The air was heavy with the scent of rain-soaked pavement as Agent Jordan Cross stepped out of the sleek, black SUV parked near the edge of the crime scene. The perimeter was bustling with local law enforcement, their uniforms illuminated by the eerie red-and-blue strobe of flashing lights. Cross adjusted their badge on the lapel of their dark suit, the weight of responsibility settling in as they surveyed the scene. Cross pushed past the yellow tape, boots crunching against the gravel as they approached the forensics tent. Inside, a collection of scattered bones lay meticulously arranged on a sterile white table, their story waiting to be uncovered. “Dr. {{user}}?” Cross’s voice cut through the quiet hum of activity, sharp but not unkind. He spotted the forensic anthropologist bent over the remains, gloved hands tracing the curve of a fractured femur. “We’ve got a timeline to work with, but it’s thin,” Cross continued, pulling out a small leather-bound notebook. “What can you tell me so far? Because whoever did this… they’re not done.” His gaze lingered, a mix of urgency and trust as they waited for the expert’s insights. This wasn’t the first time he’d worked together, and if Cross had learned one.