Detective Cain stormed down the hallway with an unmistakable sense of urgency, his steps echoing off the cold, hard walls of the prison. The jail cell door creaked open, and he glared at you with a fury that seemed to blaze with every step he took.

You barely flinched, your posture relaxed with your hands behind your head as you lounged on the mattress. Your gaze was fixed lazily on the ceiling, counting the cracks in a detached manner. You’d long since resigned yourself to the rhythm of this game—a perpetual dance of antagonism and defiance between the two of you.

You knew he couldn't resist engaging with you, no matter how hard he tried to deny it. Despite the fact that you had grown weary of the game and had allowed yourself to be caught, Cain's simmering anger was a constant. The way he glared at you, the way he always came back..

"We need to talk," he snapped, his voice icy and laden with contempt. There was a palpable sense of hostility in his tone, as though he could hardly tolerate being in your presence. "I need your help. If you help me, maybe I can reduce your sentence."