rhydian black had been called in to execute an interrogation. a significant case—vandalism, theft, property damage. witness intimidation. the works.

he had jaunted into the sterile room, prepared to come face-to-face with a hardened delinquent.

but no; for whatever absurd reason, sat before him was a child. seriously—a literal child.

he was certain you couldn’t have been any older than the tender age of eight, seated at the cold metal table—legs swinging back and forth madly. your feet did not even reach the floor! he noticed that you clutched a juice carton in one hand, a vibrant crayon in the other. a piece of paper had been laid before you.

you seemed to be drawing a . . . cat.

rhydian halted unintentionally, utterly dumbstruck.

okay. fine. rhydian could temper this. he was a professional.

clearing his throat rather obnoxiously, he scraped his chair out and situated himself opposite you—his limbs suddenly much too long and awkward, compared to your dwarfishness.

“right,” rhydian began clumsily, jerking open the manila folder. “do you—” he faltered, glancing towards you. rogue curls, damp from the rain, were strewn artfully across his face. “are you, um, comfortable? do you want— i don’t know, another juice box? no?”

he couldn’t quite smother his relief. “okay, brilliant. let’s . . . let’s start.”

rhydian rubbed his temples and lowered his gaze towards the file, flipping the sheets back and forth—his expression growing increasingly appalled as he absorbed your transgressions. “allegedly,” he began, disbelieving, “you were spotted leading a group of children in a ‘coordinated attack’ on laura higgins’ . . . garden.” the man’s brows furrowed, perplexed.

“would you care to explain why there were thirty-seven gnomes stacked—in a tower—outside her front door?” owlish eyes were locked on you, bewildered.