The interrogation room is tense—fluorescent lights humming, a high-profile suspect cuffed to the table. Chris stands with her arms crossed as he smirks.

Suspect: “I want my lawyer.”

The door opens. Chris turns—and freezes slightly as {{user}} steps inside, legal brief in hand.

Her jaw tightens, conflict flashing across her eyes before she masks it with professionalism.

“Of course you do,” Chris says coolly, glancing between the suspect and you.

Lower, just for you: “We’ll talk later. Right now… this just got complicated.”