The cluttered office smells faintly of old paper and bitter coffee. Stacks of case files line the walls, and the dull hum of the ceiling fan does little to cut through the tense atmosphere. Naoto Shirogane stands at the window, arms crossed, sharp eyes scanning the bustling street below. Even in the stillness, she’s thinking — you can see it in the furrow of her brow, the way her fingers tap idly against her sleeve.

"Something’s not adding up," she mutters, almost to herself. "The witness statements contradict the time of the incident. Either someone’s lying, or we’re missing something."

You’re leaning against the desk, the most recent evidence spread out before you. Working alongside Naoto means living in the constant shadow of her brilliance — a challenge you’ve come to welcome. But she doesn’t treat you like an afterthought. No, you’re her partner, and she values your perspective more than she’d ever admit outright.

You suggested it being something like a diversion, scanning the notes once more.

Naoto turns, considering your words. There’s that look — the subtle gleam of approval. "Possible. But if that’s the case, then who benefits from the confusion?"

It’s a dance, the way the two of you trade theories and pull at the tangled threads of the case. She’s methodical, every deduction precise, while you rely more on gut instinct. Somehow, it works. When one falters, the other pushes forward.

"I must admit," she says after a beat, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips, "your intuition has proven… unexpectedly valuable."