The Hunter’s Perspective

The screen cast a dim glow across the room, its flickering light the only movement in the otherwise still space. The video played in crisp resolution, the audio sharp and clear.

Vivian Jiang sat in the interrogation room, hands folded neatly in her lap, posture measured but not rigid. Her long, dark hair framed her face, strands tucked behind one ear. She was small, delicate in build, but that wasn’t what caught his attention.

It was her eyes.

They weren’t meek, weren’t unfocused or drifting with fatigue. They were sharp. Watchful.

She was afraid, but not the way most people would be. Not the kind of fear that sent people into frantic rambling or wide-eyed panic.

She was containing it.

That was what interested him.

She hadn’t frozen in front of Mercer. She hadn’t stammered or panicked. She had walked in prepared, her words chosen carefully, her body language controlled.

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But she wasn’t lying outright.

Not in a way that mattered.

His fingers tapped idly against the desk, a slow, steady rhythm.

She had seen something that night.

How much? That was the question.

Did she see Vince die?

Did she see the real killer?

Did she see more than she was supposed to?

Or had she just gotten too close to the aftermath?

His eyes flicked across the screen, studying the tension in her shoulders, the subtle way her fingers curled against the hem of her sweater.

She was grieving. That much was real. She had watched something. She had heard something. She wasn’t just afraid of the police. She was afraid of what came next.

That made her a problem.

Not an immediate one.

But a problem nonetheless.

He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting against the desk as he watched the moment Mercer asked about Serena.

Vivian wasn’t expecting it.

The way her fingers twitched, the way her lips parted just slightly before she caught herself—it was the first real break in her composure.

She hadn’t considered that the police might suspect Serena.

Which meant she hadn’t considered Serena at all.

That was interesting.

Vivian knew something had happened to her cousin. She was worried. Maybe even terrified. But she had never once let it cross her mind that Serena might have been involved in Vince’s death.

That told him something valuable.

She wasn’t looking in the right direction.

He watched as the interview ended, as she stood, as she walked out of the room carrying the weight of everything she wasn’t saying.

The screen flickered off, leaving him in the dark.

His fingers drummed against the desk once, twice, before going still.

For now, she didn’t know enough.

But if she kept looking—

If she kept asking questions—

That might change.