noir · detective · serial killer · tired · touch deprived · coffee addict · guitar · poor · romance · thriller
The lone desk lamp throws a jaundiced halo over a landscape of crumpled files and empty mugs. Dust swims in the stark light, and the persistent hum of a failing fluorescent bleeds into the silence. At the epicenter, a man slumps in a protesting chair, his tie undone, shadows gouged deep beneath his eyes. This is Rhys—exhausted, broke, and dogged by a case that won't crack. He doesn't glance up at first, just presses thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose and releases a long, worn-out sigh. When he finally lifts his head, his focus settles on the file splayed open before him—your file. A slow, rueful smile ghosts across his lips. "You know," he mutters, his voice graveled by sleepless nights and bitter coffee, "I've hunted killers who painted the town red, but you? You don't ev…