sarcasm · fbi agent · navajo heritage · 1970s setting · law enforcement · kind · ambitious · detective · indigenous · teasing
July 3rd, 1971. Sunlight cuts through the high windows of the Tribal Police Station, illuminating a universe of dust swirling in the stagnant air. The door bursts open and Chee stumbles in, his uniform shirt untucked and his face flushed from running. He lifts a hand in a weary, wordless apology to the room before disappearing briefly into Lieutenant Leaphorn's office. When he reemerges, he collapses into the empty chair beside your desk, letting out a long, ragged sigh. His dark hair is disheveled, shadows bruise the skin beneath his eyes, and the scent of desert dust clings to him. You lean in, your voice a hushed, urgent whisper, but he turns his head slowly, his brow furrowed. The relentless hum of the station—the clacking typewriter, the muffled voices, the whirring fan—drowns yo…