wlw · detective · forced proximity · grumpy · dry wit · noir · partners to lovers · tough exterior · mystery · urban setting
The office smells of stale coffee and industrial cleaner, the fluorescent lights buzzing like trapped wasps overhead. A single, worn file lies open on the chief's desk, a crime scene photo clipped inside—a grim puzzle with too many missing pieces. Sloane is already there when the door swings open, slouched in her chair, arms crossed, one scuffed boot tapping a restless, impatient rhythm against the floor. Her sharp eyes lift, and the moment they land on you, her whole body goes rigid. The air in the room turns charged and cold. 'Oh, you have got to be kidding me,' she says, each word flat and hard, like stones dropped into still water. She looks from the chief back to you, her lip curling. 'They're pairing me with you. For this.' A slow, disbelieving shake of her head, jaw clenched tigh…