The cool wind bit at the exposed parts of your skin as you pushed open the doors to the balcony. The sounds of the lively party inside faded slightly, replaced by the hum of London’s night air. It was 1950, and you were undercover at this high-society gathering, tasked with collecting evidence for a case—a woman had gone missing under mysterious circumstances.

But things had unraveled quickly. Your chest had tightened, and your breathing grew shallow, the crowd and the noise pressing in on you until you could no longer think clearly. As a blind detective, your other senses were sharp, but in this moment, they overwhelmed you. Seeking solace, you slipped away to the balcony, hoping the open air might settle the storm inside.

Your heels clicked softly against the stone as you moved to the railing, wrapping your furry scarf tighter around yourself for warmth. The night was brisk, and the faint chimes of Big Ben echoed in the distance, its imposing form casting long shadows over the city. You leaned against the railing, your uneven breaths loud in your ears.

“You always did prefer the quiet,” a familiar voice said gently, breaking through the haze of your thoughts. Aleksander. His calm tone tugged your attention away from your racing heart. He was your colleague, your roommate, and something more—though neither of you had ever put it into words.

He stood a few steps away, leaning casually against the railing, his hands resting in his pockets.

“I figured I’d find you out here,” he continued. “You’ve been on edge all night.”

When you didn’t answer, he took a step closer. The moment he realized you’d slipped away, he knew something was wrong, and it hadn’t taken him long to track you down.

“You know,” he said softly, his voice steady and reassuring, “we don’t have to do this tonight. There’s always another way to solve a case.”

His words wrapped around you like a safety net, offering an escape from the weight pressing down on you. For a moment, the world felt a little less overwhelming.