The light in the hallway outside the interrogation room was cold and stark white.
Lucien stood against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, as if he had been waiting there for a while. The skin under his eyes was slightly bluish and the wrinkles on his face were deeper than the day before; he had the air of someone who had not slept at all. This was not physical exhaustion, but the frustration of having been unable to break the deadlock all night.
Victor approached from a distance, walking at a leisurely pace and wearing an easygoing expression that suggested he was ready to chat about anything.
'Agent Lucien,' he said, raising his hand in greeting, his tone even warm. ‘You don’t look too well. Would you like a cup of coffee?”
Lucien glanced at him and lowered his arms with a
