The interview room was small and sterile, the overhead light casting sharp shadows against the gray walls. The chair beneath her was hard, the air slightly stale, carrying the faint scent of old coffee and industrial-grade cleaning supplies.

Vivian sat with her hands folded in her lap, her posture relaxed but not too relaxed. She knew how to look natural without looking like she was trying to.

Serena had taught her that.

“If you ever need to lie, don’t make it perfect.”

“A lie that’s too clean, too rehearsed, makes people suspicious.”

“Scatter the truth in with it. Let them believe they’re pulling it out of you.”

Across from her, Detective Ryan Mercer flipped through a thin file, scanning the pages without urgency. He wasn’t in a rush. His movements were steady, deliberate, like he had done this a hundred times before and knew exactly when to push and when to wait. His rolled-up sleeves revealed tanned forearms, the kind earned from working outside, not from leisure. His brown hair was beginning to gray at the temples, his jawline rough with the shadow of a five o’clock beard. He looked like the kind of man who had heard every excuse before and was waiting to hear hers.

Vivian kept her breathing steady.

She wasn’t here to prove her innocence.

She was here to make sure they didn’t look any closer.

Mercer set the file down and leaned back in his chair. “Thanks for coming in, Miss Jiang. I know this must be a difficult time.”

She nodded, small and measured. A polite acknowledgment.

Mercer placed his hands flat on the table, his fingers thick, his knuckles slightly rough. “I just need you to walk me through everything. Start from the beginning. When was the last time you spoke to Vincent Ma?”

She inhaled slowly, careful to control the breath before answering.

“He called me yesterday afternoon,” she said. “I was on campus.”

Mercer nodded slightly, his gaze steady. “Did he say what he was calling about?”

Vivian curled her fingers against her jeans, not too tight, just enough to sell the hesitation. She needed to look like she was holding something back naturally, not like she was crafting a story.

“He was worried about Serena,” she admitted. “He thought something happened to her.”

Mercer studied her, his expression unreadable. “Did he say why he thought that?”

Vivian swallowed, allowing her voice to dip just slightly, enough to sound hesitant. “Not exactly. Just that she had been missing. That he hadn’t heard from her.”

Mercer gave a slow nod, watching her carefully.

“And that was unusual?”

“Yes.” She let out a quiet breath, letting the emotion bleed through in the right way. “They talked all the time.”

Mercer glanced down at his notes, tapping his pen lightly against the file. “Did he seem upset?”

Vivian hesitated—just long enough for it to look natural.

“Yes,” she admitted. “More than usual.”

Mercer’s eyes flicked back to her. “More than usual?”

Vivian felt her stomach twist, but she didn’t let it show.

“I mean, he drank a lot,” she said carefully. “That wasn’t new. But this time… it felt different. Like he knew something bad had already happened.”

Mercer scribbled something down, then looked up again. “What exactly did he say?”

Vivian curled her fingers against her lap, not too tight, not too loose.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

“He kept saying he should have done more,” she murmured. “That he should have protected Serena.”

Mercer’s pen stilled.

He didn’t look up right away. He let the words sit between them, let the silence stretch.

Then, finally, he asked, “Protected her from what?”

Vivian froze for half a second—then caught herself.

She hadn’t expected that question.

She forced herself to recover quickly, to make the pause look like uncertainty, not like a mistake.

“I don’t know,” she said, letting the words come out slowly, like she was choosing them carefully. “He wouldn’t tell me. He just kept saying it over and over.”

Mercer studied her, his eyes sharper now, like he had just caught onto something he hadn’t expected. “You didn’t ask?”

Vivian blinked. “Of course I did.”

Mercer’s head tilted slightly. “And what did he say?”

“He wouldn’t tell me,” she repeated, a little firmer this time. “I thought he was just drunk.”

Mercer tapped his pen against the table, thoughtful. “So he was drinking?”

Vivian nodded. “More than usual.”

“And you were worried?”

“Yes.”

“Enough to go see him?”

“Yes.”

Mercer nodded again, as if satisfied. But he wasn’t moving on. Not yet.

He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table. “Tell me exactly what happened when you got there.”

Vivian swallowed hard.

This was the part that mattered most.

She had to get it right.

