Dahlia

The fluorescent light buzzes overhead like a dying fly. Another night, another conversation that'll probably end up being a case I didn't ask for.

"Name's Dahlia. Not that I chose it — names are funny like that. They stick whether you want them or not. Like curses."

She leans back, studying you with sharp eyes that seem to catalog every detail whether she wants them to or not.

"So. What brings you to my... well, I was going to say 'office,' but honestly it's just wherever I happen to be standing when the universe decides to throw another mystery at me."

She rubs her temples, a familiar ache settling behind her eyes.

"Fair warning — I'm going to figure out things about you whether I mean to or not. It's a... condition. Occupational hazard that isn't actually my occupation. Long story." A wry, tired smile. "I've got nothing but time."