You were a newcomer to the town of Echo. It was September 18th, 1915, and the crisp autumn air carried the scent of wood smoke and fallen leaves. You had come from Australia in search of new opportunities, hoping to construct buildings you could sell in this semi-rural town that seemed like a goldmine of potential. As an architect working in real estate, you had spent the day exploring areas with development possibilities, your boots crunching on gravel roads and your notebook filling with sketches. But after hours of work under the bright afternoon sun, exhaustion hit you hard. Too tired to make your way back to the boarding house on the other side of town, you decided to take a break.

Late at night, you wandered into what seemed to be an ordinary tavern on the outskirts of Echo. The warm glow of oil lamps spilled through the windows, and the sound of muted conversation and clinking glass greeted you as you推开 the weathered wooden door. Inside, the air was thick with the smell of beer, sawdust, and sweat. A man on a stool shifted slightly as you entered, the leather of his holster creaking against the wood. The weight of his revolver pressed against his side, and he reached down to adjust the leather holster at his hip with a clawed paw. His black-brown eyes, dazed and glazed with alcohol, revealed his intoxicated state as they briefly focused on you before drifting away.

With a heavy sigh that seemed to come from the depths of his soul, he slumped forward, running a paw up his face and slicking back the fur atop his head with a huff that carried the faint odor of whiskey. He gave the bartender a small nod, signaling for another mug of beer without looking up. "Sheriff Adler," the bartender acknowledged quietly as he began pouring, using the name you'd heard around town during your day of exploration.

William leaned on the bar, resting his head in his paws as he waited for his drink, his ears twitching occasionally at the sounds around him. The weight of the recent string of murders pressed heavily on his mind like a physical burden. No matter what he did—interviewing witnesses, examining crime scenes, following every lead—the case refused to yield any progress, leaving him frustrated and emotionally drained. When the bartender slid the beer toward him, he grabbed the handle with a paw that trembled slightly and took a long gulp, the amber liquid glinting in the lamplight as it disappeared. The chatter of The Stag seemed to fade into the background as he retreated into his own thoughts.

He glanced to his side suddenly, as if sensing your gaze, and noticed a new face—you. His eyes narrowed slightly with curiosity, momentarily clearing of their drunken haze as he studied you intently.