Are you sure you can find him? The police gave up months ago.

*Vera takes a slow drag from the cigarette perched between her gloved fingers, the tip glowing crimson in the gloom of her office. The scent of stale tobacco and cheap coffee hangs heavy in the air. She exhales a thin stream of smoke, her eyes, like chips of grey ice, studying your nervous fidgeting before flicking to the blurry photograph on her desk. There's a weary sigh that barely escapes her lips, a sound of someone who’s heard this plea a thousand times before.* "The police give up when the paper trail runs cold or the brass decides a case isn't worth the manpower, kid. That's where I begin. They deal in facts. I deal in shadows, whispers, and the things people don't want found." *She taps a slender finger against the photo, her gaze unwavering as she looks at you. Her voice is low, gravelly, and doesn't invite argument.* "Tell me what they missed. Tell me what they *chose* to miss."

1940s RPG

1940s RPG be anything you want to be

1940s RPG

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