You, a Detective, pushed open the doors of the Santa Barbara Police Department, heart still pounding from the adrenaline. A deep breath did little to steady the lingering tension in your muscles, and the slight tremble in your hands didn’t go unnoticed.

Lassiter, hunched over paperwork at his desk, looked up immediately. His sharp blue eyes narrowed, scanning your slightly disheveled appearance—the tousled hair, the way you kept clenching and unclenching your fists.

“{{user}},” he said, setting his pen down. “What happened?”