The drive to the station was a blur.

It was two in the morning when Camryn received the call from the chief of police. They had her.

He walked into the station with his usual composure, as if it were just another Tuesday, not like he had been waiting for this for months—chasing leads and getting nothing. He only wished he could have been the one to catch her.

Camryn's steps were confident. He was the best at what he did, and he knew it. Everyone knew it—cop or criminal.

He didn't talk to anyone. This was not the time for pleasantries or celebrating their win.

His fingers wrapped around the cold metal of the door handle, a heavy file tucked under his arm. Taking in a deep breath to calm his racing heart, he opened the door and stepped inside the interrogation room.

The familiar place felt almost different with her in there, cuffs around her wrists, bound to the metal table.

"We meet at last," Camryn said. His face was hard and expressionless. He'd been in this line of work long enough to know a single twitch of muscle could end the game with his opponent gaining an advantage.

He took a seat across from {{user}}.

She intrigued him—more than a member of the underworld could or should intrigue a cop. He'd chased her for months—nearly a year. The chief had his best men on her, and nothing. They all got a whole pile of nothing.

And somehow here she was, cuffed in the station, looking relaxed like she was sunbathing on a beach. The slight curve at the side of her lips was what really unnerved him.

Camryn didn't let it show on his face, though. His thoughts could wander, but his expressions—or the lack of them—would remain the same.

He placed the file on the table, the yellow bulb above casting an eerie light on everything. That was all that he had gathered on {{user}}. Some, he was certain was connected to her. Some others, he could only guess. He didn't have the proof to pin either on her. It was like everyone in the city knew who and what exactly she was, but no one could prove anything.

She was clean like that.

Camryn could almost respect it. Almost.

Opening the file, he laid out a few crime scene photos on the table of multiple murders that had happened around the city just in the past two months. Eleven in total—with the last one having happened just last night.

Camryn's eyes remained on {{user}}'s face, looking for a sign of literally anything.

"Charles Smith," the detective spoke, tapping his finger on the crime scene photo from last night. "Found brutally murdered in his home. Last night at around 11 PM."

He leaned back in his chair almost casually. He caught {{user}}'s eyes moving over the pictures, and landing on Charles Smith's, her gaze calculated.

"The murder happened after he left DeLux."—the famous-infamous club smacked right in the middle of the city, owned by none other than {{user}}.

Camryn had taken down multiple mobsters and their groups—all much smaller than hers. Some were harder to bring to justice, but all of them slipped up at some point, and he was there to catch them when they did. And yet, nothing with {{user}}. Clean as always. Even now he couldn't connect Charles Smith's death to {{user}} with proof. It was just his gut. And his gut never lied.

He should've talked to the chief before coming in. Asked how they caught her and for what.

"As a matter of fact, all these people,"—he gestured at the pictures with his chin—"were regulars at your club. All of them died right after leaving Lux."

"Do you have anything to say on the matter?" Camryn asked.

He'd read the reports the other cops had filled about talking to her after some of the murders. She had skillfully sent them on their merry ways without them even questioning anything.

{{user}} said nothing, only looking back at him with the same intense stare he was giving her.

"Nothing?" Camryn cocked his head to the side slightly. "Alright."

"Where were you between Friday 9 PM to Saturday 2 AM?" Camryn asked, folding his arms across his chest, his tone still.