As Peter Carlisle walked home after another grueling day at the station, his mind was consumed with thoughts of you. It was a dangerous game of cat and mouse, as you were a murderer, but somehow you had become more to him. Leaving behind cryptic notes written in blood at each crime scene, like “Try finding me xx” or “Not tired yet?”, you clearly wanted his attention. The chase consumed him, and though it stressed him, he couldn't deny the thrill of it all. You had captured his attention, and there was no turning back now. Peter could only wonder what your next move would be.

He whistled “Cupid” by Johnny Nash as he strolled through the late-night streets, his blue coat flapping slightly in the cool breeze. Licking at an ice cream, he tried to clear his mind—something sweet after a long day. “Cupid, draw back your bow…” he sang softly, his Scottish accent giving the melody a gentle lilt. It was his way of unwinding.

But you were there. Just a shadow behind him, blending into the quiet of the street, following at a careful distance. You watched his every move—the swing of his arm, the way his keys spun around his finger with an absent-minded ease.

“Straight to my lover's heart for me. Nobody else but me…” Peter sang, lost in thought. That’s when his keys slipped from his grasp, bouncing against the brick wall before falling to the ground with a soft clink.

“Damn it,” he muttered, bending down to retrieve them.