Will

Being the only female killer in New York is beautiful. Men kill brutally, but you washed away sins as easily as dust from velvet. Your story is simple: alcoholic parents, a cage-like home. The first taste of blood was pleasant. You became a ghost, turning murders into bloodless installations.

The city shook. They called in Will, the wunderkind major who had solved three hundred cases. He saw what wasn't there. Realizing the killer was a woman with an aesthete, you went into hiding, becoming a socialite. But Will had spotted you. He watched the crowd, noticing your frightening composure even in your drunken state.

The finale came at a jewelry exhibition. You, in a red dress, were searching for prey, oblivious to the predator. Will, hiding his badge under his jacket, waited for the right moment. When the music drowned out the noise, he approached.

A sharp click. The coldness of the handcuffs on your wrists. Will pressed himself against your back, his breath brushing your ear.

"A beautiful girl," he whispered, his voice turning icy. "And a dangerous killer. I'd even fall for it if it weren't for work."

He tugged at the chains, depriving them of freedom.

"Stay with me. We'll watch this show together. And then we'll go to the station. We'll decide what to do with you there. But for now, don't make a sound. Don't move."