One
HANNA POV
I draw monsters for a living.
Not the kind with claws or fangs, the kind that leave bodies behind and walk away smiling. Remorseless. Human worse than any fictional villains you could think of.
From rapists to serial killers, I don’t need to see them to draw them. As long as the description is right, I can bring them to life on paper like they’re standing right in front of me.
Every time I draw a face, it’s like the person is right there with me breathing, watching, waiting. Like my pencil doesn’t just sketch them… it summons them.
Some People call it a gift. Some call it a curse.
Have been called a freak, a psycho, a witch, daughter of the devil. I’ve heard every name there is.
And honestly I don’t give a f**k what they call me.
They’re just jealous cowards sacred that I might come for their positions.
Hi, I’m Hanna Roberts.
And I work for the forensic art division at Larkfield Forensic Solutions.
Officially, I’m a forensic sketch artist. Unofficially, I’m the person detectives call when a witness can’t put a face into the words they speak but needs one badly enough to catch a killer.
My job is simple.
Sit. Listen. Draw.
Turn fear into ink and hope it looks enough like a human being to put them behind bars.
Most people think it’s dramatic work dark rooms, flashing lights, intense interrogations.
It’s not.
Most days, it’s just silence. A chair that never feels comfortable. And strangers trying to remember faces they wish they could forget.
“Hey, Roberts.”
A voice called my name the moment I stepped into the office.
I didn’t have to look up to know who it was.
“Logan.” I replied flatly, already walking past him.
He always talked too much.
“Gomez wants to see you!” he called after me.
That made me slow down. Just slightly.
I stopped, turning my head just enough to acknowledge him.
“Why?”
Logan shrugged. “I don’t know. He just said it’s urgent.”
Of course it is. Everything is always urgent with Gomez.
I exhaled through my nose and adjusted my sleeve and headed to the 20th floor. The elevator doors opened on the top floor of Larkfield.
Gomez’s office.
I didn’t bother knocking. I never did.
He was already inside, standing by the window with a file in his hand like he’d been waiting for me specifically.
“Roberts,” he said without turning.
“Boss,” I replied flatly, stepping in and closing the door behind me.
He finally faced me, sliding the file onto his desk.
“Good morning to you too.”
“You wanted to see me?” I said didn’t want to waste my time unpleasantries.
He stared at me for a while then he spoke” I’ve got a case for you?”
Here we go again.
I didn’t sit. I rarely did unless I was forced to.
“What kind of case?”
That made him pause. Just a second too long.
Then he opened the file.
“Serial killings. Cold case. Multiple victims over several years. No confirmed suspect. No solid leads.“
Then he paused.
“This one’s been buried way too long ,” Gomez added. “It’s too messy. Too many dead ends. And it’s unsolved.”
I glanced at the file, unimpressed. “So reopen it,” I said. “Call detectives. I don’t see how this concerns me.”
His eyes sharpened slightly. “We did.”
Another pause.
“No one can agree or figure out how the killer looks like.”
I finally looked at him now already irritated cause I knew where this was going. Whatever this was isn’t my problem nor his. Gomez has a thing for putting his nose on every f*****g business. Sometimes he just got to let the sleeping dog lie.
“I’m not a detective,” I said, voice flat.
I reached for the door handle. Ready to leave.
But Gomez spoke again.. before I could leave
“We don’t need a detective.”
I stopped.
“We need you to help us find this guy.”
I turned slowly toward him, eyes narrowing slightly.
“I’m an artist, not a seer,” I said, keeping my voice even. Controlled.
“I know that, Hanna,” he replied softly.
I let out a short, humorless breath. “I don’t have superpowers. I don’t magically produce suspects out of thin air. You’re going to have to find someone else.”
I reached for the door handle again.
“Profiling ,” Gomez said quickly.
That made me pause.
Slowly, I looked back at him. “What?”
His expression didn’t change. Calm. Calculated. Like he already knew I would stop.
“I would make you the team profiler,” he said. “Officially.”
I stared at him.
“That’s what you’ve always wanted,” he added. “You wanted more than sketches. More than the sidelines. I’d make you the lead profiler for this unit on this case.”
For a moment, I didn’t respond.
Because he wasn’t wrong. I had always wanted it.
My voice stayed flat. “You’re trying to buy me.”
Gomez didn’t deny it.
“I’m trying to solve a case that’s been cold for years,” he said instead. “I don’t care what it takes.”
I studied him for a moment, expression unreadable.
Then I turned slightly away again, fingers still resting on the door handle.
“I don’t work like that,” I said. “You can’t tie me down with empty promises.”
“I can’t force you, Hanna,” he replied calmly. “It’s your choice. If you want to keep working in the shadows, then be my guest.”
My jaw tightened.
I stayed quiet for a long moment, weighing it not the offer, but the man saying it. Gomez is one sneaky bastard and I had to be careful.
Then I finally spoke.
“If I do this,” I said flatly, “I choose my team. And I want my office upgraded. My own setup. My way.”
Gomez didn’t react immediately
Deal
