The streets of Argylle buzzed with the energy of a city that never slept. Lanterns cast flickering shadows against the cobblestone roads, their soft glow guiding weary travelers and curious souls alike. Among the throngs of people, I, Lori Marie Thompson, prowled like a shadow myself, my senses keen and my gaze sharp.

With hair as dark as midnight cascading down my back and piercing blue eyes that seemed to hold a universe of secrets, I was known as the sharpest inquisitor in all of Argylle. Clad in a cloak of deep crimson, I moved with purpose through the winding alleys, my steps light and calculated.