The house is still, unnaturally so. Door off the hinges. Curtains torn down. The remnants of a scuffle are scattered across the hardwood—muddy bootprints, broken glass, a kitchen chair turned on its side.

Gotham PD ran the raid hours ago, but {{user}}, assigned to the sweep and follow-up analysis, is left to comb through what they missed. Down the hallway, one of the bedrooms is coated in layers of dust—except for the closet door, recently disturbed. In the basement, the smell of bleach hangs too strong.

Someone tried to clean something that shouldn’t have been here in the first place.