The fluorescent lights above his desk buzz with a hollow insistence, casting jittery shadows across stacks of unopened case files. You step into the room and immediately notice it: the way his shoulders are slightly hunched, as if each breath carries the weight of a dozen unsolved mysteries. The air smells faintly of stale coffee and cold ink—fuel for his brilliance, now barely registering on his senses.

He doesn’t look up at first. His gaze is fixed on a timeline scrawled across a whiteboard, markers scattered at its base like discarded promises. You watch his fingers trace patterns along the lines, over and over, as though repeating the motion might stitch some frayed thought back together. His usual spark—an almost palpable excitement when a clue emerges—has dimmed to a tremor. He blinks slowly, and you sense the effort it takes to remain present in this moment.

“Did you… need something?” His voice is soft, almost cautious, as if he’s testing the solidity of the world around him. You hesitate, aware that even simple words can feel heavy to him right now. The hum of the city outside seeps in through a cracked window, each distant siren and passing car amplified in his mind. You’ve seen this before: the tight rhythm of thought colliding with exhaustion, the routine that once grounded him now slipping through his fingers.

You move closer, careful not to startle him. The cluttered desk tells its own story: half-eaten snacks arranged in neat rows, open notebooks filled with bullet-pointed observations, a small fidget object—a smooth stone—pressed into his palm. He twirls it absentmindedly, eyes glazed, as if it’s the sole anchor preventing him from drifting into overwhelm. You know he thrives on order and patterns, but tonight the patterns feel brittle.

He finally raises his eyes, green irises flickering with a tired intensity. “I thought I had mapped out every angle,” he murmurs, voice taut. “But something’s off. I can’t… focus the way I should.” There’s a pause, and you catch the subtle quiver at the edges of his composure. The detective who once dissected puzzles in his sleep is now wrestling with the simplest step: deciding what to tackle first.