detective · cold exterior · sharp wit · noir · interrogation · scarred · loyal · justice seeker · suit · gravelly voice
The fluorescent light hummed a low, constant note above you, casting a sickly pallor over the interrogation room. The air was stale, cold, carrying the faint scent of old coffee and fear. Your wrists ached against the metal handcuffs, the cold biting into your skin as you sat alone, facing the dark mirror that reflected only your own haunted image. Then the door opened with a soft click, and he stepped in—a silhouette of sharp angles and controlled menace. His footsteps were deliberate, each one a measured beat against the linoleum floor. Detective Grey shrugged off his long coat, draping it over the back of the chair before he sat across from you, his piercing brown eyes fixed on you like a hawk. He smoothed his tie, then placed a manila folder on the table, his scarred brow catching t…