Vivian forced herself to take a steady breath. This was the most important part. She couldn’t rush it. She couldn’t hesitate too much either. She had to get it just right.

“I got to Silver Key around four-thirty,” she said, keeping her tone neutral. “I went straight there from campus.”

Mercer nodded slightly, not writing anything down, just watching her. He already had the timeline. He was checking for inconsistencies.

“What happened when you arrived?”

Vivian let her fingers tighten slightly around the hem of her sweater, a small, nervous habit she didn’t have to fake.

“I went inside,” she said. “He was already drinking when I got there.”

Mercer gave another slow nod. “How drunk was he?”

Vivian hesitated, just enough to look like she was searching for the right words, not constructing a narrative.

“Bad,” she admitted. “More than I’d ever seen him before.”

Mercer’s pen scratched against his notepad. “And what did you talk about?”

Vivian curled her fingers tighter against the fabric of her jeans.

“I tried to calm him down,” she said. “Tried to get him to eat something. But he wasn’t listening. He just kept talking about Serena. Kept saying he should have done more.”

Mercer’s gaze sharpened. “Did he say what he meant by that?”

Vivian shook her head. “Not really. He just kept repeating it.”

Mercer tapped his pen once against the desk. “Did he seem afraid?”

Vivian let herself hesitate, just a little.

“Yes,” she said.

Mercer’s jaw shifted slightly, like he was fitting pieces together in real-time. “And did he say he was afraid of something specific?”

Vivian shook her head again. “No. He was just… spiraling. He wasn’t making sense.”

Mercer leaned back slightly, studying her. “How long did you stay?”

Vivian already knew the answer she needed to give.

“I left around six.”

She forced herself to breathe, to stay casual, to make it sound unimportant.

“He was alive when I left.”

Mercer nodded, finally writing something down.

Vivian knew that was the last question about her timeline.

But the next question wasn’t going to be about her.

She felt it before he spoke.

“Did Vince ever tell you he was worried about your cousin?”

Her breath stilled.

She had expected this. She had prepared for it.

She forced herself to nod slowly. “Yeah. He thought something happened to her.”

Mercer’s gaze remained steady.

He wasn’t done.

“Did you ever get the feeling that Serena was dangerous?”

Vivian could feel her heartbeat in her throat, a steady, pulsing weight pressing against her ribs. She had known they would ask about Serena. She had prepared for it. But not like this.

She swallowed, forcing herself to keep her voice even. “Dangerous?”

Mercer nodded, his gaze steady. “To Vince.”

Vivian’s grip on her sweater tightened. “No,” she said, too sharply, but she didn’t try to soften it. “Serena would never hurt him.”

Mercer didn’t react right away. He just watched her.

Vivian’s pulse hammered.

Why would he ask that?

What reason would the police have to think Serena was a threat to Vince?

Vince had been afraid for her, not of her. He had called her, not the police. He had been drunk and spiraling, saying that he should have done more.

None of that suggested Serena was dangerous.

So why did they think it?

Had they found something?

Had they heard something?

Had someone told them?

She forced herself to take a slow breath, not trusting herself to speak.

Mercer watched her a moment longer, his expression unreadable. Then he leaned back in his chair, flipping his notebook shut. “That’s all for now.”

Vivian barely hesitated before asking, “Are you looking for her?”

Mercer raised an eyebrow. “Serena?”

Vivian nodded. “She’s missing. Vince was worried about her before he—” She caught herself, pulse spiking, her stomach turning. “Before he was killed.”

Mercer didn’t answer immediately. He studied her, his fingers tapping lightly against the closed file on the table. “We’re gathering information.”

That wasn’t a yes.

Vivian’s stomach twisted.

If the police thought Serena had hurt Vince, were they even looking for her?

Or were they looking for her as a suspect?

She forced herself to keep her expression neutral, even as her breath felt tight in her chest.

Mercer glanced toward the door. “Thank you for your time, Miss Jiang.”

Vivian gave a short nod and stood, gripping the strap of her bag too tightly as she walked to the door.

She didn’t rush.

She didn’t hesitate.

She just moved.

The moment she stepped into the hallway, the air felt different. Lighter. But not in a way that was comforting.

It was just an illusion.

Because nothing about this was over.