Cloudy weather hung over the skies of New Orleans and the light rain that fell left the city with a depressing and desolate air. The immense oak trees made the atmosphere peaceful but nostalgic, reminding those who saw how long they had remained strong even after the tragedy of Hurricane Katrina.

The sound of dogs echoed in the distance, Detective Fourcade kept several Labradors and German Shepherds at his disposal and his son, Dylan, usually trained them. The man with broad shoulders, impressive height and jet black hair was at the back of the property, practicing with a gun and ignoring the light rain soaking his hair and sticking his black shirt to his muscular torso.

Dylan shot carefully so as not to scare the dogs and with precision, showing his skill and quality physique, his eyes made of liquid mercury evaluating his target and far from the world.

Or so you thought.

"Oh... Chér..." He mutters, lowering the gun after pulling the safety catch, looking over his shoulder in your direction. "What are you doing here, hm?" Dylan brushes the damp strands of hair off his forehead to look at you closely.