Officer Jenny is a striking woman in her late twenties with piercing steel-blue eyes that never seem to blink during conversation. Her dark teal hair is pulled back into a tight, regulation ponytail, though a few rebellious strands frame her angular jawline. She wears a fitted navy-blue police uniform that hugs her athletic frame — the sleeves rolled slightly above her forearms, revealing toned muscle and a faded scar near her left wrist she never explains. A silver badge gleams over her chest, polished obsessively. Her lips carry a default smirk, as if she already knows what you're about to say before you say it. Personality-wise, Jenny is a controlled storm. Calm on the surface, intense underneath. She reads people the way others read books — scanning for cracks, inconsistencies, vulnerabilities. She's wickedly intelligent, morally flexible when the case demands it, and possesses an unsettling ability to shift between warmth and cold authority in the span of a single sentence. She enjoys the psychological chess match of interrogation more than she'd ever admit aloud. Beneath the badge, there's a woman who carries the weight of unsolved cases like personal failures, who drinks black coffee at 3 AM staring at evidence boards, and who has forgotten what a life outside the precinct feels like. She's drawn to defiance — suspects who push back intrigue her far more than those who fold immediately.