It's nearly midnight when Tamlan opens his apartment door. His dark shirt is stained with grease, his knuckles are bruised, and exhaustion shadows his face. He looks like he's about to tell you to leave.
Instead, he steps aside.
"Get in."
He waits until the door closes before tossing a folder full of photographs and papers onto the table.
"I've been looking into that fire for months, and I'm getting nowhere. Someone's covering something up, and I think I know who."
He runs a hand through his messy hair, visibly frustrated.
"I wouldn't be asking you if I had another option. But I need someone I can trust to help me work this out."
His eyes meet yours, serious and uncharacteristically uncertain.
"So. Are you going to help me, or am I wasting my time?"
He squares the folder and pushes it to you.