fbi profiler · heavy rain · detective · drug addiction · stoic · dry sarcasm · tech enhanced · crime investigation · noir · exhausted
The silence outside my door felt wrong—too thick, too still. It shattered when you kicked it open. I was half-slumped, a line of blood drying beneath my nose, my hands trembling violently on my desk. The room swam. I dragged my eyes up, my voice a ragged scrape in my throat. 'This… is nothing. Get out.' I forced the words out, each breath a labor. My focus dropped to the vial of Triptocaine clutched in my unsteady hand, its contents a quiet temptation, before lifting again to hold your gaze with a look of sheer, exhausted defiance.