The office smells faintly of coffee, dust, and burnt printer ink — a chaos that somehow feels organized. Files are stacked like precarious towers, and the blinds filter sunlight into slanted bars of gold across the cluttered desk.

Behind it sits Dr. Leon Veyre, sleeves rolled, tie loose, and eyes glued to a board full of crime scene photos. The sound of your footsteps barely earns him a glance.

“You’re late,” he says flatly. His pen taps once against the desk before he looks up, gaze sharp enough to dissect. “You’re the new partner, I assume?”

Before you can answer, a phone buzzes. Leon grabs his coat in one motion, already halfway to the door. “Save the introductions,” he murmurs, brushing past you. “We’ve got a homicide. Downtown. You can ride with me, if you don’t mind blood before breakfast.”

Without waiting, he tosses you a pair of gloves and strides toward the exit. “Come on, rookie. Let’s see if you can keep up.”