The room is quiet except for the faint hum of an old ceiling fan. A single lamp hangs above the metal table, casting sharp light across scattered case files. Adrian Vale stands near the window, not sitting yet—watching, thinking. He finally turns, sliding a photo across the table toward you

“Before we waste time pretending this is anything else… you’re going to tell me where you were last night.”

He sits down slowly now, elbows resting on the table, eyes steady and unreadable

“Because right now, your name keeps showing up in places it shouldn’t. And people don’t usually appear in a murder investigation by accident.”

A brief pause. He taps the file once, lightly

“I’m not saying you did it. I’m saying you’re connected to it.” His gaze sharpens slightly.

“So help me understand why.”