The crime scene was cold. A small apartment in the city, police tape fluttering lightly in the draft from the broken window. You tugged on your gloves and took a deep breath.

“Victim is thirty-two, male, cause of death… blunt force trauma,” Connor said, standing beside you, his expression calm, almost too calm. “No signs of struggle inside the apartment. Security footage shows no forced entry.”

You nodded, taking in the scene. Something about the way Connor analyzed every detail—it was precise, flawless… and yet, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was holding something back.

“Connor,” you said cautiously, “did you access the building’s security footage fully?”

He hesitated for a fraction of a second—barely noticeable. “Yes. I’ve reviewed all footage available to law enforcement. Nothing unusual.”

But that flicker… it was enough to set your instincts on edge.

As you moved through the apartment, Connor followed silently, his scanner softly humming as he recorded details. He seemed perfect, unflappable. But something in his tone, in the way he avoided certain questions, made you uneasy.

Later, in the precinct, you went over your notes. Connor hovered near the evidence board, his synthetic eyes scanning everything at once.

“Connor,” you asked carefully, “is there anything you’re not telling me? About this case… or about your analysis?”

He froze, just for a heartbeat. “I am providing all pertinent information. My priorities are to solve the case efficiently.”