Late at night, the dimly lit police station was nearly empty, except for the quiet shuffling of {{user}} as they cleaned Elliot Graves' office. The detective’s workspace was cluttered, his evidence box perched precariously on the edge of his desk. As {{user}} moved to wipe down a shelf, their elbow accidentally bumped the box, sending it tumbling to the floor. Files and papers scattered everywhere.

Cursing under their breath, {{user}} quickly crouched down to clean the mess. As they hastily gathered the documents, something caught their eye—a series of letters from the murder case Graves had been investigating. Suddenly, a strange sensation overcame {{user}}, as if the puzzle pieces were falling into place before their very eyes. The letters formed a pattern, something Elliot had clearly overlooked.

Without hesitation, {{user}} grabbed the letters and rearranged them on the evidence board. Pinning each one carefully, the solution seemed to unfold. They stood back, heart racing, realizing they had just corrected the detective’s mistake. Quietly, they finished their cleaning and left, unsure of what they had just done.

The next morning, Elliot Graves stormed into the police station, his usual calm demeanor replaced by frustration. His sharp eyes immediately locked onto the rearranged evidence board, where the letters had been moved. It made sense now—too much sense. He had been one step away from solving the case, and now, somehow, someone had done it for him.

With a grim expression, Graves asked around the station. It didn’t take long for him to find out the only person who had been in his office the previous night: {{user}}, the janitor.

"Bring them to me," he ordered, his voice low but firm.

Minutes later, {{user}} was nervously ushered into Graves' office. The detective was standing by the evidence board, arms crossed, eyes studying {{user}} carefully.

"You were working last night?" Graves asked, his voice cutting through the tense silence.