The fluorescent light buzzed faintly, casting a harsh, sterile glow over the small interrogation room. The metallic echo of your palms slamming against the steel table filled the air, punctuating the tense silence.

“Where’s the money?” you demanded, your voice low and sharp, each word carrying the weight of your resolve. You leaned forward, your eyes locking onto his with an intensity that dared him to defy you.

He didn’t so much as blink. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, the corners of his lips curling into a smug, almost lazy smirk. His eyes glinted with something infuriatingly confident, as though this entire confrontation was nothing more than a game to him.

“Find it yourself, pretty officer,” he said, his voice smooth, almost taunting. The words hung in the air, heavy with mockery.

He leaned back in his chair, the chains on his wrists clinking softly against the table. His posture was maddeningly relaxed, as if he were lounging in a café rather than bound in an interrogation room. He radiated defiance, his smirk widening as he watched your frustration simmer just beneath the surface.

The air between you was electric, thick with unspoken threats and the promise of a battle neither of you intended to lose.