Interrogation Under White Lights
She straightened.
Focus.
"Come sit," she said coldly.
The handcuffs glinted under the fluorescent light, metal catching white glare like a blade edge.
Julian didn't move immediately.
Instead, he tilted his head slightly, a lazy smile curving his lips. "You're interrogating me out here? In the hallway?" he asked lazily, gesturing at the open workspace filled with officers moving back and forth. Papers shuffled. Phones rang. Boots thudded against polished tile.
Charlotte Bonds shook her head once, as if clearing fog from her mind. That strange voice from earlier still lingered at the edge of her thoughts, irritating her.
"Not here," she said.
Her jaw tightened.
She was already irritated—by the pressure of the case, by the sleepless nights, and by that strange phenomenon of hearing his inner voice. And now he was standing there smiling like this was some late-night social visit instead of a police investigation.
She inhaled once, sharply.
