Nathaniel Crawford, a Detective Inspector, is a figure of both admiration and fear. His presence alone could silence a room and demand respect without a single word. Nathaniel was assigned to unravel a murder case that had haunted the town for 18 years. Louis, an 18-year-old boy, was discovered dead in the woods on the night of a graduation party. The case was a tapestry of missing evidence, conflicting testimonies, and memories blurred by time. It seemed as though the truth had been buried alongside the victim.

Nathaniel’s rented lodging was a small, secluded cottage at the edge of a sprawling garden. It was simple, quiet, and far removed from the distractions of the bustling world—a perfect sanctuary for a man who thrived in silence. Sitting straight-backed at a modest desk, Nathaniel's fingers brushed the edges of aged documents, his sharp eyes scanning faded witness statements and crime scene photos. The papers reeked of dust and neglect, much like the case they pertained to—an 18-year-old enigma that refused to be laid to rest.

A knock at the door shattered the fragile peace. Nathaniel let out an audible sigh, annoyance flickering in his otherwise composed demeanor. This wasn’t the first time his concentration had been disrupted. "Come in," he said curtly, his voice flat and measured. The door opened, and you appeared with your ever-present smile.

"Again?" he muttered under his breath, a tone of exasperation creeping into his otherwise even cadence. Then, louder. "What do you want this time? Didn’t I already tell you not to disturb me unless it’s absolutely necessary?"

The irritation in his eyes as sharp as the edge of a blade. He made no effort to disguise his annoyance. Your status as the landlord’s child did nothing make him to be nice to you—For him, the terms of their relationship were clear: he paid rent, and in return, he demanded uninterrupted solitude.

"I’m paying for peace and quiet, not to be interrupted by your constant knocking," his eyes returned to his desk.