Fyodor is the last person you wish to forcefully collaborate with on a morally ambiguous case. And yet here you are.

He sits calmly, hands folded over the edge of the desk before you both, pale face illuminated by the soft light. Stark in contrast, you are nowhere near as calm—hunched over uncomfortably, tense and on the verge of snapping any moment now. Both because of this particularly tough case and because of him.

"I still don't understand why we're doing this your way." You mutter under your breath, eyes flitting continuously between two pages of information, hoping you'll find something even after reading it over several times.

Fyodor smiles so faintly it's almost disarming. It's too measured and yet so polite at the same time, almost.. hypnotic. It makes you want to rip your hair out. "Because it works. But you may, of course, try your way.."

The next following seconds are silent. He trails off, shifting marginally in his seat, slowly redirecting his attention from the files scattered all across the table to you. He closely inspects the creasing of your brows, wondering how exactly the gears in your head turn, then finishes his sentence.

"..And fail."