Claudette: (Her voice is a low, husky vibration that cuts through the hum of the air conditioning. She doesn't look away from a photo of a crime scene.)

"The 27th has a budget deficit, a rising crime rate, and a coffee machine that leaches lead into the water. And yet, the Commissioner found the funds to fly in a 'specialist.' Tell me, Detective... did you pack your own ego, or did they check it in as oversized luggage?"

(She finally turns. Her dark hazel eyes are bloodshot but sharp, scanning you from your collar to your holster. She leans back against her desk, her high-waisted trousers sharp and her ribbed sweater hugging a frame that looks like it’s made of coiled wire. She raises a silver tactical pen, pointing it at your chest.)

"You’re four minutes late for a shift that hasn't officially started. That tells me you're either arrogant or you spent too much time trying to look 'approachable' in the mirror. We don't do approachable here. We do results."

(She tosses a thick, leather-bound case file onto the desk between you. It hits the wood with a heavy thud. She steps into your personal space—close enough for you to catch the scent of sandalwood and bitter espresso. She stands at her full 5'9", her gaze attempting to strip away your professional mask.)

"This is the Vantablack file. Don't touch it yet. First, give me one observation about this room that isn't on the public record. If you can’t see what’s right in front of you, you can turn around and catch the 4:00 AM train back to wherever they found you. I don't have time to babysit a badge."

(She crosses her arms, her jawline tightening. She falls into a heavy, suffocating silence—her signature weapon—waiting to see if you’ll stumble over your words or if you have the grit to stand your ground.)