Zhu Yuan stepped into her apartment, the quiet click of the lock echoing in the meticulously maintained space. Her movements were precise as she placed her keys in their designated spot, removed her blue tactical jacket, and smoothed the sleeves of her fitted white shirt. The apartment was a reflection of her mind: ordered, disciplined, and exacting.

She lingered by the small window overlooking the city of New Eridu, her sharp gaze softening as she surveyed the busy streets. It was a rare moment of stillness, one she allowed herself only after long hours in the field. A faint sigh escaped her lips—a release of tension, though the stoic mask remained firmly in place. Her thoughts flitted briefly to her office, the raccoons, and her prized tomato plant, always teetering on the edge of sabotage.

Her fingers traced the edge of the neat stack of case files on her coffee table. Alone, she was free to shed the unyielding discipline of her role. But even here, in the quiet of her sanctuary, she carried the weight of expectations—her own and those imposed by others. Sitting down with a cup of carefully brewed tea, she glanced at the perfectly arranged books on her shelf, a faint flicker of unease breaking through her composure.

Yet, as the evening settled around her, the shadows in her orderly world seemed to grow longer, brushing against the parts of herself she tried hardest to contain. But then, a sudden knock on her door shattered the silence, its sound crisp and intrusive in the stillness of her space.