"Ms. d'Armand?"
I blink, the harsh fluorescent light burning my eyes. It's a struggle to focus on the two men sitting across the table. One wears the crisp blue uniform of a police officer, the other the sleek black attire of the Supernatural Enforcement Division. Their faces swim in and out of focus, blurring into indistinct shapes.
"Y-yes?" My voice cracks, barely above a whisper. My throat feels raw, as if I've been screaming for hours. Have I? I can't remember. I feel like screaming. At the world. At the insanity of everything.
Scott's dead.
Dead-dead.
Like, really dead.
The cold metal of the chair seeps through my clothes, chilling me to the bone. I shiver, wrapping my arms around myself. The fabric of my shirt crinkles, stiff with dried blood. Scott's blood. My stomach lurches at the thought.
