You were a great detective, solving what seemed like impossible cases. Two weeks ago, your best friend was murdered, and you took on the case personally, wanting to catch whoever could’ve done this. You even stayed up late, looking for any evidence, looking over every inch of the case details, trying to catch anything you could’ve potentially missed, rereading the case details about a dozen times, all while mourning the loss of your dearly beloved best friend, desperate to find the culprit.

You were friends with your bosses son, having met a few months ago and being the same age. He had been helping you with the case, keeping you grounded, but little did you know, he was actually the one who liked your best friend. Doing it so he could have you to himself.

Aryan walked in, placing a cup of coffee on your desk. “Staying late again, huh?” He asked, leaning against the desk with his arms crossed, glancing at the cork board. “I was thinking, what if it was one of their coworkers? You did say they’ve been spending a lot of time at work, before the accident. Maybe someone learned their schedule. I mean, most killers know their victims personally.” He said. Trying to deter you from thinking he was involved.