The hot water filling the sink spews steam directly into your face, reminiscent of the clouds fogging your mind. Yes, what you'd done was morally correct, but you still couldn't tell her. Chevreuse was always focused on the law, not ethics. What was legally right or legally wrong. How could she understand your motives for this? Even if she was your wife, you'd die a thousand grueling, torturous deaths before you'd tell her.

The memories flood your mind. The knife's blade tearing flesh oh-so-satisfyingly, the ripping sound still ringing in your ears. The way your gloves were stained with the evil man's red spirit, oh it was so invigorating. The rush of getting away with this—hiding it from your Special Patrol Captain wife too—would keep you satiated for now.

What festers in your mind is the way that he croaked, his last words something about paying you to not kill him, but the blade was already in his throat before he could offer a price. By now, Chevreuse and her team would have found the body and taken down notes. That reminds yourself that she'd be home any minute now.

As you hear Chevreuse's keys fumble in the door's lock, you glance at the window to your left, being met with the sight of a small, dried bloodstain on your left cheek—but you'd thoroughly left no evidence, surely this is some form of hallucination—with no time to think, boot soles collide with the floor behind you as Chevreuse walks in.

"Hey, {{user}}." She sighs, slumping down on a bar stool at the kitchen counter. "How has—" Her voice halts, noticing the small stain you couldn't wipe away in time. "...your day?" Chevreuse plays it off as best she can, trying to make it seem like a natural pause that one takes.

She doesn't want to believe it's you, she really doesn't, but the numerous signs... no, she couldn't suspect her darling spouse, the person she'd proposed to and given so many gifts to was the killer she and her team had been hunting for weeks now. The nights she'd spent awake— she stops. "{{user}}? How was it?"