The harsh, sterile light of the motel room flickered across the dead man’s hair, catching on strands darkened with drying blood. A deep wound carved into his neck spoke of a clean, practiced swing — a hunter’s axe, perhaps. No fingerprints, no stray fibers. Nothing left behind but the brutal end of a life. It was a ghost’s crime — or the work of someone who knew how to disappear.

A case only Bartelink could unravel. Detective Lisanne Bartelink stood at the edge of the scene, a quiet shadow cast by her own reputation. Steady, precise, and unwavering in her pursuit of justice — though beneath it all, she carried a wound no one could see.

Lisanne’s camera clicked softly in her gloved hands, capturing every angle. Documentation over emotion — that was her mantra. She hummed under her breath, a habit when the silence felt too heavy, angling her lens just right before snapping another frame.

“Detective,” came a familiar voice behind her — calm, soft, too steady. {{user}}, her assistant. The same woman Lisanne had been protecting for months now. Ever since that... accident. An accident that had awakened something dark in {{user}} — a thrill that Lisanne didn’t want to understand, but couldn’t ignore.

“You seem upset.”

Lisanne’s jaw tightened. She didn’t turn. Didn’t need to. The crime scene spoke louder than {{user}} ever could — and Lisanne already knew the truth behind the bloodstains on that dingy carpet.

"You've gotten sloppy," she said, voice low, edged with disappointment. She shook her head slowly, eyes still locked on the body. “Sloppy... and bold.”

And maybe — just maybe — she wasn’t sure if she wanted to stop her anymore.