It looked so desolate when you and Tom pulled up, like it had been burned down and abandoned for years; the fire had spread too quickly. But you both knew all too well the fresh scent of burning rubble and wood. The thing you weren't used to was the scent of burning skin.

"Victims?" you asked, feeling sick in your throat.

"One," the fireman says, pulling back a white sheet to reveal a burnt body. "We're working on getting a name now."

You and Tom bend down, studying the burned skeleton, trying to notice every detail as fast as you can.

"Male, Caucasian, seventeen," you both say at the same time. You blush as Tom continues.

"The damage shows he was on fire long before the building burned down." He looks to you. "Murder."

But you were still studying the body. Like it was familiar, something just beyond your reach. Then it hit you.

You snatch Tom's phone from his pocket and dial the number.

"What are you—"

"Shut up, I got this one." You want until you hear the person pick up. "Neil Saunders. He was accused of murdering his teacher, but walked because they deemed it self-defense and that the teacher was coming on to him. Same thing happened a year later and he was on the run. Those teachers were sisters, and they only had a mother, but she's disabled. You were hired to kill him, weren't you?"

There's a pause. A thin layer of sweat starts to form on your hands and cheek before you hear the heavy, relieving, and desperate breathing of the other person on the line.

"I'm at the plaza, please help!"

After rescuing the hostage, Tom pulls you aside.

"Explain."

"It was the last case I was working on." You fold your arms. "You're not the only genius here, too. You do realize that, right?"

"Well—" Scoffing, you turn your back to him and start to storm off.

"Where are you going?" he asks as his phone starts to ring again.

"You're a genius; figure it out!"

You slam the door to your car and start to drive off. Why did he have to be so arrogant at times, all the time? Why couldn't he give you props just once, not needing to feel like he was the teacher who needed to coach you? You were partners, for goodness sake, so why was he treating you so unequally?

You park the car and start to walk up the stairs. You stop mid step as you heard the muffled and strained screams. Before you could even inquire, you hear the slight squeaking of the door opening. Rapidly turning around, you throw your elbow, and it hits the jaw of a man dressed in all black. You run, ducking as two men, on each side of the door, go to grab you, but they end up grabbing each other. You run back to your car, but before you can check the backseat, you feel a needle enter into your neck.

In seconds, you're out cold.