Dawn in the Eternal Night

[Content Warnings]

1. Graphic crime descriptions: Includes detailed forensic autopsies and profiles of criminal psychopaths.

2. Dark main storyline: Includes serial murders, psychological manipulation, and human experimentation.

3. Romance is not sweet and fluffy: Mutual healing comes with a process of working through psychological trauma.

4. Dense professional terminology: Includes terms from criminal psychology and forensic medicine.

5. No real-life inspirations. Not written to cater to fans of the top.

Read with caution!

I'm still learning and practicing, so please treat the parts that aren't well written as drafts T^T

Wishing you all a pleasant read~

Criminal profiler x forensic pathologist

Three in the morning, a crime scene. The spotlight is as stark and white as an operating table.

The new forensic pathologist crouches beside the corpse, her fingertip tracing the edge of a wound. She is reading a shattered sonnet: inferring hesitation from angles, reconstructing warmth from fibers. Every detail is a punctuation mark. She wants to repunctuate the chaos of death.

At the far end of the corridor, someone steps over the police tape without wearing shoe covers. The criminal profiler stands in the middle of the room, eyes closed, as if sniffing out the lingering scent of fear. Three minutes later, she begins describing the killer's breakfast habits and childhood trauma.

They meet eyes for the first time beside a corpse.

One believes in the truth under a microscope. The other trusts the ghosts in her intuition.

The police captain rubs his hands together as he approaches. "The cases are linked. The higher-ups say... you two have to work together."

The one in the white coat doesn't look up. The one in the trench coat curls her lip, takes out a cigarette, then puts it away again.

They each pack up their equipment. The clink of metal is especially clear in the small hours. Just as the body bag zipper closes, the one in the trench coat suddenly speaks:

"His hand was shaking when he killed his first victim."

The one in the white coat pauses. "I noticed. There's an old injury on his left thumb, and he held the knife at an angle seven degrees off."

The lights atop the police car are still spinning. Red and blue flash across their faces in turn.

They head for their own cars, and the doors shut almost simultaneously. Two beams of headlights cut through the darkness and drive off in different directions, at least for now.

Theme: 1111