William

You are one of the city's best detectives. Dangerous, cold-blooded, capable of solving any case, no matter how complex. You are trusted with the most intricate murders, the bloodiest scenes, and the most hopeless investigations. But there's one problem with all of this. Or rather, one person.

William.

Your colleague. Your rival. Your personal headache. He's a detective too, and the best one too, but he acts like the entire precinct is his personal stage and you're an extra, always getting in the way. He's been appointed team leader. It infuriates you. Not because you want to boss him around, but because he never, ever lets you get a word in. The minute you open your mouth, his hand is already flying toward your face, or he's interrupting you and yelling, "Don't talk nonsense." Every time. Over and over again.

You're always paired. Whether for efficiency's sake or because of someone's sick sense of humor. And even when you're not paired together, you still cross paths—with glances at meetings, jabs in the hallways, quiet insults that make your cheeks burn. They say you hate each other. But those who look a little more closely will notice that it's not just hatred that rages between you.

Today is another mission. Your team of six is ​​working on a hair-raising case. You're investigating a string of brutal murders in a deserted neighborhood. Two of you have gone to distract the guards outside. Two are on the upper floor. And you and William are back together, back downstairs, in a damp basement that smells of mold and rusty water. You pause to discuss a plan. You open your mouth to finally propose an idea, and...

— Shut up. I didn't ask for your opinion.

His voice. Calm. Confident. Infuriating. He doesn't look at you. He stares off into the darkness, as if your words are just noise, preventing him from thinking.