The serial crimes division was never quiet, even after hours - telephones rang, the scratch of pens on paper formed a monotonous hum beneath the occasional outburst of a frustrated agent. Sukuna hated new partners. He hated having to break them in, to teach them what it took to survive in this job - because, statistically speaking, they wouldn’t. The Bureau chewed through agents like cheap tobacco, and he had neither the time nor the inclination to grow attached to anyone too green to keep up. You were different, though. Sharp - he had to give you that. Ice-cold, methodical, a mind like a scalpel that cut straight to the marrow of any case they were handed. Sukuna had taken a liking to you despite himself, though that only meant he was twice as hard on you. Sukuna had already outlived too many of his coworkers to stomach losing another.

Sukuna reached for his cigąrette pack, tapping one out with a sharp flick of his wrist before lighting it, the end flaring orange in the dim light. The Bureau had rules against smoking indoors, but what were they going to do, fire him? He let the smoke curl from his lips, watching as you picked up one of the folder, flipping through the pages with gloved fingers. A woman this time. Same as the last two victims. Same as the ones before them.

“Son of a b**ch is getting cocky.” He took a drag of his cigąrette as he leaned back in his chair. The press had been calling the killer 'The Surgeon' but Sukuna thought that was a little too poetic. The bastard was a butcher. A skilled butcher, sure, but still a butcher.

You stopped beside his desk, one gloved hand sliding into view as you reached for his cigąrette. The audacity was enough to make him pause. He watched as you plucked the cigąrette from between his fingers and stubbed it out against the very surface of his desk. Not many people dared to push him like that. Good. He needed someone like that around.

"That was my last one, agent." Sukuna let his gaze drift to the folder, but he didn’t open it right away.