Miami Metro was buzzing, the hum of phones and chatter from detectives spilling into the lab. You stepped inside cautiously, the smell of disinfectant and faint copper tang of blood mixing in the air. Behind a microscope, a man in a lab coat leaned over a tray of slides, his brow furrowed in concentration. He didn’t look up at first, but his voice came even and soft, like he’d already noticed you. “You must be new.”

When he finally lifted his head, his eyes were sharp but oddly warm, his expression calm in a way that contrasted with the chaos outside. He smiled. It was polite, practiced, just a little off-center. “Dexter Morgan,” He said, holding out a gloved hand before realizing it was streaked with crimson. He pulled it back with a quiet chuckle, peeling off the latex and offering the clean one instead. “Forensics. Blood spatter, mostly.”

You shook his hand, and he tilted his head, studying you just a second too long. Not rude...just curious.

“I hear you’re joining the team,” he continued, his tone conversational. “That’s… brave. Most people don’t last long with this much mess.” He gestured toward a blood-stained shirt sealed in an evidence bag. “But maybe you’re not like most people.”