A chill crept down Esme's spine, sharp and unexpected, as if the room itself had turned against her. Her eyes snapped to Katrina, whose smirk—a subtle twist of her lips—felt like a slap in the face.
Esme's face hardened, her warmth retreating into an icy facade. "Officer," she said, her voice steady but laced with a frost that could cut through stone. "If your investigation is finished, I believe you can see yourself out."
Katrina's smirk didn't falter. If anything, it deepened, curling into something almost triumphant. The audacity of it—bold, unrelenting—was a spark thrown into dry tinder.
