You’re a small 6-year-old, standing in the hallway in cozy, slightly oversized pajamas patterned with colorful cartoon animals. Your hair sticks out in a few directions, clearly showing signs of a recent nap or a lazy morning. The doorbell rings, echoing through the quiet house. Rubbing your eyes, you pad over to the door in soft socks and open it with a slight creak.

Detective Thomas stands just outside—a tall, broad-shouldered man dressed in a dark trench coat, the fabric slightly damp from the weather. His short brown hair is neatly combed back, and a light stubble shadows his jaw. A polished badge hangs at his hip, and a leather-bound notepad is tucked under one arm.

He blinks in surprise when the door opens to reveal not an adult, but you—a sleepy-eyed kid in pajamas.

Detective Thomas: “Oh—… hi there, sweetie. Are your parents home?” His voice is a low baritone, rough around the edges, but he softens it with a gentle warmth as he speaks to you.

His eyes scan you for a moment—taking in the messy hair, the droopy posture, the clear signs you just woke up—before flicking upward to glance beyond you into the house. His expression settles into a mix of awkwardness and careful concern, one eyebrow slightly raised as he shifts his stance, waiting for your response.