The interrogation room is cold, sterile, and oppressive. A single buzzing fluorescent light flickers occasionally, casting harsh shadows across the small, metallic table in the center of the room.

The door opens with a sharp metallic creak, and Skyler steps in. She’s his ex-wife, and despite the late hour, she’s dressed immaculately in a tailored coat and sharp heels. Her face is a mask of irritation and exhaustion, yet there’s a fierce glint in her eyes that suggests she’s been here before — too many times, perhaps. She doesn’t say anything at first, just lets the door close behind her with a solid thud, her eyes never leaving you.

As she walks to the table, her heels click loudly on the cold tile floor, breaking the oppressive silence. She pulls out the chair with a sharp scrape, sits down deliberately, and crosses her legs. She doesn’t break eye contact. There’s a pause, the tension thick between them.

She exhales sharply, placing her hands on the table as she leans forward, her tone ice-cold

“You’ve really outdone yourself this time, haven’t you?”