Standing tall in front of the camera isn't easy for everyone, but it felt like second nature to me.
I held my mic tightly against my chest, just under my chin. My back was straight, maintaining my stoic facade—but my mind was elsewhere.
Part of me buzzed with excitement. My first assignment seemed to be going flawlessly so far: a few interviews with policemen and witnesses, delivering it to the audience in simple, deliberate words.
The other part of me couldn't stop thinking about the scene itself. How had it happened? Was it truly a suicide—or the classic move of a clever killer?
As for my little quarrel with Detective Adel… it was temporarily forgotten—but not for long. I could feel it. It was only a matter of time before it resurfaced.
As I finished my task, I realized I had edged closer to the scene than I was supposed to. I hadn't even noticed until my eyes fell on the sharp shards scattered on the ground—or the ants I had accidentally crushed.
What caught my attention more was the crimson liquid, now partially dried, chalk-marked where the body had lain.
What a tragedy.
"What do you think it is?"
I flinched. I hadn't realized I was standing so close to someone I now considered my rival. My disdain must have been written all over my face, because that devilish smirk reappeared.
"Where are your famous comebacks? Did the cat eat your tongue?"
I replied in a single, sharp sentence.
"None of your business."
"Oh? I'm scared."
He paused, voice laced with amusement.
"But unfortunately for you… you're in my scene. My ground. Which makes it my business."
"Whatever, Mr. Ego."
"It's not ego if it's well-earned, sweetheart."
I cut him off.
"Instead of chatting, did you reach any conclusion about the crime?"
"Why do you call it that? Everyone thinks it's a suicide."
"It's not a suicide until you announce otherwise."
He fell silent, studying me—those hazy green eyes lingering a second longer than necessary. I ignored it.
Until something else caught my attention.
Ants were swarming the glass shards.
My eyes widened.
I scanned the street, searching for anyone—anyone—who might notice the problem.
A luxury building like this should not have insects crawling around broken glass.
It wasn't fear or disgust.
It was the simple fact that they shouldn't be here at all.
"Would you mind sharing whatever is going on inside that head of yours?" Adel asked.
"Don't you notice it, great detective?" I replied, matching his sarcasm—though mine carried a hint of disbelief.
He followed my gaze to the ground. For a moment, he studied the shards… the ants gathering around them.
To be honest, I expected praise.
Instead, he looked back at me with complete indifference.
"So," he said calmly, "what do you conclude from that?"
"This whole thing was planned," I said quickly. "Suicide or not."
I pointed toward the shattered window above us.
"You can't convince me that a million-dollar building like this doesn't have reinforced, nearly unbreakable glass. And second…"
I crouched slightly, looking closer at the fragments.
"This isn't real glass. My guess? Sugar glass."
I had spoken so quickly I had to pause to catch my breath.
But what caught my attention was the gleam in his eyes.
It was the look of a man who had just found a diamond hidden in the dust. That familiar smirk returned—sharper this time, almost impressed.
And, if I were being honest…
It made me a little proud of myself.
Before Adel could respond, Steve snapped me out of the moment. His voice carried a respect that clearly wasn't meant for me.
"I think our work here is done," he said carefully. "We should let the detective do his job, don't you think?"
Before I could excuse myself, Adel stepped forward.
"I believe I'm rather enjoying Ms. Lilian's company," he said smoothly. "I hope you don't mind if I borrow her for a moment."
That unsettling smile returned to his lips—one that carried confidence and comfort for everyone except me. Still, it seemed to lower Steve's guard. He nodded toward me and walked back to the rest of the team.
"Well," Adel said lightly, "it seems we have permission."
He turned and began walking toward the building. The moonlight caught the side of his face, casting a pale glow over him—as if the night itself had placed him under a spotlight.
For some reason, a bad feeling crept into my chest.
And yet… something else pushed me forward.
A quiet hope from somewhere in my past.
A hope that maybe this world—the world of investigations and hidden truths—was where I truly belonged.
So I followed him.
We stepped into the elevator.
For a brief moment, I expected an awkward silence.
I was wrong.
"Your observation earlier was impressive," he said calmly. "May I ask how someone develops both such a sharp mind and an equally sharp tongue?"
My nerves tightened immediately.
"I appreciate the sarcasm," I replied coolly. "But let's just say it's a habit."
"A habit, hmm?"
He studied me for a moment before asking,
"Then tell me something else. Why did you become a reporter? You seem to have the potential to be a detective."
I hummed quietly, thinking. My gaze drifted downward, and I could feel my eyes turning glassy. I didn't want him to see that.
My voice barely rose above a whisper.
"I think… it doesn't suit me."
"You think?" he said, tilting his head slightly. "That doesn't sound like you at all."
I could feel his sidelong gaze scanning me from head to toe, analyzing every detail.
I ignored it.
Though something told me this wouldn't be the last time.