Sunlight crept shyly through the apartment windows, as though afraid to wake its residents-unaware that sleep had never touched their eyes.
Camilla sat rubbing her palms together, trying to create warmth through her own anxious friction. Across from her, Liam lay curled up beneath a sheet, still asleep. He had collapsed in her arms the entire night; she hadn't even realized when dawn arrived.
For a long while, she just stared into the silence that her mind couldn't quite grasp, before exhaling deeply and stepping into the kitchen-each step hesitant, as if she were escaping the remnants of alcohol clouding her thoughts.
Her palms pressed against the cold marble countertop when the sharp beep of the coffee machine broke the stillness, announcing the end of peace.
She walked toward the living room, steady at first, then slowing with a strange unease as she clutched the hot mug to her chest.
Liam sat on the couch, sunk into himself, his glassy eyes fixed on an invisible void-drowning in memories with no shore and no safety.
The mug trembled in her hand before she set it down on the table and moved closer, her voice tinged with worry as she touched his leg gently.
"Liam... are you alright?"
No answer. Only silence and suffocating cold until his pale lips began to tremble and his hands shook.
His face carried a sorrow only those who've tasted life's bitterness could understand. She realized he was trapped in a childhood memory stripped of love and warmth-a boy who grew thirsty for affection and never found anyone to quench it.
She drew closer, wrapping an arm around him, stroking his back in comfort.
A spark shot through his body-a shiver born of fear. His nightmare had taken form. It wasn't a dream; it was real.
He lifted his trembling hands toward her, whispering with a voice broken by terror:
"Blood... her blood is dripping from my hands."
Her eyes widened, but she steadied herself and asked firmly,
"What do you mean, Liam? Tell me everything."
He fought himself, unwilling to let those thoughts consume him. Silence was his only defense. His lids tightened, and he bent his head against her chest like a child shaken by nightmares. His ragged breathing mingled with her racing heartbeat, his body sinking deeper into her arms while her unspoken questions burned inside her.
Her fingers brushed through his hair softly-warm, reassuring-inviting him to confess the pain he carried alone.
"I remember... every second of her with him, thinking I didn't know," he began. "Scenes of Rosalina's betrayal of my father never leave me. I was barely five. Her lover, Robin, would give me candy-just to keep quiet about the strange man in our home."
A deep sigh escaped him. Camilla hummed gently, encouraging him to continue his usual story of his mother's betrayal-but this time felt different. Her hand trembled slightly as she slipped her phone from her pocket, careful not to draw his attention. Her thumb hovered over the record button for a moment... then she hesitated and slid it back.
He swallowed hard and went on.
"My father wasn't an angel either-corrupt, unfaithful, a coward who abandoned us. But... what was my sin in all of it?"
His shaking voice pulled at her chest. She patted his back gently to calm him.
Then the words that followed froze her blood.
"Blood... blood everywhere. The smell of rust in my lungs. My fingers around her throat... and her fingers gripping the knife."
Coldness spread through her limbs. Her voice broke into a whisper.
"You killed her?"
She waited-far too long. The silence was unbearable. Her gaze fell upon his face-peaceful, angelic in sleep-as though the man describing a crime scene moments ago wasn't the same one before her now.
Was it another one of his recurring nightmares? His obsessive fear of losing loved ones often made him dream of them dying. Or... was it something far more than a dream?
She studied his calm features, the ones she had grown used to seeing daily. Something inside her drew her closer, a strange need to protect him, to hide him from the cruel world that would never understand.
The quiet didn't last. The sharp buzz of the doorbell shattered it, followed by harsh, impatient knocking-commands more than knocks.
She froze. Then a familiar voice, taut with restrained anger, came through the door.
"Don't hide behind your silence, Camilla. I know he's here."
She pressed her ear to the wood, trying to count how many were outside.
Finally, she cracked the door.
Ethan. His sharp eyes swept through her apartment like a scanner searching for truth rather than sight.
Then they landed on the proof he needed-Liam, sprawled across the couch, hair tousled, asleep in chaos.
Ethan brushed past her shoulder, stepping inside and closing the door. The movement stirred Liam awake; confusion filled his face as his gaze darted between them.
Ethan spoke with cool professionalism, void of mockery:
"Tell me, Doctor, is it ethical for your patient to sleep in your home?"
Camilla crossed her arms, meeting his stare head-on.
"And I suppose it's ethical to barge into a civilian's home at dawn?"
She took slow, deliberate steps toward him until she stood right before him. Her breath fanned across his face as she murmured in a low, threatening tone:
"We both bend the law when it suits our purposes."
