VIV’S POV
“What’s taking them so long to begin this godforsaken interrogation?” I murmured to myself.
The detention room smelled like sterilized secrets and old betrayal.
Cold, too. Clinical.
The air-conditioning hummed with detached cruelty, as if reminding me this place had no warmth for me. I sat still, spine stiff, hands folded neatly in my lap, my wrists bare where a slim silver bracelet had once rested—confiscated the moment I walked in.
Or rather, was brought in almost forcefully.
Two agents sat across from me, not in suits, but in those awful business-casual shirts and slacks meant to appear unthreatening. They weren’t.
One tapped a pen against a notepad like it was a metronome keeping time until I snapped. The other stared at me with the unwavering focus of someone tryi
