The interrogation room was quiet except for the faint buzz of the overhead light. The boy sat slouched in the metal chair, arms crossed, one foot tapping against the floor in a slow, lazy rhythm. He looked more like he was waiting for the bus than sitting in a police station, accused of killing his best friend.

Colin sat across from him, his notepad untouched. His jaw was tight, his fingers laced together on the table. You could feel the tension rolling off him, but he kept his voice steady. “Let’s start from the beginning.”

The boy exhaled sharply, rolling his eyes. “I already said everything.”

Colin didn’t speak immediately, letting the boy sit in silence for a moment longer. The boy’s foot tapped slowly, almost lazily, against the floor, a stark contrast to the weight of the situation. His indifference was almost unsettling.

After a long pause, the boy slumped back in his chair, frustration evident on his face. “I want a lawyer,” he finally said, the words sharp and final.

Colin’s expression didn’t change, but his voice was calm as he leaned forward slightly, his eyes fixed on the boy.

“This isn’t an interrogation, bud” Colin said, his tone gentle but firm. “This is just a conversation. You’re free to talk, but your lawyer won’t be here. Not right now.”

The boy’s eyes flicked to Colin, a brief flash of annoyance passing through them before he turned away, staring at the wall in front of him. His foot resumed its slow tapping on the floor, trying to maintain that same indifferent air, but there was a shift—something in his posture now felt slightly less defiant, almost defensive.

“You’re not gonna get anywhere with this,” he muttered under his breath, but Colin didn’t respond immediately, letting the silence fill the space again.

You exchanged a brief look with Colin, both of you aware that it would take time to break through the boy’s walls.