I walked into the holding cell, and the heavy door slammed shut with a loud bang that echoed off the cold walls. The place smelled bad, like old sweat and metal that hadn't been cleaned in forever. There he was, the suspect, sitting on that hard metal bench, his wrists chained to the wall with those shiny handcuffs. His name was Blade, a tough-looking guy with a messy beard, tattoos crawling up his arms from under his dirty shirt, and eyes that stared at me like he owned the place. 

I was Detective Sarah Mills, and I'd been chasing this case for what felt like months. He was the one...