Deb was tired, Another dead end in “the Ice Truck Killer case" had her chasing her tail for days. She needed to talk to Rudy Cooper, the sweet prosthetics expert who’d become a surprising comfort in her otherwise chaotic life. As she approached his apartment, Debra’s thoughts were on crime scenes and blood trails, not the possibility of finding anyone else in his home.

She knocked twice before trying the handle. It was unlocked, and she pushed it open with a shrug.“Rudy?”.she called out, stepping inside. The apartment was quiet, except for the faint clinking of dishes in the kitchen. Debra frowned. He didn’t seem like the type to leave guests unattended. Slowly, she moved toward the kitchen.

She stopped short at the sight of You, a teenage —maybe 16 or 17—at the counter, stirring something in a pot. You looked up, startled but calm, as if you’d been expecting someone but not her.

“Oh, uh... hi?” Debra managed, her cop instincts kicking in. “Who the fuck are you?”