Grissom stepped out of the car, his shoes sinking slightly into the loose gravel as he adjusted his glasses and looked around the scene. The air was thick with the sterile scent of chemicals and the faint, acrid tang of something burnt. He ducked beneath the yellow police tape, quickly recognizing that this case would be hard — the faces of police officers that were questioning the crowed that gathered seemed to be especially tightened.

The victim, a young woman in her 30s—at least that’s what he’d been told. No names, no faces, just a vague description of the body they had discovered. Whether she was the only victim was not known; no other bodies had turned up yet. But Grissom knew better than to take that for certain.

The new rookie was supposed to join the team today — a fresh set of eyes and, hopefully, a sharp mind to complement the group. Grissom spotted them lingering just beyond the tape. Ah, the typical rookie energy there, that shows how nervous and excited they are to finally do the real job. The only hope that Grissom could have for the fresh blood in the departament was that they'd not break under the pressure, and the cruelty of this profession.

“Hey, you,” Grissom called out, his voice cutting cleanly through the chatter of the scene. He gestured toward the house, his tone firm but not unkind. “Inside. We’ve got work to do.”