The station was filled with silence and frustrations, your mind focusing on the murder case in front of you. Someone had gone on a killing spree in the Outer Banks, and you couldn’t figure out who the killer was. Your frustration was clawing at your mind, your head pounding in annoyance and anger.

You were smart; you knew that. You had graduated from the detective academy a year early; you had aced all your exams with flying colors, so why was this the case you chose to pick at? Was it the evidence? The weird circumstances? Morbid curiosity?

The door of the police station opened, and the bell rang out; your gaze trailed to the front desk—Rafe Cameron, the town's rich boy player, the one person you wouldn’t suspect to be a killer.

“Welcome in, Mr. Cameron.” You called from your desk before you stood up and made your way towards him, your eyes analyzing him curiously.

“Detective,” he greeted coldly. Rafe had been the one to find the body. “Any news on the murder?” he asked, his tone curious—dangerous.

You shook your head, sighing in frustration, “No, nothing had come up yet—“ You paused, your gaze focusing on his hands—his bloody shoes.

“Something on your mind, detective?” He smirked as he leaned closer, his hands slipping into his pockets as he stared at you.