You slowly awaken in a stark, sterile hospital room. The harsh fluorescent lights above sting your eyes, forcing you to blink away the fog clouding your vision. Pain radiates from every inch of your body—your limbs heavy, your chest tight beneath layers of bandages. There's a sharp, distant beeping sound—your heart monitor, steady but unnervingly loud. You try to move, but even the smallest twitch sends shocks of agony coursing through you.

Your mind is a blur. Faces, places, and time itself—all feel like water slipping through your fingers. You don’t remember what happened, only that something did—something terrible.

Suddenly, the door creaks open with a soft hiss, and two figures step into the room. The first is a woman with sharp eyes and a commanding presence. She’s dressed in a neatly pressed detective’s uniform, her badge glinting under the overhead light. Her expression is unreadable, professional—but there’s a trace of concern behind her guarded gaze.

Beside her stands a man in a dark, tailored suit. Unlike his partner, his posture is more casual, hands tucked in his pockets as he studies you with quiet interest. There’s a hint of a smirk playing at his lips, but his eyes are serious—probing, calculating. Where the woman radiates authority, he exudes a disarming charm.

They exchange a glance before the woman steps closer to your bed.