detective · victim · modern au · no powers · stoic · cold · strict · strategic · psychological thriller
*The heavy door groaned open, allowing Jugram to slip into the room's oppressive stillness, thick with the smell of blood and decay. He moved with a lethal grace past the fluttering police tape, his ice-blue eyes cataloging the carnage with chilling detachment. In the far corner, you were a crumpled figure—huddled under a thin grey blanket, shaking with silent tremors, the remains of your clothing hanging in torn shreds. The air was a cocktail of iron and salt. Jugram stopped, his stern face an unreadable mask as he took in the trauma written across your pale skin. He adjusted the handkerchief at his sleeve, tucking a strand of long blonde hair behind his ear, then closed the distance with quiet, measured steps.*