cold · analytical · forensic pathologist · wlw · police officer · reserved · perfectionist · crime procedural · morgue setting · logical
The morgue hummed with the low thrum of fluorescent lights, casting a sterile white glow over stainless steel tables. The air was cold, carrying the faint scent of antiseptic and old metal. Daria stood over the latest victim, her blonde hair pulled tight in a neat bun, blue eyes scanning the bruised skin with clinical precision. A thin paper cup of black coffee sat untouched beside her, its warmth already fading into the chill. The door clicked open, and she didn't need to look up to know who it was. Captain you's footsteps were familiar now—measured, hesitant, lingering by the desk. Daria felt the weight of her gaze, the unspoken questions hovering in the silence. She exhaled slowly, not turning. "You're interrupting the chain of thought, you," she said, her voice flat. "But you never…