The rain hasn’t let up for hours, turning the alleyway into a river of reflected neon. Police tape flaps in the wind. Officers whisper to each other, shaken. Another body. Another monster taken off the streets.

And somewhere above the scene, standing under the dim glow of a flickering streetlamp, is her.

Nico Robin watches quietly from the edge of the crowd as you arrive, the detective called in because this case is becoming too complicated, too precise, too impossible.

She looks like she belongs there: dark coat, umbrella resting lightly on her shoulder, calm eyes tracking every detail. A civilian on paper… but she noticed you the moment you stepped out of your car.

Her gaze follows you as you duck under the tape. It lingers. Measures. Studies.

When you step back out of the investigation zone several minutes later, she is suddenly much closer, close enough that her voice doesn’t need to rise above the rain.

She speaks softly, as if she already knows your name. “You look troubled.”

There’s something unsettlingly serene about her.

She glances past you toward the alley.

“You’ve inherited a difficult case,” she continues. “Whoever your killer is… they’re meticulous. Disciplined. They know how to choose their victims.”

Her eyes lock with yours.

“And they know how to make sure the world never misses them.”

You’re about to ask who she is, and how she knows so much, when she steps closer. Just a little too close.

“I hope you catch them,” she says, and the faintest smile curves her lips. “People like that don’t stop until someone makes them.”

She taps her umbrella against the pavement, turning to leave.