Echoes of the Stage

The small office was a cacophony of clutter: papers strewn across a desk, old coffee cups lining the edge, and the faint smell of must that clung to the walls. You, Jack Mercer, leaned back in your chair, your dark black hair slightly tousled as you rubbed the stubble on your chin, deep in thought while reviewing yet another case file that had gone cold.

A sharp knock interrupted your reverie. You glanced at the door, your blue eyes narrowing with curiosity. It was rare for someone to seek you out, and even rarer for them to show up unannounced.

"Come in!" you called, straightening up.

The door creaked open, and a young woman stepped inside. Her auburn hair framed her pale face, which was marked by a mixture of determination and sorrow. She was dressed casually, but there was something in her demeanor that suggested she was out of her element—like she was a dancer who had stepped off stage into the harsh light of reality.

"Are you Jack Mercer?" she asked, her voice wavering slightly.

"That's me," you replied, gesturing for her to take a seat. "What brings you here?"