A bright light suddenly flooded over me, making me squint and blink a few times to adjust. The glare was so intense that I couldn't see anything at first. But after a few moments, my vision cleared, and I took in everything around me.

I found myself in what looked like an interrogation room. The walls were plain white. I was seated on a hard wooden chair, and in front of me was a metal table. Directly opposite me was a black-tinted window.

I couldn't see through that dark glass, but I was pretty sure people were watching me from the other side. I've seen setups like this a hundred times in movies and TV shows, so I had a fair idea of how this was going to play out.

Metal cuffs bound my hands. I waited for someone to walk through the door. Five minutes passed. Then ten. Then fifteen. Eventually, I got restless. I stood up and started pacing around.

Sitting in an interrogation room at a police station was something I never imagined I'd experience. But life has a funny way of throwing curveballs, and these past few days had been full of them.

Then the door swung open. A man walked in wearing a blue blazer, white shirt, black tie, and dark blue jeans. "Sit down, Mr. Osman," he ordered.

I dropped into the chair, and he slammed some papers onto the metal table. He pulled a chair from the corner—I hadn't even noticed it before. The scraping noise as he dragged it over really got on my nerves.

"Do you know why you're here, Mr. Osman?" he asked.

I pretended to be clueless. "No idea," I replied.

He locked eyes with me. They were cold, his face showing nothing but deadly seriousness. "You're here," he said, pulling out his phone and playing a video of me plunging a knife into the thug's throat, "because of this. You killed a man."

"I was defending my boss and his property. They were attacked—" I started to explain.

"Your boss... You don't have a boss, Mr. Osman," he cut me off.

"What? How is that possible? I have a boss. I've been working for a man named Mr. Mann. I was defending his property because he was attacked," I insisted.

"Ah, you mean Amrinder Singh Mann. Well, Mr. Osman, it seems Mr. Mann has denied knowing you. He said—and I quote—you walked into the store and randomly attacked two individuals, and then the fight escalated outside where you eventually murdered one of them."

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

No way. Mr. Mann just threw me under the bus. After all the work I've done for him—the long hours, the sacrifices, risking my life to save him—and he repays me by stabbing me in the back? Why would he do this? I saved him. I thought we were on the same side. Why betray me now?

"Okay, things have taken a drastic turn," Bagley said.

"Yeah, no kidding," I muttered under my breath. I saved my boss, and now he's turned against me. They're going to frame me for murder.

"So, it seems you're in a tight spot, Mr. Osman," the man continued. "There's a witness statement against you claiming you started the fight and escalated it. Even though the thug you killed used a knife, it can be argued he acted in self-defense, trying to protect himself from you."

Crap. I was cornered. I didn't know what Mr. Mann was playing at, putting all the blame on me. But this felt planned, like he set me up from the start. Looks like I'm the fall guy for this murder.

I looked at his name tag—it said Donald Blake. Maybe if I appealed to his humanity, he'd understand. My heart was pounding. "Please, Mr. Blake, you have to believe me," I pleaded. "I'm innocent. I don't know why Mr. Mann is doing this to me, but he's throwing me under the bus for something I did in self-defense. I tried to save him, and now I'm in this mess. This isn't fair. You have to help me."

To my surprise, Blake leaned in and whispered, "Mr. Osman, I want to believe you, I really do. But all the witness statements are against you—even the bystanders say you started the fight. There's no footage to back up your story; someone erased Mr. Mann's camera feed. And while that's suspicious and needs investigating, the fact remains—you've got someone else's blood on your hands. Even if we consider you acted in self-defense, your response wasn't proportional to the threat. If not murder, then manslaughter, and that could land you anywhere from one to eighteen years in prison." He paused, watching my reaction closely.

I swallowed hard, feeling a knot tighten in my stomach. Panic was setting in, and my mind raced. There was no hope left. Only one thing came to mind. "I want a lawyer. I'll only talk to my lawyer," I said firmly, trying to steady my voice despite the trembling.

Bagley appeared next to me—comforting yet unsettling, as always. He nodded approvingly. "Smart move," he said. "I'm not sure how things work in your societies, but getting a lawyer is the best step when dealing with law enforcement—should've been your first words, really." He gave me a small, encouraging smile, which eased my nerves just a bit.

Blake sighed, rubbing his temples as if he had a headache. "A lawyer is on her way," he said, sounding a bit weary. "We'll look into the missing footage and try to get to the bottom of this mess. But in the meantime, you'll face the judge, and he'll decide your fate. If you come clean now, maybe we can reduce your sentence, whatever it ends up being. Think about it."

"Or you could kill him and get out of here," Bagley suggested casually, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. His eyes twinkled mischievously.

No way. Being charged with killing a criminal is one thing, but a cop? My life in prison would be hell. They protect their own fiercely, and if I kill one of them, I'd be signing my own death sentence behind bars. I wasn't about to make things worse. I shot Bagley a warning glance.

Just then, the door swung open, and a woman walked in with confident strides. She was slim, with brown hair pulled back into a neat bun, wearing a sharp silver suit that looked expensive. She carried herself with an air of authority. She slammed some files onto the table, making both Blake and me jump a little. "I'll take it from here, Officer Blake. I'm Mr. Osman's lawyer," she declared firmly, her gaze steady.