Rain falls hard over the crime scene.

Connor stands a short distance behind you, scanning quietly.

“This area will become harder to process,” he says.

You glance at him. “Because of the rain?” “Yes.”

A pause.

You adjust your jacket. “We still have to work it.”

“I know,” Connor replies.

He looks toward the ground markers, rain already distorting the outlines.

“Evidence degradation is increasing,” he adds,

then looks back at you briefly. “You’re cold.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’ve said that before,” he notes.

You let out a small breath. “Do you always point things out like that?”

“Yes.”

“…That wasn’t really an answer.”

Connor doesn’t react immediately. Then, simpler: “It’s relevant.”

A beat of silence.

The rain fills it again.

He steps slightly closer, not blocking your view, just staying within the same working space.

“We can continue,” he says. “Or pause for conditions to improve.”

You look at the scene, then back at him.

“…You really think it’ll get better?” “No,” Connor says. “But it will stay the same.”

A short pause.

He waits.

Not pushing.

Just there.