The morning after reuniting with my old friend—who had spent most of the night lecturing me on police investigations—I was trying to jumpstart my brain with coffee when I found myself face to face with the same two detectives I'd met just the day before. Where, you ask? My apartment, of course. Which is to say, these rude individuals barged into my home first thing in the morning in the name of "investigation," without so much as a heads-up. Honestly, the police these days.

I opened the door with maximum displeasure written across my face, only to find a tall man looking down at me with an expression a hundred times colder.

"…Quite the nerve, jerking detectives around during a murder investigation, Mr. Potter."

"I think I mentioned this last time, Inspector Robinson. Could you not call me by my last name?"

I tilted my chin up with my most defiant expression. Robinson raised an eyebrow in that ambiguous way that made it impossible to tell if he was listening or not—then proceeded to ignore my words entirely.

"This time, you will tell us everything you know about Alan Maxwell."

"After all that digging you did yesterday."

"And yet, it seems it wasn't quite enough."

His expression remained icy as the corner of his mouth lifted in sardonic amusement.

"I was under the impression that friends would do whatever it takes to avenge someone they've lost. But if you're the culprit, I suppose that attitude makes sense."

Just as I shuddered at his words, a bear emerged from the office—no, wait, Brian, who had spent the night on my sofa bed. He looked like he'd washed his face, but hadn't noticed the cowlick behind his right ear. With a tuft of dark hair sticking up, he shrugged at the intruders.

"Ease up, Sam. It's already working."

"Brian Darcy?" Robinson said, a note of inquiry in his voice—then nodded as if the name had clicked. "Ah, it is you. We've crossed paths a few times. Thank you for the information."

"You traitor."

Ignoring my resentful mutter, Brian—wearing the largest set of loungewear I owned—padded toward us like a big cat.

"So you're here in person—which means the police still haven't confirmed the victim was gay? I'd have thought that would've come out by now."

"This may sound like an excuse, but there was nothing to indicate the victim's sexual orientation. He hadn't told anyone, and he was seeing a woman—though it doesn't seem to have been serious."

"Oh yeah, he did mention he was dating girls too."

Robinson's sadistic gaze sliced through me for the slip, and he continued.

"Also, for some reason, his family has been uncooperative with the investigation."

"I heard his father was quite strict. Apparently, the victim was terrified of him."

"I'm sure he was."

Robinson let out a low chuckle, then abruptly stopped and fixed his gaze on Brian.

"…That information came from this guy?"

"Yes."

"I see."

Robinson's dark brown eyes looked down at me. His distinctly downturned eyes were unexpectedly almost cute—but not enough to dispel his intimidating aura.

"It seems there are still a few things to discuss with your friend, Brian."

"Hey, are you serious?!"

"Would you mind if I sat in?"

"Normally, no. But given the circumstances, it might actually—"

Just as I tried to squeeze a word in between the two of them, a soft yet sharp voice cut Robinson off.

"Sam."

I turned toward the voice. Detective Nguyen, who had been maintaining his silence, was looking up at Robinson with an unusually firm gaze. Robinson seemed to have anticipated the interruption. Without appearing particularly surprised, he turned only his head and met his subordinate's gaze over his shoulder.

"I know what you want to say. But I'm not about to go blabbing information to these two."

Nguyen answered with silence, his eyes never leaving his superior. Brian and I exchanged glances as Robinson leaned down and murmured something into Nguyen's ear. Nguyen murmured something back in protest, but eventually lowered his eyes with a resigned sigh.

"—If you say so."

Come on, push back a little more.

Before they could settle it between themselves, I hurriedly cut in.

"Hold on! I haven't agreed to an interview yet."

"Questioning."

"Right, that!"

I nodded, then desperately pleaded my case to the inspector, who was looking down at me with one eyebrow raised in a theatrical arch.

"Look, this is what Alan feared most. You understand, right? For him, having this come to light was more terrifying than death itself."

"I sympathize with the victim, but that's no reason to ease up on the investigation. I have no intention of letting the killer walk free."

"—What if I refuse to cooperate?"

Robinson's eyes glinted dangerously.

"Obstruction of justice—"

"Are you threatening me, you coward?" I cut in with a low groan. Come to think of it, I hadn't even finished my first cup of coffee yet.

"Fine, come in. We'll discuss whether I cooperate over coffee."

Robinson smiled sardonically, nodded with a somewhat affected air, and strode into my apartment without a shred of hesitation. He probably barged into people's homes like this all the time.

Already regretting my impulsive decision, I turned toward the kitchen. The two detectives settled onto the sofa and almost reflexively scanned the room. Nothing seemed to catch their attention. Nguyen turned his gaze back to me.

"Lucas. First, I'd like to ask you about Alan Maxwell again."

Apparently they'd switched players. I poured four cups of dark roast morning coffee, enlisted Brian's help to carry them, and sighed.

"...I think I've already told you most of it."

Grumbling, I set cups in front of each detective. Both stared at their coffee with somewhat bewildered expressions.

What were two detectives so surprised about? It was just coffee.

"They're just ordinary koala and kangaroo mugs. Do they look like crucial evidence or something?"

"No, I'm just surprised you possess the basic decency to offer hospitality."

"Okay, you don't get to drink that, Inspector."

Ignoring my disgruntled prohibition, Robinson raised the cup to his lips with infuriatingly elegant grace.

Beside him, Nguyen flashed me a smile before taking a sip. Both of their eyes widened in surprise.

"This is unexpectedly delicious."

"Right?—And just so you know, you're not getting any more, Inspector Robinson."

"No need to hold back, Potter. Where's the sugar?"

"I'd like to get back on track, Lucas. I've heard that Alan Maxwell was gay, and that you were someone he confided in. Is this true?"