Chapter Three: Interrogator

Kieran stepped into the prison building, the air within noticeably heavier than the bright daylight outside. The place had that distinct aroma of damp stone and the faint scent of despair that seemed to permeate every corner of such establishments. He was dressed in his usual attire, a blend of rugged practicality and subtle elegance that had become his signature. The pendant around his neck caught a glimmer of light as he moved, a touch of blue fluorite to contrast against his minty fur.

The interior was dimly lit, and the echoing sounds of footsteps and muted conversations added to the ambiance. As Kieran approached the front desk, a burly fox guard with a stern expression regarded him. Kieran's gaze met his, unwavering but not confrontational.

"Can I help you?" the guard inquired, his voice gruff but not hostile.

"I'm here to meet with the guard leader about the questioning of Malachai," Kieran replied, his tone steady.

The guard's demeanor softened slightly as he recognized Kieran's purpose. "Ah, you must be Kieran. Captain Stoneclaw has been expecting you. Go down the hallway, take a right, and it's the third room on your left."

Kieran offered a curt nod of appreciation before proceeding down the corridor. The prison's interior seemed to close in on him as he walked, the weight of what this place signified settling in his chest. He reached the designated room and paused for a moment, mentally preparing himself for the encounter ahead.

With a deep breath, he pushed open the door and entered the room. The scene inside was tense, the atmosphere heavy with anticipation. The guard leader, a figure of authority with polished armor and a stern countenance, stood by a table. Malachai was seated on the other side, his scars and his gaze equally defiant. Another guard was present alongside the two.

Kieran's entrance didn't go unnoticed. The guard leader, whom he now knew was called Stoneclaw, turned his gaze to him, a nod of acknowledgment exchanged between the two. Kieran's eyes then met Malachai's, the unspoken tension between them almost touchable.

The rapist had had his wounds bandaged and treated, and he was now wearing a black shirt and trousers. ‘He’s not worth the supplies used,’ he thought bitterly.

The room was small and sparsely furnished, the dim light from a high window casting beams of light on the stone walls. Soft shapes of ivy leaves from around the windows on the outside could be seen in the form of shadows on the wall behind Malachai. Kieran's presence felt like a ripple in the charged air, his every movement deliberate as he took a step closer to the table. He didn't say anything, letting the silence speak for itself as he prepared for the interrogation to unfold.

Kieran's piercing gaze bore into Malachai, his eyes a reflection of the storm brewing within him. The bounty hunter's posture was rigid, his stance conveying a sense of unwavering determination. He leaned against the rough stone wall, crossing his arms over his chest as he waited for the proceedings to begin.

Malachai's colorless eyes flicked up to meet Kieran's, a mix of defiance and something else, perhaps a hint of curiosity, dancing in their depths. His scars seemed to writhe in the shifting shadows, adding an air of danger to his otherwise battered appearance. The two foxes locked together, an unspoken challenge passing between them, a silent duel of wills that spoke volumes without a single word being uttered.

Stoneclaw cleared his throat. "Kieran Dravenholm, I presume?" he asked, seemingly rhetorically.

Kieran gave a curt nod, acknowledging the guard leader's statement but offering no further pleasantries. He was here for a purpose, and he intended to see it through.

Stoneclaw continued. “Famous bounty hunter, I see. We did some digging on you.”

“So they say,” Kieran commented humbly.

The guard leader motioned to the cherrywood chair opposite Malachai, a signal for Kieran to take a seat. Kieran obliged, his movements deliberate and controlled. He settled into the wooden chair, keeping his focus on the rapist the whole time.

The room seemed to hold its breath as Captain Stoneclaw took his place at the head of the table. His gaze shifted between Kieran and Malachai, his expression one of rigorous pondering. "Malachai Whitewood," he began, his voice steady, "you stand accused of actions that have caused harm and disruption within our town. Your presence here has cast a shadow of fear upon our streets."

Malachai's lips curled into a half-smirk, a flicker of amusement crossing his scarred face. "Is that so?" he replied, his tone laced with a mixture of sarcasm and nonchalance. He seemed almost proud of that fact.

