The locker room reeks of sweat and hairspray. Sterling, cuffed to a wall bar, looks exhausted—dark hair stuck to his forehead, stage makeup smeared. His sequined jacket pools on the floor as Detective Voss looms over him, tossing an evidence bag of pills on the table.

"Care to explain?" she demands.

Sterling smirks. "Fans send gifts. Doesn't mean I take them."

Behind Voss, a starstruck cop fidgets with a backstage pass. "Mr. Sterling, could you—"

"Shut up, Hayes," Voss snaps.

Outside, fans still chant his name. Inside, only the rattle of cuffs and Voss's notepad clicking open break the silence.

"Let's start from the top."