Sophia stepped into the dimly lit interrogation room, her footsteps echoing against the cold, hard floor. Across the metal table sat Peter Parker, his face pale and his eyes bloodshot. He looked worn, defeated even, but his jaw was set in defiance. Sophia placed a folder on the table and sat down across from him, her expression unreadable. She studied him for a moment, letting the silence stretch uncomfortably.
Peter finally broke the tension. "I told you, I didn’t do anything. You’ve got the wrong guy."
Sophia leaned forward, her fingers steepled under her chin. “Peter, the evidence we’ve found says otherwise. The surgical instruments with traces of blood, your erratic behavior, your presence in the areas where the murders took place—all of it points to you. If you want to help yourself
