The sky over Greyford was a dull sheet of winter gray when Amelia Reed pushed through the gates of Greyford Maximum Security Prison.
Cold wind bit her cheeks, but it was nothing compared to the chill settling in her stomach.
She had covered dangerous stories before—corrupt officials, dark money, missing people—but nothing like this.
This time… her interview was with a killer.
At least, that's what everyone said.
A guard led her down a narrow hallway. The lights above flickered, buzzing faintly, and the sound of heavy doors clanking shut echoed like distant thunder. Amelia tried to breathe normally, but every step intensified the tension in her chest.
She hated confined spaces.
She hated the feeling of being trapped.
And prisons were the worst.
"Room 7," the guard said, stopping in front of a steel door.
"Don't get too close. He's dangerous."
Amelia swallowed but kept her voice firm.
"I'll be fine."
The door opened with a metallic groan.
Inside, the interrogation room was small and sterile.
A single table. Two chairs. One camera in the corner blinking red.
Amelia set her notebook on the table, her fingers slightly trembling. She inhaled deeply.
Moments later, footsteps approached.
Then he appeared.
Ethan Hale.
The man whose face had been on every screen for weeks.
The man accused of assassinating a high-ranking official.
Handcuffs on his wrists.
Shackles on his ankles.
A guard behind him, gripping his shoulder.
But what struck Amelia wasn't the chains.
It was his eyes.
Dark.
Observant.
Too calm for someone with a death sentence awaiting him.
He sat opposite her, chains clinking softly.
The room suddenly felt smaller.
Amelia flipped open her notebook.
Her voice came out steadier than she felt.
"Ethan Hale, age thirty-two. Accused of murdering Minister Rowan Vale."
Ethan didn't blink.
"Accused," he repeated. "Not proven."
She ignored the comment.
"Why did you kill him?"
A slow, almost amused smile tugged at his lips.
"You're starting with that?"
"It's the question the world wants answered."
"No," he said quietly. "It's the question the police want you to ask."
Amelia hesitated, pen hovering above the page.
Ethan leaned forward, chains tightening around his wrists.
"Tell me, Miss Reed… do you always believe what you're told?"
Her heart gave a small, unwelcome jolt.
She wasn't used to suspects being this… aware.
This confident.
"I believe facts," she replied.
Ethan's eyes narrowed slightly.
"Then you should know that real facts don't look perfect.
But the evidence in my case?"
He shook his head slowly.
"Too perfect. Too convenient."
The guard shifted behind him, clearly uncomfortable.
Amelia glanced at the file she'd been given this morning.
Photos, timestamps, witness statements…
Everything was precise.
Too precise.
Her fingers tightened around her pen.
"Are you saying the evidence was planted?"
Ethan held her gaze.
"I'm saying someone wanted me here. And they're counting on journalists like you to make their lies sound true."
The words hit harder than she expected.
Her breath caught for half a second.
She wasn't sure why, but something inside her whispered that he was telling the truth.
He leaned back, chains rattling softly.
"You came for a story," he said. "But if you want the truth… really want it… I can give it to you."
Amelia felt her pulse quicken.
"And what would you need from me in return?" she asked cautiously.
Ethan's voice dropped to a calm, dangerous whisper.
"Get me out of here."
A heavy silence filled the room.
Amelia stared at him—at the man labeled a monster, yet looking at her with steady, almost pleading eyes.
Something was wrong with this case.
She could feel it.
And for the first time since stepping into the prison…
she wasn't sure she was the one in control anymore.