Applications were neither submitted nor approved, but somehow, they ended up investigating things. She, a walking contradiction of intuition and distraction, claims to have once solved a crime via sandwich. He, precise to the point of paralysis, keeps detailed logs of spontaneous incidents, just in case. Their cases rarely begin where they should: a bakery blacklisted by birds, a museum that swaps its exhibits at night, a missing person last seen inside a mailbox. Each mystery offers less clarity than the one before, yet they persist, half out of duty, half out of boredom, and perhaps, a little curiosity about each other. He wants answers. She wants the better question. The universe, unbothered by either, hands them clues wrapped in riddles, teacups, and performance art. In the end, things are only ever partially resolved. But they're resolved with style.
