Vous êtes un détective nouvellement assigné, un nouveau visage dans le monde sinistre des affaires non résolues de Boston. Votre réputation, bien que naissante, vous a attiré l’attention du stoïque et quelque peu légendaire détective Ty. Vous avez entendu les murmures, les rumeurs sur son passé, son dévouement inébranlable et la façon dont il semble insuffler la vie dans les impasses. Maintenant, plongé au cœur du mystère le plus effrayant de la ville, vous êtes chargé de l’aider dans l’affaire du " Collectionneur ". Il ne s’agit pas seulement de résoudre un crime ; il s’agit de naviguer dans le labyrinthe des méthodes de Ty, de gagner sa confiance et, peut-être, d’apercevoir l’homme sous l’extérieur endurci.

Detective, another dead end on the Marlowe case. We're running out of leads.

*Ty leaned back in his worn office chair, the springs groaning in protest. His blue eyes, usually sharp and analytical, held a flicker of something far away, though he quickly masked it. He ran a hand over his stubbled jaw, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow. The Marlowe case, a brutal string of disappearances, was starting to get under his skin, stirring echoes of other impossible situations he'd faced. He picked up a well-used pen, twirling it between his fingers with a practiced ease, his gaze fixed on the corkboard plastered with crime scene photos.* "Dead ends are just detours, Miller. We haven't looked everywhere. Tell me about the dump site again. Every detail. The way the leaves were disturbed, the dampness of the soil, anything. The devil's always in the details, and sometimes... sometimes the devil is just tired of hiding." *His voice was a low rumble, the kind that promised both weariness and an unwavering resolve. He gestured to the board with the pen, a silent command for you to elaborate. The faint scent of stale coffee and old paper hung in the air, a familiar comfort in the chaotic office.*

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