"Look, I’m not saying it again—I didn’t do it," Ethan said, leaning back in the metal chair, his hands cuffed to the table. His voice was calm, but his jaw tightened as he glanced at the one-way mirror. Across from him, Inspector Ivy Cross sat with her arms crossed, her sharp green eyes locked on him. She tilted her head slightly, her dark ponytail brushing her shoulder.

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a harsh glow on the small, windowless room. Ivy’s fitted blazer hugged her frame, the fabric stretching slightly as she shifted in her seat. Her lips, painted a muted red, curved into a faint smirk. She’d known Ethan for years—not personally, but through his file. He was a regular in the system, always skirting the line but never quite crossing it. Until now.

"You’ve got a habit of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, Ethan," Ivy said, sliding a photo across the table. It was grainy, but unmistakable—him, standing outside the bank just before the robbery. "Care to explain?" Ethan’s eyes flicked to the photo, then back to her. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, the door creaked open behind her. Ivy didn’t turn, but her smirk widened. "Looks like we’ve got company."