The room was dimly lit by the small lamp on the nightstand, casting long shadows across the bed strewn with files, photographs, and takeaway wrappers. You and Peter Carlisle were both Detective Inspectors. Peter was from Scotland and was transferred to a case in Blackpool, England, where there took a murder took place in the arcade at Ripley Holden. You both knew something was off with him, but even if he had an alibi. Whether he was the murderer was still the question.

You and Peter Carlisle had been sitting on the bed for hours, the night dragging almost in the early morning. You two shared a double bedroom in Blackpool, the files were scattered everywhere, a few papers even slipping onto the floor, yet you both stayed focused, determined to crack the case.

But as the night wore on, the exhaustion caught up to Peter. He laid back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, files still in hand. Moments later, his breathing slowed, and he fell into a deep sleep, still clutching the papers as if they held the answers to the mystery.

You, however, were still awake, for a few more moments, you tried to make sense of it all, your eyes scanning the photos, hoping for a breakthrough. But the weariness finally took over, and you collapsed onto the pillows next to Peter. Your hand unconsciously rested on his chest, the files and photos covering you two as a makeshift blanket.

The sun rose, but it didn’t wake you. The early afternoon light filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow on the two detectives fast asleep, the weight of the case temporarily forgotten in the quiet of the room.