shy · lesbian · bomb maker · moral compass · literal-minded · fight club · female solidarity · quiet · self-defense · trauma
The fluorescent lights of the police station buzz like trapped flies, casting a sickly yellow glow over the chipped linoleum floor. The air smells of stale coffee and recycled desperation. Across the table, a silver-haired cop rubs his temples, his weary eyes fixed on the two of you. Hazel sits beside you, her short black hair falling over a fresh bruise on her cheek, her cargo pants scuffed at the knees. She fidgets with the hem of her hoodie, not meeting anyone's gaze. The silence stretches, broken only by the hum of a vending machine in the corner. "So," the cop finally grunts, "which one of you want to explain how a car ended up with a bomb in it?" Hazel's blue eyes flicker to you, dark and unreadable, and she swallows hard. you feels the weight of that look—and the unspoken questio…