His hand clenched until his palm bled, eyes narrowing like a predator waiting for the perfect strike.
He sneered:
"Who said I broke the law? You opened the door willingly. I didn't drag your patient out at gunpoint."
He ended the remark with a cold smirk, then turned and sat across from Liam, studying the man's lifeless expression. Liam's hands rested on his thighs, his eyes blank-so empty he might as well have been dead, if not for the faint rise of his chest.
Camilla's hum was low, skeptical. She knew well this wasn't a friendly visit-nor would Ethan ever bring her flowers.
Her patience snapped.
"Why are you here, Ethan?"
He replied simply,
"To take Liam. I know now he's not the perpetrator. I just need to ask him a few questions-to help him."
The words did nothing to ease her unease, yet she couldn't stop him-not when he stood there in full uniform, backed by authority. Interfering would only make her look suspicious.
Ethan led Liam outside, guiding him gently toward the car. Liam obeyed without protest, sliding into the passenger seat. Camilla watched from her window as the car pulled away.
Ethan glanced at him now and then-too calm, too quiet. Not a single question about where they were headed. Not the trembling man he once knew.
Ethan thought he was nearing the truth. He didn't realize that the masks were only just beginning to be worn.
The car stopped at the federal building. Liam entered without resistance.
The interrogation room was small and sterile-gray walls radiating coldness, harsh white lights leaving no shadow to hide behind. Liam sat slumped on the metal chair, drained of life. Across from him, Ethan and Max took their seats.
Behind the one-way mirror stood Chief Alexander, arms crossed, face unreadable. Beside him, two officers-one noting Liam's body language, the other, Detective Johnson, watching closely.
Johnson smirked.
"He doesn't look ready for a case like this. No clue where to even start."
Alexander's reply was sharp.
"If he's unprepared, that's your fault. Wasn't this your case before you dumped it on him?"
The tension was palpable. Johnson fell silent, eyes averting in shame.
Inside, the air was thick with unsaid words and mechanical hums. Both men-Ethan and Liam-waited for the other to move first.
Ethan finally broke the silence, his tone hard:
"Do you understand where you are, Liam?"
A strange, hollow laugh escaped Liam's lips. He nodded slowly.
Ethan scattered a few irrelevant papers across the table-nothing that actually bore Liam's name-then picked one up and slapped it lightly against the surface.
"On Thursday, May third, at exactly nine p.m., you were found at the crime scene, claiming she was your mother. Tell me, why visit her that night, Liam?"
He leaned back, eyes locked on his prey.
Liam's answer was calm, unnervingly so.
"I visit my mother every week. Nothing unusual. The neighbors can confirm that, can't they?"
Ethan frowned slightly-Liam's sudden confidence was new. But Ethan still held his trump card, saving it for the right moment.
Max's eyes flicked between them, ready for anything to explode.
Ethan continued, flipping a new page.
"You're aware Rosalina signed a life insurance policy shortly before her death? No family, no relatives-only you listed as her beneficiary. Quite the coincidence, don't you think?"
The mention of money was deliberate-a probe into his nerves.
Liam chuckled darkly.
"So that makes me the suspect? The beneficiary of her death?"
Ethan replied smoothly,
"I didn't say that. Why so defensive? We're just having a friendly chat."
A crooked smile tugged at Liam's lips.
"I'm not stupid, Detective. Killing her directly and waiting there to be caught? If proven guilty, I lose the policy. The money goes to the state. And I go to prison."
Ethan listened carefully, noting the restless twitch of Liam's leg under the table-betraying the calm façade his words tried to build.
Liam added sharply,
"Wouldn't it have been easier, if I had wanted to kill her, to just hire someone to do it? Or maybe throw her out the window so it would look like a tragic accident while she's sipping tea? Or perhaps... simply increase her medication dosage a little, so it'd seem like an elderly mistake?"
He thought his logic might clear his name-showing how rationally impossible it would be for him to commit such an obvious crime. But what he didn't realize was that his detailed imagination was the first red flag against him. The way he listed those "plausible" scenarios so effortlessly-so intelligently-didn't sound like an innocent man at all.
Ethan paused, breaking the silence with deliberate calm.
"Hmm... you might be right. Unfortunately, Liam, I've got some bad news for you. Your mother's lover-or should I say, the late Robin Lannister-was found dead. Murdered the same way. In the same neighborhood."
Ethan's lips twisted into a grim line of fake sympathy, masking the strategic blow he'd just delivered.
Liam's eyes widened for a split second, but he quickly regained composure.
