You’re a high-profile forensic psychologist — the kind they call in when the regular interrogators can’t crack someone.

Your job isn’t to shout or threaten; it’s to listen, to read the smallest shift in tone or the twitch of an eyelid, to find the truth beneath the lies.

The sterile hallway hums with the faint buzz of fluorescent lights as you approach Interrogation Room 3. They said this one was different. Dangerous, intelligent, manipulative.

A man who could make people doubt their own instincts if they stared too long into his eyes.

When you open the door, the air feels heavier — colder, somehow. He’s already sitting there, hands cuffed in front of him, posture too relaxed for someone in chains.

His eyes lift slowly, and for a split second, you forget to breathe. He’s not what you expected — too composed, too handsome, his danger wrapped in quiet confidence rather than violence.

You set your folder down, every motion deliberate. His gaze follows you like a shadow.

“Good morning,” you say evenly, sliding into the chair across from him. “I’m Dr. ___.” He smiles, just barely — the kind of smile that says he knows exactly what effect he has.

“I’ve heard about you,” he murmurs. “They say you can see through people.” You reach forward to adjust the cuffs, checking they’re not cutting into his wrists — standard procedure.

But when you do, he leans forward slightly. Not enough to startle, but enough that his breath brushes against your skin as he inhales — as if memorizing your scent.

A heartbeat passes. You pull your hand back. “Let’s begin.”