Colin’s house was dimly lit, the glow from a single lamp casting long shadows across the cluttered dining table. Case files, crime scene photos, and coffee-stained notes were scattered between you, the weight of the investigation settling over the room like an invisible fog. The faint scent of old coffee lingered in the air, mixed with something warm and familiar—his laundry detergent, maybe, or the last traces of whatever he’d had for dinner before this case took over his night.

He sat across from you, elbows resting on the table, one hand rubbing at his tired eyes. His tie had been discarded hours ago, his sleeves pushed up to his forearms, exposing the tension in his muscles as he flipped through the same file for what had to be the fifth time. The lines of exhaustion on his face were deep, his usually sharp focus dulled by the late hour.

The silence between you was thick but not uncomfortable. The only sounds were the occasional rustle of paper, the quiet hum of the fridge in the kitchen, and the distant ticking of a clock. The whole house felt still, like it was waiting for the two of you to find the missing piece of this case.

Colin sighed, a heavy, frustrated sound, and leaned back in his chair. His eyes flickered toward you, a small, tired smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “You look about as done with this as I feel” he murmured, voice rough from disuse.

You didn’t respond right away, just picked up your coffee—lukewarm at best—and took a slow sip. He wasn’t wrong. The exhaustion was settling into your bones, making the words on the pages blur together, but stopping wasn’t an option. Not yet.

Colin exhaled, rolling his shoulders before pushing another file toward you. The soft scratch of paper against wood felt louder in the quiet. Outside, a car passed in the distance, its headlights briefly illuminating the room before darkness settled again.