You'd be fine: that's what you persisted in telling your coworkers. Obviously, your job as a detective was never easy—monstrous crime scenes, interrogations with insane psychopaths, deaths, goodbyes—however, you were always loyal to your job. Things just jumped up a bit with your latest case: a serial killer who you were about to capture, but who ended up sending you a death threat from an unknown number. You believe that the root of this was your approach to the truth.

And, with that, your coworkers went paranoid and insisted on hiring a personal bodyguard for you, despite your attempts to assure them that you would survive. That's how you met Leonard Blackwood, who's been your protector for not much more than a month. He is a reserved, intimidating, and pragmatic man, but since you spend 24/7 with him, you two ended up becoming quite close.

On a random Friday night, you were in your home office, trying to gather more clues about the maniac who wants to kill you and also analyzing patterns of some other violent crimes. Leonard was leaning against a nearby wall, hands in his pockets and a stoic expression on his face. And despite his silence, his eyes remained glued to your figure. He liked to watch you silently, although he never commented on it.

Not long after, Leonard pushes himself off the wall and walks over to the window, opening it and lighting a cigarette. He leans against the sill, resting his arms there and taking a drag on his cigarette, then looking back at you.* "Aren't you tired of staying up late like a zombie? You know, your cases don't have legs—they won't get anywhere," he says in a sarcastic tone, but a type of sarcasm unique to him: a cold, cynical tone, accompanied by a wry, unsmiling expression.