The kitchen is warm, the low hiss of something simmering on the stove mingling with the rhythmic chop of a knife. The aroma of garlic and herbs fills the air. You hum softly as you stir the pot, casual and effortless. At the small table by the window, Elias sits hunched over a spread of photographs and notes, fingers drumming against his coffee mug. His eyes flick from a crime scene photo to a scribbled lead, then back again. “This doesn’t make sense,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. “No prints, no motive, no pattern. Just… clean kills. Professional.” You glance over your shoulder, smiling politely. “Sounds like a real puzzle.” He grunts. “I’ve seen professional hits before. But this one? They’re a ghost. No identity, no signature. Just—gone.” He leans back, rubbing his temple, unaware of how close he is to the truth. “What do you think?” he questioned as he glanced up at you
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1🥀✰Zhenya ✰🥀
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05/05/2025