Kieran's fingers tapped rhythmically against the arm of the chair, a barely perceptible sign of his growing impatience. He was here for answers, for information that could shed light on the enigma surrounding Malachai and his connection to Tessa's recent ordeal. He needed to know what it all meant; his curiosity was strong, as well as his drive for justice as he saw it fit.

The guard leader leaned forward, his gaze undeviating as he locked eyes with the malachite furred criminal. "We want the truth, Whitewood. No bullshit, we hear it enough every day in this domicile, and we always end up getting what we want in the end anyway. Tell us everything you know about the events that transpired, and the reasons behind your actions."

Malachai looked away from the guard leader to Kieran, a subtle challenge evident. "And why would I do that?" he retorted, his voice dripping with defiance.

Kieran's jaw clenched, his frustration simmering beneath the surface. He had come here seeking answers, seeking justice for Tessa and closure for himself. He leaned forward, his voice low and controlled. "Because if you don't, I assure you, you'll wish you had."

The room seemed to hang on a precipice, a delicate balance between impending conflict and the quest for truth. The echo of Kieran's words lingered, a subtle promise that held more weight than any threat.

The guard leader was unshaken, his patience tested but not broken in the slightest. "Whitewood, you're not in a position to be defiant," he stated firmly. "We have evidence, witnesses who saw you with the girl before she was found in a disoriented state. You can make this easier on yourself."

A tense silence settled over the room as the gravity of the situation hung heavy in the air. Malachai's fingers drummed rhythmically against the tabletop, a subtle display of his own agitation. His scarred visage seemed to shift with every passing shadow, an enigma wrapped in a veil of defiance.

Kieran remained fixed on the criminal, his mind working through the layers of this puzzle. He knew there was more to this story, a hidden truth waiting to be unveiled… he had not forgotten the words Malachai had spoken about Tessa. There was more than met the eye here, this could not have been a simple horny male looking for fun with an innocent girl.

"Look," Kieran's voice softened, a note of sincerity cutting through the tension. "I’ve had time to think since last night. We both know you're not a mindless thug. There's a reason you're here, a reason you got involved with Tessa."

Malachai's eyes flickered, a fleeting moment of vulnerability that was quickly masked by his trademark defiance. "What makes you think I'll spill my so-called ‘secrets’ to the likes of you?" he sneered, his words a shield against the truth.

Kieran's fingers tapped thoughtfully against the arm of the chair, his mind racing as he sought a way to breach the walls that Malachai had erected around him. "Because," Kieran began, his voice measured and calm, "whatever your reasons were, they led you down a dangerous path. And if you're not careful, that path will lead you to a fate you can't escape."

Stoneclaw sat mostly idle for now, his presence a constant reminder of the consequences that hung over Malachai's head. "You have a choice, Whitewood," he said, his voice a blend of authority and empathy. "Cooperate, and we'll take that into consideration when the time comes."

The room seemed to hold its breath, the weight of the truth and the weight of the unknown converging in a clash of destiny. Malachai's lips curled into a sardonic smile, a flicker of amusement dancing in his eyes. "You think you're clever, don't you?" he scoffed, his voice dripping with mockery. "Coming in here, trying to play detective, thinking you can unravel my so-called ‘secrets’."

Kieran's gaze remained unyielding, his suspicion only deepening. "I've seen enough to know when someone's hiding something," he replied evenly. "And you, Malachai, are hiding a lot."

The malachite furred fox leaned back in his chair, his demeanor almost nonchalant. "Well then, by all means, enlighten me," he retorted, his tone a mixture of boredom and challenge. "Tell me what wild theories you've concocted about me."

Kieran's fingers tightened into fists, his patience wearing thin. "I don't need theories," he shot back. "I need facts. Starting with why you were so interested in Tessa in the first place."

Malachai's laughter was sharp and cutting, a sound that seemed to reverberate through the room. "Oh, Tessa," he mused, his tone dripping with false nostalgia. "She's just a means to an end, my friend. A pawn in a much larger game."

