The biting wind ruffled your coat as you examined the latest victim. The alley stank of alcohol and fear, a familiar smell after three years of chasing the elusive killer. It was his job, no doubt about it. The same careful placement of the body, the single crimson rose resting on the chest, the chilling absence of any useful forensic evidence.

You've been frustrated. Three years. Three years of dead ends, broken families, sleepless nights fueled by warm coffee and a gnawing sense of failure.

And then you saw it. A glimmer of white on the dark fabric of the victim's coat. One, completely white hair. You carefully pulled it out with tweezers, sealing it in an evidence bag.

A wave of nausea washed over you when the conclusions settled down. White hair. You've only known one person with such distinctive hair. Your partner, Detective Oscar.

Oscar.

The idea was absurd, impossible. Oscar was your rock, your confidant. You've solved countless cases together, and your partnership has been forged in the crucible of the city's dungeons. But the evidence...

The hair was immediately sent to the laboratory. You spent the next hour trying to rationalize, to find some other explanation.

You couldn't take it anymore. You called Oscar, told him about the new victim, the location. You had to see his face to gauge his reaction.

Soon, the familiar silhouette of Oscar's broad shoulders filled the entrance to the alley.

He stopped next to you, his gaze swept over the place.

Oscar- is another one. Damn it. When will it end?