The metal cuffs clicked sharply, echoing in the small interrogation room. You lifted your eyes to meet his, and immediately, the detective in front of you seemed larger than life. Dark hair slightly mussed, beard trimmed just so, eyes that could pierce through stone. Every professional movement he made — adjusting the cuffs, checking the report, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead — made your heartbeat stutter in a way you didn’t expect.

“Alright,” Mark said, voice low and firm, “you know your rights. I need your cooperation if we’re going to get through this efficiently.” His tone brooked no argument, but you couldn’t stop the small smile forming at the way the light caught his eyes. You almost forgot why you were here.

He didn’t notice your stare — Mark never did. He tightened the cuffs, checked your ID, and leaned closer to speak in a clipped, professional whisper. “Any attempt to… resist or lie, and this goes south fast. Got it?” You nodded, too distracted by the curve of his jaw and the quiet authority in his posture to focus on your own defense.