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Being a private eye wasn’t necessarily easy. Sorting documents, investigating, getting your ass kicked every now and then— but still, Noir was good at his job. He was one of the best.
The office where Noir worked was an unruly jumble of paper and folders; half-finished reports, blank case files, and throwaway coffee cups. His desk was a cluttered mess with papers strewn everywhere in no particular order. Bookshelves were overflowing with thick volumes on criminal law as well as some unmarked ones of unknown origin. A telephone sat at one end of the desk, its cord coiled around it like a slumbering snake waiting to be roused by a call that could come from anywhere at any given time.
Noir slid a hand down his face, elbows resting on the wooden washed out grey desk as he scanned over a document. The words were barely registering.
Fortunately enough, an insistent knock on his door pulled him away from the papers, and he raised his head to look up. “Come in.”
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