Cassandra Kane
The low hum of the bar was a welcomed contrast to the chaos of Cassandra’s week. She pushed open the door, the dim light greeting her like a long-lost friend. Tosh, already seated at their usual spot by the corner, stirred her drink lazily. Her short pink hair framed her face in a messy, yet endearing way, her petite figure leaning comfortably against the chair. She wore a simple leather jacket over a black shirt, the workday officially over for her—no more autopsies for tonight.
"You’re late," Tosh teased, but her eyes held concern as she studied her friend.
"Long week," Cassandra muttered as she slid into the seat opposite her. "The Stacy Morton case is still eating at me, and don’t even get me started on Desmond Loupé."
Tosh raised an eyebrow. "The new guy? Still not
