. They smouldered. Weiss seemed to be looking straight into me and whatever lay beyond.

I coughed, breaking eye contact. Sitting across from someone like Weiss really wasn't doing my head any favours. It was the alcohol. Yeah, that's my story and I'm sticking to it. Before I got distracted again, there was one final point to settle. Perhaps the most important. At least for Rising Arc Investigations.

"Of course, there's my fee." I let the word hang. No one wanted to talk about money.

"Naturally." Weiss opened her white leather clutch bag, the clasp snapping crisply. She slid a cheque across the desk.

I forgot how to swallow and choked on the phlegm that had gone down the wrong pipe. My eyes watered and my face went red. After a pair of hacking coughs ̶ ̶ which caused Weiss to look away distastefully ̶ ̶ I managed to drag down a breath. I double checked the number written on the thin strip of paper and then compared it against the words. There was no doubt. Fifteen thousand dollars only.

Only. That was more than I'd made in the last month. Hell the last two months. I would be able to pay off my rent, most of my bills, my debts. Maybe I would even be able to go out for a meal with my friends once in awhile instead of begging off, saying I was too busy with work. It didn't fool them, but it saved me some face.

"I trust that it suffices for an advance." Advance? "I'll pay you another thirty five when you are successful."

It was only through sheer force of will that I didn't descend into another coughing fit. Regardless, it was close. Fifty thousand dollars. Fifty thousand dollars! It was clear Weiss was rich, but still. To try and save my business, I had lowered my rates to forty-five dollars an hour plus expenses. It would take… you do the math. It would take me an awful lot of cases to earn that much. Months and months of lurking in motel parking lots.

Instead, this job was one that didn't make my skin crawl. It was what I'd imagined my life would be like as a PI. Beautiful clients, noble causes. It could be the start of something bigger. Surely Weiss had friends just like her. She could spread the word around her social circles. It could save me. But it still didn't feel right.

Weiss was offering to pay far more than was required. Far, far more. I'd have taken the case for a fraction of that cheque. Even with my dire financial straits, I'm not a cheat. I have morals. Taking a deep breath, and well aware of how stupid this was, I pushed the cheque back.

"I can't accept that." A part of me couldn't believe what I was saying. "It's far too much."

"Nonsense." Weiss' fingers met my own on the cheque. They were still cold, but Weiss didn't appear to be in any discomfort. She wasn't shivering or hugging her jacket to herself. At least I had an answer now. No doubt growing up in Russia had hardened her to the whims of the temperature. "A service is worth what someone is willing to pay for it. I am willing to pay that."

"I can't." I pushed back on the cheque.

Weiss' brow darkened. "This conversation is boring me." Her native accent became more dominant in the lilting tone of her voice. It scared me a bit. I'll admit that. It conjured up recollection of Russian mobsters and secret agents from the films. "You will accept that. Or I will leave. Your decision."

As ultimatums go, it wasn't a harsh one. There were no car batteries or wood chippers involved, but it was still a threat. It was funny really. Weiss was threatening me to take far more money than I thought I deserved. The other option was to receive nothing at all.

I looked into Weiss' face. There was no give there. Absolutely none. A stone would have had more. She was a person used to getting her own way. If my moral code had been stronger, I might have said no, but it wasn't. I'd satisfied myself by alerting Weiss, and relented with a nod. After all, I would like to eat tonight.

"Good." Weiss pushed the cheque towards me one last time. "Don't worry. You will earn it." She checked her phone. "Do you need anything else from me to get started? I have an appointment at eleven."

I pushed myself up. Of course I looked like a puppet with knotted strings compared to her grace. "Nope." I tried to keep my voice light to dispel the tension that our altercation had set into the air. "I'll get right on it."

"Excellent. Here's my card." It was pure white. What a shock. Weiss' name was at the top. Schnee. As in snow unless my high school German was failing me. No wonder Weiss had a predilection with white. Actually her first name. I looked up, unable to fully hide my grin.

Weiss gave a sigh of long suffering. "Yes I know. You can say it if you want, but only this one time."

I couldn't resist. "Your name's White Snow."

"Yes. I have no idea what was going through my parents' heads."

"It suits you." The words escaped from my mouth before they'd passed my brain. I always did that. Talked before thinking. It had gotten me in a fair bit of trouble at school. Neither teachers nor bullies appreciated it. Nor girls who were so far out of my league they may have been on another planet. Although… it was probably my imagination and crotch working in concert, but I was sure a hint of colour flared into Weiss' cheeks. They definitely weren't as pale as they had been before.

"I suppose. Unless you live in Germany for most of your childhood that is."

Another part of the enigma fell. It explained another part of her accent. Russia, Germany. Where else? No wonder Weiss spoke in a unique way in what must have been at least her third language.

"Still. At least they got the worst out the way when they named my sister." Her mouth curled again and her eyes lit up. Properly lit up. Even though I wasn't in on the joke, I smiled anyway, showing her some of the famous Arc charm. It didn't work. Surprise, surprise. I waited, but no explanation came.

"Who is named?" I led.

Weiss opened her mouth before closing it again. "Nope. It can be a test of your investigatory skills. Just promise not to laugh too much." The delicate lines of her cheeks had drawn up into dimples as she tried to live up to her own words. Damn it. She had dimples as well.

The change in Weiss' mood had thrown me somewhat off-balance. At first Weiss had been distant, cold. Frigid even. A stern business woman. But now, caught up in the humour, she'd changed. Some of her perfect poise had evaporated. It made her seem more real. Alive.

"I won't."

"I doubt that somehow." She actually grinned at me. After all the sleepless nights staring at the bills floating before my eyes, it felt good to laugh. Weiss had helped with the money, but it still took two to share. "Just never mention it to her face. Not if you like yours how it is. Now I really must be going."

"Oh." I had forgotten that was why we were standing. I'd been having too much of a good time with a girl I'd just met… who was client. Mixing business and pleasure was like gasoline and a spark. It's only going to end badly. Not that it was even an option. Yeah, that's why I didn't say more. Business. "Of course. I'll get right on it."

"It's been a pleasure doing business with you Mr Arc. I'll admit I wasn't certain when I walked in here, but you've managed to do a very rare thing and change my first impression. Now I can only hope that you'll live up to it."

"I will." I didn't want to say I would get Weiss' music box back, but I'd try my best. I always do. I walked Weiss to the door, well aware of the stains on the carpet under Weiss' snow white stilettos.

"It was nice to meet you Jaune. Keep me informed."

"Definitely. As soon I find out anything." Or even sooner, part of me argued. The part that would be of zero help solving this case, but was getting more of a vote with every passing second. I hate my body sometimes. It's dumb.

"Udači Jaune. It's Russian for good luck." She added at my puzzled frown.

"Oh, right. Thank you."

"Goodbye."

"See you then."

Weiss looked back once as she walked down the corridor. I blushed when she did. I hadn't seen Weiss from behind before. It should have been illegal for her to wear such a tight skirt.

It was relief when Weiss entered the elevator. I shook my head, clearing my thoughts or at least trying to. Weiss might have had a great ass but, more importantly, I had a case. Rising Arc Investigations was on the prowl once more.

A/N: Well here we are again. The start of another story. This will be a fair bit different and shorter than what you've come to expect from me, but I can only hope you enjoy it.

If you enjoyed and want more please follow/favourite. It really helps me out. And if you can please leave a review.