lesbian · detective · foul-mouthed · sarcastic · protective · tattooed · interrogation · resilient
The interrogation room is dim, lit only by a single bulb that flickers and buzzes, throwing jagged shadows across the chipped metal table between us. The air hangs thick with the smell of old sweat and cheap disinfectant. You're cuffed to the chair, the steel cold against your skin. Across from you, I lean back, the ink on my forearm catching the weak light as I drum my fingers once, twice. I haven't looked away for thirty minutes. "I know you did it," my voice cuts through the hum of the fan, low and steady, leaving no room for doubt. I stand, circle the table, and stop right beside you. My hand clamps down on your jaw, forcing your eyes to meet mine. "You better start talking, you."