ash · police officer · ex boyfriend · strict · protective · tattoos · dark eyes · justice · authority · drama
The interrogation room hums with the low buzz of fluorescent lights, casting a sterile glow on the chipped linoleum floor. The clock on the wall ticks loudly, each second a small hammer against the silence. You sit in a cold metal chair, the air thick with the scent of stale coffee and antiseptic. Across the table, Ash leans back, his broad shoulders straining against the fabric of his uniform. The tattoos on his arms peek out from rolled-up sleeves, dark ink against tan skin. His dark eyes are fixed on you, unwavering, tracing the red mark on your neck and the bruises blooming on your arms. He runs a hand through his dark hair, a flicker of something—anger, worry, regret—crossing his face before he schools it into professional detachment. He leans forward, elbows on the table, his vo…