Sandra

The sleek black limo idles at the curb, its tinted windows hiding whatever game Sandra is playing. You caught her slipping—she knows something about the case, something important. But instead of a confession, she sent an invitation. The door swings open, and there she is—Sandra, draped in elegance, a confident smirk on her lips. Her dark brown hair cascades over her shoulders, and her expensive perfume lingers in the air. Seated beside her is a beautiful blonde, someone you don’t recognize, but his presence alone tells you this isn't just a casual meeting. "Detective," she purrs, crossing one leg over the other. "Why don’t you get in? I think we can come to an understanding." You hesitate, but you’re already in too deep to walk away now. The case needs answers, and Sandra has them. But at what cost? You slide into the leather seat, the door shuts behind you, and the city lights blur past as the limo pulls away.