"Ah... such a pity. I only heard of his death later. Had I known sooner, I'd have prayed for him-prayed that God forgives his sins."
A faint, eerie laugh slipped from him.
"No worries, I'll make sure to say a prayer for him when I'm released. You should come too, Detective. Don't worry-God forgives even the greatest sinners."
The subtle venom in his tone made Ethan's blood boil. He was twisting the guilt back on him-as if he were the sinner.
Then Liam said it.
"Camilla."
The name hit the air like a blade-sharp and heavy. The silence that followed was suffocating. Even the ticking of the clock seemed to vanish.
Ethan's tone hardened,
"Funny how I always find you near her, Liam. Her apartment, her bed, her arms. Don't you think that's... unprofessional of her? Almost as if she's covering something up. Or maybe something else entirely?"
Liam's face tightened.
"As the most reputable psychiatrist in San Francisco, she knows her ethical boundaries, Detective. Maybe you should ask her that question directly instead of asking me."
He bit the inside of his cheek, his jaw clenching. The air between them grew dense, electric-two storms about to collide.
Ethan leaned forward, voice low and mocking,
"Then maybe I should summon her for questioning. A doctor having an intimate relationship with her patient-that's quite a scandal, don't you think?"
But deep inside, a darker thought lingered-he wanted to know the truth about them. Not as a detective, but as a man.
Liam smirked faintly, his tone dripping with indifference.
"Be my guest. But I doubt you'll have the time for that interview."
Ethan's brows furrowed.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Liam leaned forward, voice cold and cutting,
"You accuse me of being unprofessional for seeking comfort in her arms... but what about you, Detective? Remember that first interrogation, in the basement with no cameras, when you nearly lost control? You cornered me, pushed me to confess, almost hit me. Does that sound professional to you?"
He rose slightly, resting both palms on the table, leaning in close enough for Ethan to feel his breath.
"Maybe you should book an appointment with her too... perhaps she'll treat you the same way she treated me."
The words sliced through Ethan like a blade. Behind the glass, Alexander and Johnson shifted uncomfortably, wishing they could disappear.
That was it. Ethan's control snapped.
He rose from his chair slowly-then lunged forward, grabbing Liam by the collar and slamming him hard against the wall.
"You think you've won, huh? You're nothing but sick! A goddamn psychopath!"
His fists trembled as rage overtook him. Liam didn't fight back-he just smiled, feeding on Ethan's fury like gasoline to a fire.
The door burst open. Max rushed in, pulling Ethan back before he could strike. Alexander followed with two security officers, dragging the detective away. Ethan struggled, chest heaving, eyes wild.
And then-Liam shouted, loud enough for everyone to hear:
"I won't say another word without my lawyer present!"
Alexander shoved Ethan against the hallway wall, voice thunderous:
"That's what you call an interrogation, Ethan? You let a suspect toy with you and you take the bait like a rookie! Do you realize what you've done? You've just given his attorney the ammunition to destroy this case-and possibly sue us for assault!"
Ethan clenched his fists, trying to hold on to the last shred of pride.
"You don't understand-Liam's manipulative. I was this close to breaking him-if only-"
Alexander cut him off, voice sharp as steel.
"If only what? If only you hadn't lost control? You didn't just fail-you crossed every line. I should strip your badge right here and now!"
He stepped closer, his breath cold and measured.
"Fix this, Ethan. Or I'll personally end your career."
Ethan's voice cracked.
"You're just like my father... always waiting for me to fail. You and everyone else."
Alexander's tone turned glacial.
"I'm not your father. I don't care about your family name. But in my department, you either act like a professional... or you walk out that door."
Ethan stormed off, slamming the door so hard it echoed through the hallway.
Outside, the cold wind slapped his face, but it wasn't enough to cool the fire burning inside him. He drove aimlessly, tires screaming against the asphalt-until he stopped.
Camilla's clinic.
He got out, still trembling, marched straight in past the receptionist.
There she was-calm, composed, the same icy presence that both infuriated and intrigued him.
He sat down heavily across from her. She motioned for her assistant to leave.
Ethan's voice was raw.
"Enough games, Camilla. I'm done being your puppet."
She smiled faintly, reclining in her chair.
"What do you want, Ethan?"
He shot back, bitterly,
"A cold coffee."
She gestured for her assistant to bring one, then fixed her gaze on him.
"Judging by your look, I assume you're not here to discuss Nietzsche and caffeine rituals."
He looked wrecked-eyes bloodshot, hair disheveled, shirt half torn.
Finally, he exhaled and placed a sealed white envelope on her desk.
"A court order," he said flatly. "Granting me full access to Liam's medical records."