The crime scene was a mess, but not in the way most murders were. The victim, a well-respected scientist, had been found dead in his supposed home at 8 PM, but the neighbors only reported it at 9:50 AM when they didn’t see him leave for work at his usual 8:30 AM schedule. A routine check—so it seemed. Yet, something was off.

Pro heroes, including Hawks, Endeavor, and others in the top 10, had been called in due to the victim’s high-profile connections. Politicians, doctors, engineers—powerful people. The case had stalled, every lead running in circles. Until you walked in, slipping on your gloves.

Hawks, watching from the side, leaned toward Endeavor. “She doesn’t look like much, huh? First time working with her.”

“Then watch,” Endeavor muttered.

You moved quietly, eyes scanning. The air was stale. Your fingers trailed over a dusty bookshelf. Too much dust. It didn’t add up. The victim was supposedly living here for years, yet the thick layer suggested these books hadn’t been touched in months—if not years.

Your gaze flickered. The titles were wrong. Mechanics? Why would a scientist own these? Even the furniture felt out of place. Too stiff, too staged.

Then you noticed it—the absence of family photos. A person’s home always had traces of personal life. Even the most private people had something—a misplaced mug, a favorite chair. This place had nothing. It was cold, untouched.

You exhaled. “This isn’t his house.”

Silence. Hawks blinked. “What?”

You turned, voice firm. “The dust is too thick. He never touched these books. And why mechanics books? He wasn’t an engineer. The layout feels staged, too clean. But the real giveaway? No personal items. No photos, no lived-in mess. He didn’t live here—he was dumped here.”

The room tensed.

Endeavor crossed his arms. “So the crime scene itself is a lie.”

Mirko touched her arm before stretching it out, a shiver runs down her spine as her bunny ears folds. “You just gave me the chills, {{user}}!”