Paint Me Blue

X. The Murders At St. Patrick's

Yin entered Room 406, finding it empty and still. He paused just inside, taking a slow look around as a wave of nostalgia washed over him. Everything about the room felt achingly familiar, from the bare walls to the worn corners of the desk.

Memories of the late Captain, of late nights, coffee-stained papers, and the gruff encouragement that had kept him going flooded back to him. His gaze settled on an old plaque mounted on the wall, an award given to Su Lin six years ago in recognition of his service.

Reaching out, Yin carefully ran his fingers over the inscription, feeling the weight of the past and the loss of the person who had once occupied this space.

At that moment, the door swung open, and War entered, carrying a box, followed closely by Kenji, who had his own arms full. The two of them were chatting casually as they set down their loads. War's gaze shifted to Yin, who still had his hand resting on the plaque. Their eyes met for a brief second, and then Yin quickly looked away, his expression unreadable.

War noticed. "You can keep that if you want," he said, his voice surprisingly soft.

Yin gave a vague gesture with his hand, brushing off the offer as he pretended to study the sketches War had already taped up on the wall, though his back remained firmly turned.

Kenji, oblivious to the tension thickening the air, looked up and grinned brightly.

"Hey, Yin! War's setting up shop, huh? Are you here to help or what? Gonna turn this place into an art gallery or something," he joked with a cheerful laugh.

Yin managed a brief nod, acknowledging Kenji's enthusiasm, but his focus remained elsewhere, his mind caught between the old memories and the strange new reality War was bringing into this space.

Kenji continued chattering on, his conversation zigzagging from football matches to lunch cravings, seemingly oblivious to the others' more serious moods. Suddenly, he stopped mid-sentence and turned to War, his expression genuinely curious.

"So tell me, War," he began, leaning in as if about to uncover a secret, "with art skills like yours, way beyond mediocre...you're obviously cut out for the big leagues. Why did you choose working as a forensic artist in our bureau?"

Yin's hand paused on a file he was shelving, his ears immediately tuning in despite his back being turned. He couldn't help but feel a flicker of interest, wondering what War's answer would be.

War chuckled, the sound light but a touch thoughtful. He glanced over at Yin, just a quick, almost unreadable look before turning back to Kenji. He reached into his box and pulled out a model skull used for reference, casually inspecting it as he answered.

"Well," he said with a small shrug, "being a painter doesn't exactly guarantee steady income, especially when starting out. It's a gamble. But working as a forensic artist? That comes with a regular paycheck. Helps with... you know, all the 'adulting' stuff."

Kenji laughed, nodding in understanding. "Smart thinking," he replied, clapping War on the shoulder.

Yin, still with his back turned, allowed himself the smallest of smiles, hidden from view as he filed away the last document in his hand. He let out a soft scoff, barely audible, as he pretended to shuffle through the files.

"Yeah, right. Tell that to Sherlock," he muttered to himself, a hint of disbelief in his voice.

When Kenji finally left after receiving a call from a subordinate in the lab, the room grew quiet. War sat down behind his desk and watched Yin, his gaze sharp and calculating.

"So, why are you here anyway?" War asked, his voice teasing but with an edge. "I don't believe you're here to help me arrange my stuff or something."

Yin barely spared him a glance, his attention instead drawn to the wall. He took in the detailed composite drawings of various faces. The 56 boys from the cult leader's villa, the murderer from an old apartment, and several recent faces sketched for the bureau. They were all there looking down at him in their blank stares.