Chapter 12
1521 Words
He doesn’t sit straight away. Just stands there a second, looking at me like he’s already read the file twice. Then he pulls the chair out. Sits.
“Indigo Campbell.” Not a question.
My wrists rest against the table. The metal’s cold. I press them down harder. Hold it there. Count without thinking.
One. Two. Three. Release.
He nods once, like my silence confirms something. Opens a folder. Doesn’t look down at it.
“You work at the Blackrooms Nightclub." Still not a question.
He finally glances at the file. Flips a page. Slow.
“Busy place.”
I say nothing.
He doesn’t look up when he speaks next.
“Long hours. Cash business. Hard to track."
A page turns. “You do well there?”
My hair’s fallen forward. Knotted slightly at the ends. I catch it between my fingers. Work the knot loose. Slow. Precise. Again when it slips back.
He taps the corner of the file with one finger. Not impatient. Just marking time.
“We pulled a car tonight. Clean. Expensive.”
A beat. “Full."
Fuck.
“You were driving it.”
He flips a page.
“Two cars.” A beat. “You weren’t alone.”
I fixate on a scratch in the wall behind him, and I hold it.
His eyes lift to mine for the first time. Slightly out of focus in my perephrial. “Black vehicle. Stayed close. Then split.”
Nothing.
He watches me a second longer. “Friend of yours?”
Silence.
“Didn’t think so.” A small pause. “Hard to run that tight unless you know each other."
Nothing.
He leans back slightly. Watches me properly now. “We’ve been watching that route for months.” Another page. “Movements. Patterns. People.” He closes the file halfway. “And then you show up.”
He nods to himself.
“Bad timing.”
He reaches into the folder again. Pulls something out. Sets it on the table between us.
Doesn’t push it toward me.
Doesn’t need to.
“Recognise it?" A beat. "There's a lot more like it.”
I don’t look.
“Not your first time seeing something like that, I’d guess.”
He exhales lightly through his nose. Not annoyed. Not yet.
“Here’s the part you’re going to want to think about.”
He leans forward now. Not aggressive. Closer.
“Possession’s one thing.” A finger taps the table once. “Distribution’s another.”
Another tap. “Conspiracy—”
He lets that word hang.
“—that’s where it gets expensive.”
Silence stretches. He watches for a reaction. Doesn’t get one.
“Your name’s already in the system.”
He says it casually. Like it doesn’t matter.
“Blood. Hair. Prints.”
A faint glance at my hands.
“Something tells me no one's waiting for you.”
Nothing.
He sits back again. Studies me. Longer this time.
“You don’t talk much.”
Silence.
A small nod. “Alright.”
He closes the file fully this time.
“But you will.” Not a threat. Just a statement. He stands. Takes the folder with him. Pauses at the door.
“Because right now, the only story we’ve got—” He looks back at me. “—ends very badly for you.”
The door opens. He steps out. Shuts it behind him.
The room’s quiet again. Same hum. Same light. Nothing’s changed. Except it has.
This wasn't his call to make.
•••
Time stretches until it doesn’t mean anything. The cold has settled deep now. The door opens again. Same man. Different now. He doesn’t pause this time. Doesn’t study me. He sits straight down. Drops the file on the table harder than before.
“Had enough time to sit with your thoughts?”
He opens the file. Flips past the first few pages without looking.
“Let’s try this again.”
Silence.
“You were in possession of a vehicle carrying a controlled substance.” Flat. Official. He flips a page. “Second driver didn’t get picked up.” A beat. “Got lucky.”
Silence.
He looks at me properly now. “Or you took the heat for him.”
“Which is it?”
Nothing.
He nods once. Like that confirms it. “Right.”
He leans back slightly. Studies me again. Less curiosity now. More judgement.
“You know what they do with people like you?”
I don’t look at him.
“You think he’s coming back for you?” A small pause. “You think he’s sitting somewhere right now worrying about you?”
