Yuris POV ✿✿✿✿
The room was too quiet.
Not empty.
Just… controlled.
I sat across from her, hands resting loosely against the table, posture relaxed—like this was just another routine conversation.
Like I wasn't the one holding the advantage.
Jay didn't sit right away.
She closed the door first.
Checked the glass.
Made sure no one was watching.
Careful.
Always careful.
Then she took the seat across from me, file already in hand.
Professional.
Composed.
Trying.
"Let's keep this simple," she said. "I just need to clarify a few things from your earlier statement."
Her voice was steady.
Almost perfectly.
If I didn't know better, I might've believed it.
"Of course," I replied.
A small pause.
She flipped the file open.
"Between 9:20 and 9:30—"
"You know."
I didn't raise my voice.
Didn't interrupt harshly.
I just said it.
And that was enough.
She stopped.
Mid-sentence.
The shift was immediate.
Subtle.
But there.
Her fingers stilled against the paper.
Her eyes lifted slowly to meet mine.
"…Know what?" she asked.
Careful.
Too careful.
A small smile formed—not mocking, not amused.
Just… certain.
"You're good," I said quietly. "I'll give you that."
Silence.
I tilted my head slightly, studying her.
"But not that good."
She didn't respond.
Didn't move.
But I could see it now.
Clear as anything.
That tension sitting just beneath the surface.
That awareness.
That fear she was trying so hard not to show.
"You figured it out," I continued.
Not a question.
A statement.
Her jaw tightened.
Barely.
But enough.
"…I don't know what you're talking about," she said.
Still trying.
Still holding the line.
I let out a soft breath.
Not quite a laugh.
"You don't have to do that with me."
I reached into my pocket, pulling out my phone.
That was when she moved.
Not away.
Not yet.
But her posture shifted—alert now.
Focused.
Good.
She should be.
I unlocked the screen and turned it toward her.
Didn't rush.
Didn't explain.
Just let her see.
The room.
Her room.
Familiar.
Private.
And then—
Her.
Standing there.
Still.
Thinking.
And then the moment.
The exact moment.
"It's him."
Silence.
Complete.
Total.
Her expression didn't break immediately.
She tried.
I'll give her that.
But the color drained just slightly from her face, and her eyes—
They gave it away.
Recognition.
Shock.
And something worse.
Understanding.
I lowered the phone slowly.
"Now," I said softly, "we can stop pretending."
"…How did you get that?" she asked.
Not loud.
Not panicked.
But tighter than before.
Controlled damage.
Impressive.
"That's not the important part," I replied.
And it wasn't.
Not really.
"What matters," I continued, leaning forward slightly, "is that you know."
A pause.
"And now I know that you know."
Her fingers curled slightly against the table.
Not shaking.
But close.
"And if I know," I added, "it's only a matter of time before someone else does."
I let that sit.
Let it sink in.
Let her think.
"You're crossing a line," she said.
There it was.
Not fear.
Not yet.
Authority.
I smiled faintly.
"Am I?"
"Yes," she said, sharper now. "This—whatever this is—it's illegal."
"And accusing the wrong person of murder isn't?" I asked calmly.
That hit.
I saw it.
The hesitation.
The calculation.
"I'm not accusing anyone," she said.
Lie.
We both knew it.
"Not out loud," I agreed. "Not yet."
I leaned back again, giving her space.
Not physically.
Just enough to make it feel like she had a choice.
Even though she didn't.
"You're in a difficult position, detective."
Her gaze locked onto mine.
Cold now.
Focused.
"Say what you want to say."
Straight to it.
Good.
I respected that.
"If you move forward with this," I said, "if you push this case in that direction—"
I lifted the phone slightly.
"—this goes public."
Silence.
Heavy.
Final.
"A detective," I continued, voice even, "compromised. Speaking about an active case. Alone. Off record."
A small tilt of my head.
"You know how that looks."
Her breathing slowed.
Not faster.
Slower.
Thinking.
Always thinking.
"You'd destroy your own credibility," I added. "Your career."
A beat.
"Your case."
She didn't respond.
Because she couldn't.
Because she understood.
"And him?" she asked finally.
Quiet.
Careful.
My expression didn't change.
"What about him?"
"You're protecting him."
Not a question.
A pause.
Small.
Measured.
Then—
"I'm maintaining balance," I said.
Not a lie.
Not entirely.
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
She didn't believe me.
That was fine.
She didn't need to.
"So that's it?" she said. "You expect me to just—what—drop it?"
I held her gaze.
"No," I said.
"Just… be careful with what you choose."
Silence stretched between us again.
But this time—
It was different.
Because now she knew.
Not just the truth about Keifer.
But the truth about me.
And more importantly—
She understood exactly what this meant.
A choice.
Not between right and wrong.
Not between truth and lies.
But between two things that couldn't exist at the same time.
Her job.
Or him.
And for the first time since she walked into the room—
Jay didn't look like she had control anymore.
Good.
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