The faint buzz of the ceiling light filled the interrogation room.
Lucien leaned forward from the other side of the table, fingers laced together, his expression unreadable. The man across from him shifted nervously, clearly not expecting to be caught.
"You were seen leaving the scene at exactly 10:30 a.m., just two minutes before the fire broke out," Lucien said sternly.
The man swallowed hard. The fire had claimed the lives of two couples, yet he continued to deny any involvement.
"I have nothing else to say. I demand to see a lawyer," the man said, his voice trembling.
Lucien tilted his head slightly, blue eyes piercing as they stared into the man's face. He looked ready to snap, though he didn't understand why this case made him so angry. He had handled criminals before, yet something about this one stirred a fury he couldn't ignore.
He straightened up, grabbed the folder from the table, and walked out of the room before he could lose control.
Outside, a junior officer approached him.
"Detective Calderwood," the officer called respectfully.
"Yes?" Lucien asked, stopping in his tracks.
"There's a young lady at the front desk asking to see you," the officer said quietly.
Lucien frowned slightly. Who could it be? Mitchell sometimes visited, but she always called first.
"Did she give her name?" he asked, brow furrowed.
"She refused," the officer said with mild annoyance. "But she's in a wheelchair," he added softly, like a hiss.
Lucien paused for half a second. His mind drifted to the young woman in the wheelchair he had met earlier that day. Could it be her?
"Alright," he said, and moved toward the front desk with fast, steady steps.
At the front desk, Elowen sat nervously, fingers flicking. Her face was slightly swollen, and her eyes red from crying. She hadn't imagined she would come to a police station to see the man who had saved her earlier that day—Detective Lucien Calderwood. Yet his name had appeared in her mind ever since she left the psychiatric hospital.
"Who did you say would pay me?" an older man snapped angrily at her side. "Where is this person?"
Elowen flinched at his tone, her heart pounding.
"I'm sorry, sir. Please wait a little," she said softly.
The man was the cab driver who had brought her to the station, thinking she would borrow money from Lucien to pay him. She would have transferred the money if she had her phone, but she didn't. Twenty minutes had passed, and Lucien still hadn't appeared. The man was growing impatient.
"I've wasted enough time already," the cab driver said, glaring at her.
"Lower your voice, sir. You're in a police station," a calm voice interrupted.
They both looked up. Lucien was walking toward them, eyes already fixed on Elowen.
"Is he the one?" the cab driver asked her immediately.
Elowen nodded, looking down in embarrassment. She couldn't meet Lucien's eyes.
"This young lady said you would pay for her cab," the driver told Lucien. "Please pay me. I need to get back to work."
Lucien was silent for a moment, studying her quietly. Then he took a deep breath, pulled cash from his pocket, and paid the man.
Before the driver left, he warned her in a firm tone.
"Next time, don't get into a cab if you don't have money."
The cab left, leaving them in silence.
Lucien turned to her, displeasure clear on his face.
"What is this about?" he asked. He couldn't understand why she was there or why she had made him pay her fare. He had only instinctively saved her from falling earlier.
Though, for a brief moment when she had looked at him, one thought had flashed across his mind: beautiful.
Did she mistake his kindness for something else, or did she have another motive?
"I'm sorry for coming here," Elowen whispered, her fingers flicking nervously. "I didn't know what else to do."
Lucien noticed she wasn't finished. He raised his brow, waiting.
"Please, I need your help," she said quietly looking at her fingers.
"With what?" Lucien asked calmly, his brow still raised.
"Can I stay at your place?" she said in a cracked voice, the words heavy and difficult to speak.