Kieran's eyes narrowed, his suspicion deepening. "And what game is that?"

Malachai leaned forward, his gaze locking onto Kieran's with an intensity that sent a shiver down Kieran's spine. "The kind of game you wouldn't understand," he replied cryptically. "But let's just say, I have my reasons for everything I do."

Kieran's jaw clenched, his frustration boiling to the surface. "Stop dancing around the truth," he growled. "You're not fooling anyone."

Malachai's smile never wavered, a mask of confidence that seemed unbreakable. "Oh, my dear bounty hunter," he purred, his words laced with a sinister edge. "You underestimate me. But then again, that's exactly what I want."

Kieran growled. "I've tangled with enough people like you to recognize when someone's trying to blind me," he retorted, his voice full of a quiet intensity. "You can play your games, but I won't be a pawn in this twisted dance."

Malachai's chuckle was like a venomous melody, a melody that sent a chill down Kieran's spine. "Ah, but isn't life itself a dance of shadows?" he mused, his eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and something darker. "We all have our roles to play, my friend. Even you."

Kieran's fingers drummed on the table, his impatience a tangible force in the room. "Cut the philosophical nonsense," he snapped. "We're talking about lives at stake here."

Malachai's gaze flickered, a momentary crack in his mask of confidence. "Lives?" he echoed, his tone almost innocent. "Ah, yes, lives are fragile, aren't they? Easily snuffed out, like a candle in the wind."

Kieran's patience was wearing thin, his frustration simmering just beneath the surface. "Enough with the riddles," he growled. "Tell me what you know about Tessa."

Malachai leaned back, his fingers steepled as if in contemplation. "The star furred fox," he mused, his voice a velvet whisper. "Such an intriguing girl, don't you think? But my interest in your celestial friend goes beyond mere curiosity."

Kieran's eyes narrowed, his suspicion growing sharper. "Then enlighten me," he demanded. "Why her? What do you gain from all of this?"

Malachai's smile was like a serpent's, a cunning glint in his gaze. "Power, my dear bounty hunter," he hissed. "The kind of power that transcends worlds. And Tessa, well, she's the key to unlocking that potential."

Kieran's fists clenched. "You won't succeed," he vowed. "I won't let you use her for whatever twisted plans you have."

Malachai's laughter was like shards of ice, a chilling sound that echoed in the air. "Ah, defiance," he purred. "How charming. But mark my words, Kieran, it’s already too late for Tessa. The shadows have a way of consuming even the most valiant of souls.”

The room seemed to close in around them, the weight of their words hanging in the air like a storm on the horizon. As the truth continued to elude them, the search for answers deepened, casting a veil of uncertainty over them like a dark cloud.

Kieran narrowed his yellow eyes. "You speak of power, but power over what? What could possibly be worth jeopardizing lives for?"

Malachai's eyes gleamed with a sinister light, a predatory aura enveloping him. "Ah, Kieran, you see the world in such narrow terms," he replied, his voice dripping with condescension. "Lives are but stepping stones in the grand tapestry of existence. Sacrifices must be made for the greater design."

Kieran's patience wore thin, his frustration seeping into his words. "Sacrifices? You mean you're willing to manipulate and destroy just to fulfill your own desires?"

Malachai's smile remained, his demeanor unflappable. "Desires, intentions—such trivial concepts, don't you think? My goals transcend your limited perspective."

Kieran's hands clenched into fists at his sides, his voice sharp. "Enough of your cryptic nonsense. If you think for a second that I'll stand by while you use Tessa as some pawn, you're gravely mistaken."

Malachai's gaze bore into Kieran's, an unsettling calm in his eyes. "You're a fascinating one. Your righteous fury, your unwavering determination—it's almost poetic."

Kieran's nostrils flared, his restraint teetering on the edge. "You’re like a brick wall," he grumbled, frustrated.

Malachai's laughter cut through the tension like a blade, sharp and cold. He raised his voice, and leaned forward. "My dear Kieran, you're nothing more than a fleeting gust of wind in this grand design. But by all means, keep fighting. It's quite entertaining."