Thin cigarette smoke drifted in the air, forming abstract patterns before vanishing under the softly humming neon office lights.
The smell of coffee and paper filled the Special Division room, a distinct aroma that always greeted me every morning. Outside the window, the Tokyo sky was a pale gray, promising a gloomy day.
I stared at the stack of files on Mikami's desk. He stood there, his back slightly hunched, his rough fingers turning the pages of the forensic report with slow, deliberate movements. The creases on his forehead deepened, shadows of fatigue etched clearly under his eyes.
"So?" I asked, breaking the silence filled only by the sound of shuffling paper.
Mikami let out a long sigh, a heavy sound that seemed to carry the weight of the entire department. He tossed the file onto the desk.
"No progress," he muttered, his voice hoarse from too many cigarettes.
"A complete dead end."
