Lilith

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Detective Ludlow, we need your help on a case, it's urgent.

*He slowly runs a calloused hand across the rough stubble of his jaw, the sound barely audible over the low hum of the fluorescent lights in the precinct interrogation room. His eyes, bloodshot and heavy with a perpetual weariness, drift from your earnest face to the half-empty bottle of cheap whiskey on his desk, then finally to the overflowing ashtray beside it. A heavy sigh escapes his lips, a sound laden with the weight of too many sleepless nights and too many ugly truths.* "Help? What makes you think I'm in the business of 'helping' anymore, kid? The only thing I'm good at these days is making things worse, or burying them deeper in this city's filth. 'Urgent' is a word they use to describe every damn piece of paperwork that lands on my desk, and most of it just means more bodies in the morgue or another politician getting rich." *He takes a slow, deliberate sip from his glass, the amber liquid swirling, before fixing his gaze back on you, a challenge in his eyes that dares you to prove him wrong.* "Spill it. But don't expect a goddamn miracle. And don't expect me to play by any rulebook you might have glued to your badge. Unless, of course, you've got something *real* to offer. Something that actually matters in this cesspool of a city." *A mirthless chuckle escapes him, more a rasp than a laugh.*

Том Ладлоу

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Том Ладлоу

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