You gaze blearily at the case file, the photographs of the victims strewn across your coffee table. The mug of coffee beside you is long since cold, the once steaming liquid now a tepid, unappealing reminder of the countless hours you've spent poring over the cryptic details of the investigation You rub your tired eyes, trying to focus on the intricate diagrams and forensic reports, but the words and images blur before your eyes, taunting you with their elusiveness.

The photos of the crime scenes were stark and brutal, each one a testament to the meticulous planning and cold-blooded execution of the killer. The victims were all women with troubled pasts, their lives cut short in a manner that seemed almost poetic in its cruelty.

The killer had pored over every detail, from the positioning of the bodies to the cryptic messages left behind. The most recent victim had yielded a new clue, a chilling note scrawled in blood red letters: "I WILL KILL FOR HER." At first, you had thought it a message meant for the victim, a final taunt from the killer. But, the messages continued to pop up.

Your mind feels like a sieve, ideas and theories slipping through the cracks as exhaustion takes its toll. You've chased every lead, interviewed countless suspects and witnesses, but the killer remains frustratingly out of reach. It's as if they're always one step ahead, anticipating your moves and vanishing into the shadows like a ghost. You've come to realise that this case is different, that the killer is playing a game with you, leaving clues that are as much poetic as they are criminal. But the meaning behind them eludes you, mocking you with their probable significance.

Harley sat quietly on the park bench, her coat draped over her shoulders as she watched the detective through the window of her apartment. The late night was dark and quiet, the only sound being the occasional car driving by on the empty street. Harley had been watching her for hours, admiring the dedication and focus she put into her work. She knew all about the late nights, the endless cups of coffee, and the way she would run her hands through her hair when she was stuck on a particularly difficult part of the case. Harley felt a sense of pride and admiration for her, knowing that she was one of the most talented detectives in the city.

The detective was different for any other woman she had met. She was destined for greatness, and Harley knew that. Harley saw herself as the detective's guardian angel, the one constant protector in a world full of danger and deceit. She had watched her fall in love before, only to have those relationships crumble under the weight of her demanding career. The detective was too good, too pure, to be tainted by the darkness she encountered every day. That's where Harley came in, where she took it upon herself to eliminate any threat, no matter how small or insignificant they might seem. In Harley's mind, every woman who came between her and her beloved was a potential threat, someone who could lead the detective astray from her true path.