His mouth tightens slightly. “Or you think he’s already gone.”
He scoffs a laugh now. "I'll tell you what they do.” Lowers his voice. Deeper. “They don’t send you somewhere nice.” A small pause. “Not with charges like this.” He leans forward. Forearms on the table. Closer.
“Maybe the solar farms.” He watches my face. “Out there all day. Nothing but heat and sand.” A beat. “You like sand?”
Silence.
He nods to himself.
“Didn’t think so.” A pause. “Or maybe the mines.” He lets that sit longer. “Deep in the Spine.”
His voice drops more.
“Hope you’re not scared of the dark.”
Nothing.
He taps the file once. Harder this time.
“You think this is a game?”
Silence.
He exhales. Slow.
“Here’s what’s going to happen.” He sits back again. Composed. Like he’s laid it out already.
“You keep sitting there like this—” A small gesture toward me. “—and this becomes very simple.”
“Runner.”
A beat.
“Distribution.”
Another.
“Conspiracy.”
Each word lands separately.
“And then you go wherever they send you.”
Silence.
He watches me. Longer this time. Looking for anything. Doesn’t get it. His jaw tightens slightly. First crack.
“Or—” He leans forward again. Quieter now. More dangerous.
“You start talking.”
Nothing.
A long pause.
He sits back. Looks at the file. Closes it slowly.
“Alright.” He stands. Doesn’t look at me again this time.
The door opens. Shuts. Harder this time. The sound sticks for a second—then drops back into the same low hum. I don’t move. My wrists rest against the table. The metal’s cold. Colder than before.
The marks from the cuffs have faded to almost nothing. But the skin is still tight when I flex my fingers. So I don’t. I smooth my thumb over the same spot. Again. Same pressure. Same movement.The room feels smaller now, or maybe I do.
The buzz is gone. Everything feels wider. Looser. Too loose.
I pull it back in. Small things. Hands flat on the table. Edges. Lines. Corners. Something solid.
I shift in the chair. The metal legs scrape slightly against the floor. Too loud in the quiet. I still again.
My shoulders ache. Slow, deep. Jaw tight. I don’t realise I’ve been clenching it until I ease it, just slightly.
Cold sits heavier now. Not the quick bite from outside. This stays. Creeps in. Through the table. The chair. The air. I breathe out slowly. Watch it fade.
Full.
I stare at the table. And not at anything.
Kian.
I don’t let it go further than that.
This wasn’t his call to make.
My fingers curl slightly against the metal. Tension sits there. Doesn’t go anywhere. I push it down. Same as everything else.
The door back open, not the detective this time. Two officers.
“Up.”
I don’t move straight away.
One of them steps in. Grabs my arm. Not rough—just enough.
“On your feet.”
I stand. Chair legs scrape behind me.
“Turn.”
Hands pulled back again. Cuffs go on. Tight.
“Move.”
One hand on my arm. Steering more than forcing.
The corridor’s quieter than before. Fluorescent lights hum overhead. Doors on either side. Closed. Footsteps echo. Ours. Someone shouts somewhere further down. A laugh. Cut off quick. We turn once. Then again. Deeper.
“Here.”
A door. Metal. Paint chipped around the edges. One of them keys it open. Heavy lock. Loud in the quiet. The door swings in.
“Inside.”
I step in. Small. Concrete. Bench along the wall. Metal. Thin. Toilet in the corner. No privacy. Light overhead. Same harsh white. The cuffs come off. Quick. No ceremony.
“Sit tight.”
The door closes before I move.
Lock turns.
Solid.
Silence settles fast. Different to before. Heavier. I stand there for a second. Then sit. The bench is colder than the table was. No give. I lean forward slightly. I find a seam in the bench with my fingertip. Run along it. End to end. Back again. Same line. Same pressure.
Forearms on my thighs. Hands loose between them.
No hum in here. Just the faint buzz of the light. And distant noise bleeding through the walls.
- Writer
