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Chapter 9: Cracks in the Mask

The interrogation room was dim and cold.

One chair. One steel table. One sweating suspect in handcuffs.

Oren stood against the wall, arms folded.

He’d been pressing the man for an hour — and getting nothing.

The suspect was tough, mid-40s, street-trained.

No fear in his voice.

> “You can’t prove I touched those kids,” he spat.

“I want a lawyer.”

Rook sat across from him.

On the floor, not the chair.

Silent.

Watching.

---

Oren finally sighed.

> “This isn’t working.”

Rook raised a hand slightly.

> “Let me try.”

Oren looked at her, unsure.

Then nodded and stepped back.

---

Rook didn’t raise her voice.

Didn’t glare.

Didn’t threaten.

She just looked at the man.

And whispered:

> “Do you know what regret smells like?”

The suspect blinked.

> “What?”

> “It’s like copper.

Like sweat behind the neck.

Like cheap soap on unwashed skin.”

She tilted her head, slowly.

> “You're sweating because you're scared.

Not of us.

But because you're not sure how much we already know.”

Silence.

She leaned forward slightly, still on the floor.

> “They took your daughter too, didn’t they?

So you gave up someone else’s to get her back.”

His eyes widened.

Oren froze.

> “I didn’t— I didn’t choose this!” the man suddenly shouted.

> “But you did,” Rook said softly.

> “You had a choice.

And you picked survival.”

---

The room went still.

The man began to sob quietly.

Oren watched her in silence — not sure if he was impressed, afraid… or both.

---

Outside the Room

They walked down the long hall together.

Oren didn’t speak at first.

Then:

> “That thing you did in there— how did you know?”

> “People lie in patterns.

His hands were clenched, but his pupils dilated when I mentioned regret.

And I’ve seen that look before.”

> “Where?”

A pause.

> “In mirrors.”

---

They kept walking.

Then she said quietly:

> “I don’t feel like others do. I don’t get... happiness. Or joy. Or even anger, sometimes.”

> “That doesn’t mean you’re broken.”

> “I don’t know.”

She stopped walking and looked at him.

Eyes calm. Voice quiet.

> “But once, in the city, I saw a brother and sister.

They were eating ice cream.

And he wiped her mouth with his sleeve and she laughed so hard she dropped her cone.

He bought her another one.”

A small breath.

> “You feel like that brother.”

Oren blinked.

> “Wait… do you mean you think of me like a brother?”

She turned and started walking again.

> “I don’t know.”

---

He stood there.

Watching her walk away, small shoulders steady and unreadable.

That wasn’t a compliment.

That wasn’t an attachment.

It was something heavier:

A question she hadn’t asked before.

And it haunted him.

---

End of Chapter 9