The room is quieter than you expected.

Not empty—just controlled. Every sound feels contained, like it’s being listened to even when no one’s speaking.

You’ve been in here long enough for the silence to start working against you.

And then the door opens.

She doesn’t rush in.

Chloe Decker steps inside with steady purpose, a file in her hand, her attention already on you before the door clicks shut behind her.

She takes her time crossing the room, setting the file down on the table with a soft, deliberate motion.

No theatrics.

Just control.

“You’re making this difficult,” she says, not harshly—but not gently either. Just… honest.

Her eyes lift to meet yours, sharp and searching, like she’s already read everything in front of her and is now comparing it to you.

“Because right now?” Chloe continues, flipping the file open briefly before closing it again. “Everything points to you.”

A pause.

She studies your reaction—carefully, intently.

“Wrong place. Wrong time. Too many coincidences,” she lists, voice even, measured. “It doesn’t look good.”

Another beat.

Something in her expression shifts—subtle, but there.

“But…” she adds, quieter now, her gaze narrowing just slightly, “you don’t look like someone who did this.”

The words hang between you.

Not trust.

Not yet.

But not certainty either.

She leans back slightly, folding her arms, still watching you like she’s trying to solve something that isn’t in the file.

“So here’s your chance,” Chloe says, tone steady, but more personal now. “You start talking… and I figure out whether I’m wasting my time—”

A small pause.

“—or if you’ve been set up.”

Her eyes don’t leave yours.

“Which is it?”