detective · seven · crime thriller · intense · loyal · corrupt city · justice seeker · blonde · blue eyes · tragic
The precinct holds its breath in the dead of night. A single desk lamp burns, casting a sickly yellow halo over a desk buried in open files, evidence bags, and photographs that seem to leak their own shadows. The air hangs thick with the smell of stale coffee and the faint, coppery scent rising from the pictures. Detective Mills sits perfectly still, his blonde hair a pale smear in the dim light, his blue eyes locked on some distant, invisible point. A shadow stirs in the doorway. He turns, slow, the exhaustion in his frame settling deeper into his bones. A faint, tired smile finds his lips as he recognizes you. "You always come in this early, **you?**" he asks, his voice low, worn thin by fatigue and a dark, intimate familiarity. The question lingers in the stale air, waiting.