The chair creaked as I leaned back, arms folded, eyes locked on Sasha.
She t my gaze—or at least, where my gaze should be. The mask obscured my expression, but I could see everything. The slight tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers twitched against the cold tal cuffs. She wasn't nervous, not exactly. But she was playing a ga, trying to gauge the sa way I was dissecting her.
I didn't say anything at first. Just let the silence stretch, thick and suffocating. People underestimated silence. They tried to fill it, tried to explain themselves before the questions even ca.
Sasha exhaled sharply through her nose, breaking first. "You gonna talk, or is this just a staring contest?"
I let a beat pass, then replied, my tone flat. "Tell about the fires."
Her lips twitched, not quite a smirk, but close. "Straight to the point. I respect that."
I didn't react.
She sighed, shifting in her chair. "What do you want to say? That I did it? That I planned it all?" She leaned forward slightly, her voice carrying a lazy sort of defiance. "I'll save you the trouble—I didn't."
Lies.
Not because I could hear it, but because I could see it.
[Observation (Lv. 5) Activated]
Her breathing was controlled, too controlled. Her eyes weren't shifting away like soone telling a blatant lie, but she was too prepared. She had practiced this answer. It wasn't the truth—it was a script.
I tilted my head. "That's convenient. Considering you were pretty focused on the clock and trucks at Station 47."
She scoffed. "It was bad timing nothing more. I was simply stressed from the previous fires."
I leaned forward, resting my arms on the table. "Perhaps, but don't you find it convenient that only you looked and not the mastermind?"
Her jaw tightened. Barely. A fraction of a second.
[Psychological Insight (Lv. 1) Activated]
Confidence: 72% → 68%
Defensive posture detected.
She was expecting this angle though she didn't have a counter ready.
"Really a look?" she echoed, arching a brow. "Is that what you think?"
I didn't blink. "That's what the footage says."
In all honesty, she could claim that I hadn't seen the footage yet, since technically only Mr. Fox did. But I wanted to see how she'd react to the claim.
Her expression didn't change much, but her fingers clenched into fists before she forced them to relax. "You think I was the mastermind?" she asked, a sharp edge to her voice now. "That I planned everything?"
"Tell why I shouldn't."
She laughed. It wasn't humor—it was frustration, disbelief. "Because it's a stupid theory, that's why."
I waited.
She exhaled through her teeth, leaning back in her chair. "Look, I'm not saying I'm innocent. I was there. I was involved. But I wasn't the one pulling the strings."
There it was. The first real crack.
[Deduction (Lv. 4) Activated]
Her reaction wasn't an outright denial. If she was the mastermind, she would have shut the idea down completely, dismissed it as ridiculous. Instead, she was correcting my assumption.
Soone else was in charge.
I tapped my fingers against the table, slow and deliberate. "Then who was?"
She hesitated.
A mistake.
Not in what she said, but in what she didn't say. The hesitation wasn't fake—it wasn't an act. She genuinely wasn't sure if she should answer.
Which ant she wasn't loyal to them.
Interesting.
"You wouldn't believe ," she said finally.
I leaned in. "Try ."
Her eyes flickered, searching my mask like she could find sothing behind it. "...You don't talk like a hero."
"That's because I'm not one." My voice was steady, unwavering. "I'm a detective. And detectives don't care about hero nonsense. We care about facts." I let the words sink in before continuing. "So give the facts."
Her tongue ran over her teeth, and for the first ti, she looked unsure.
Good.
"Look," she muttered. "I don't know everything, alright? I was just—" She cut herself off, frustrated. "I was doing what I was told. I followed orders, sure, but I wasn't the one making them."
I stared at her. "Then who was?"
She hesitated again.
[Instinct (Lv. 4) Activated]
Sothing was off. Not just hesitation. Fear.
Not fear of .
Fear of the truth.
She shook her head. "You don't get it. If I talk—"
"You're already locked up," I cut in. "You think they're gonna bail you out? Protect you? If they haven't already tried to silence you, it's because they don't need to."
Her fingers twitched.
[Psychological Insight (Lv. 1) Activated]
Panic: 31% → 46%
"It's not th—" She stopped.
I leaned back, folding my arms. "Then what is it Sasha?"
She swallowed.
I sighed, making a show of rubbing my temple like I was getting tired of this conversation. "Let make this simple. You talk, you might get out of this with a deal. You don't, you rot in here while your so-called 'boss' keeps running things. And in the scenario where you are being threatened, we will take care of it."
Silence.
Then, quietly—
"There's a na," she muttered. "He didn't talk a lot, but I've heard it."
I waited.
Her eyes flicked up to mine.
"Cipher."
The room felt colder.
Not because I recognized the na—but because she said it like it was a ghost.
Like even speaking it was dangerous.
Did she think that she was being listened to right now?
Before I could push further, the door creaked open behind . A police officer stuck his head in. "Ti's up."
I exhaled slowly, then stood.
Sasha watched , wary.
I turned to the officer. "I need access to the security footage from Station 47's fire."
He frowned. "Why?"
I t his gaze through the mask. "Because she's not the mastermind."
The officer hesitated, then nodded. "I'll get the files."
I cast one last glance at Sasha.
She wasn't lying. Not about this.
Which ant I had a new target.
Cipher.
And I was going to find him.
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