The room was small, gray, and smelled of old paper and something else that couldn't be described. Evelin Pembroke sat on a hard, unforgiving wooden chair, her hands clutching the fabric of her dress so tightly her knuckles were white. Across the heavy, eye catching desk sat a man with a serous grim face and eyes that seemed to see right through her. This was Inspector Thaddeus Wimbly, the head of the criminal and justice division for the entire kingdom, a man whose name was whispered with a mixture of respect and terror in the city's back alleys and grand drawing rooms alike.
"What do you think I did?" Evelin asked, her voice a little too high, a little too shaky. "Do you have any proof to back up your claims? You cannot just summon a lady of a noble house without any evidence."
