After only a split second, Cassandra's high-alert survival instinct melted away, replaced by a calm and relaxed demeanor. The transformation was unnerving—too seamless, too controlled. I crossed my arms, studying her closely. It was as if she had an internal switch for her emotions, flipping them on and off at her convenience—like a light bulb she could control with ease.
Most people couldn't fake that kind of composure, not with adrenaline pumping through their veins. It was either genuine calm or a performance so perfected it bordered on terrifying. The muscles in her face softened, her breathing steadied, and even her eyes seemed to lose the edge of panic they had moments ago.
I couldn't decide which was worse: the possibility that she could mask her fear so effortlessly, or the idea that fear had never truly been there to begin with. Either way, she wasn't just unpredictable—she was dangerous.
"The necklace?" I said, narrowing my eyes. "You seem to know a lot about it."
I felt the cigarette pack pressing against my pocket, the crinkle of its edges grounding me. I'd need it to steady myself—this wasn't going to be easy. Then again, with Cassandra, nothing ever was.
"A necklace?" she repeated, tilting her head just enough to seem playful, though the edge in her voice told a different story. "As cheap as that?"
I lit the cigarette, inhaling deeply. The familiar burn crept down my throat, dulling the nerves that had started to fray. Exhaling a slow plume of smoke, I met her gaze, unflinching. "Yes… unearthed from your backyard, carefully preserved," I said, letting a sly grin curl on my lips.
Her eyebrow arched slightly, but the rest of her expression remained composed. "Really? An oxidized necklace? How fascinating. A matter of interest indeed."
Her voice was smooth, but her eyes betrayed her. They flickered—not with fear, but with something close to recognition. The faintest crease formed between her brows before she erased it, replacing it with her usual mask of indifference.
In that moment, I knew. There was a connection between her and that necklace. Something she didn't want me to see.
"What does 'N' stand for?" I asked, cutting straight to the point. The inscribed letter had been gnawing at me since the moment I saw it.
"N…?" she repeated, her lips curling into an amused smirk. "'N' could stand for anything. N for Nicotine, for instance," she said, her tone teasing, her gaze unwavering.
"N for Narcissism," I shot back, my voice sharper now, refusing to let her derision derail me.
She didn't flinch. Instead, she took the jab as if it were a compliment, her smile deepening into something almost sinister. The hard, unyielding exterior of her gaze seemed to challenge me, daring me to take the next step.
The air between us was charged, the silence crackling louder than our words. She knew I couldn't play her game of deception as well as she could. She'd built her life on lies and manipulation, while I had only just begun to untangle her web.
Still, I wasn't backing down. Not now.
Cassandra leaned back slightly, her composure like a fortress, unshaken by my words. "N for Nameless?" she mused, her tone light, almost playful. The way she said it, like she wasn't taking any of this seriously, only fueled my frustration.
"N for Necrotic," I countered, my voice sharp. I wasn't going to let her steer this conversation, no matter how hard she tried.
Her lips curved into a chuckle, soft and maddeningly condescending. She wasn't just amused by the word—I could see it in her eyes. She was amused by me. Amused by my situation.
Cassandra was a woman capable of anything. That much was clear. And that included successfully taunting me, keeping me on edge with every word, every smirk, every calculated pause.
Her manipulative streak wasn't just a defense mechanism—it was a weapon. She wielded it masterfully, turning even the smallest exchange into an opportunity to unnerve and unbalance.
"You do beat around the bush a lot for the greatest genius eye doctor of all time, don't you?" I said, letting the sarcasm coat my words. My gaze was steady, locked onto hers like a challenge.
She crossed her arms with deliberate ease, leaning back against the chair as though she were settling into a casual conversation. Her smirk was faint but sharp, her tone laced with mock boredom. "Yes, well, maybe my specialty—and this lovely little jail—have been boring me to tears. I was just adding a little spice to my dull life."
I inhaled slowly, my jaw tightening. "You did that by ending the lives of a lot of innocent people. Your life seems to have been anything but boring." My voice was flat, my expression straight and stern, though my chest tightened at the sight of her unshaken composure.
Her smirk deepened, but her eyes—those dark, enigmatic eyes—narrowed slightly, as if she were calculating her next move. "Such accusations, Detective? Lorr?" she said, her voice dripping with faux innocence. "Accusing a damsel in distress in such a dire situation?"
I laughed then, a dry, humorless sound that cut through the tension. "Damsel in distress?" I repeated, leaning forward just enough to match the sharpness in her tone. "That's rich. What a joke."
Her smile faltered for a split second, just enough for me to catch it, before she recovered with a quiet chuckle. She tilted her head, watching me with an unnerving curiosity, like a predator sizing up its prey.
"You're quite the skeptic, aren't you, Detective?" she said softly. Her voice was calm, controlled, but there was a glint of something dangerous in her gaze—a flicker of amusement at how she could still toy with me, even in this setting.
"And you're quite the performer," I shot back, my tone cold. "But don't worry, Cassandra, the curtains are closing."
She arched a brow, her smirk returning in full force. "Curtains? My, my… so dramatic. Do you rehearse these lines in the mirror?"
The air between us thickened, the tension almost palpable. I could feel the heat of her scrutiny, her attempts to unnerve me with her charm and measured defiance. But I held my ground, refusing to let her rattle me.
"You can laugh all you want," I said evenly. "But we both know there's no encore for you."
Her smile faltered again, and this time, it lingered. The silence stretched, crackling with unspoken tension, as we stared each other down. She was good—too good—but I wasn't here to entertain her games.
"So, Cassandra," I began, leaning forward in my chair, the weight of her silence pressing down on me. "Why don't you give me a hint for this game?" I paused, letting the word game linger in the air, heavy with implication. "For this case."
I took another drag of my cigarette, the smoke curling between us like a physical barrier, offering a brief moment of reprieve.
Her lips curled slightly, but her eyes were cold, calculating. "N for nonsense," she said, her voice clipped, dismissive—almost too casual.
The words stung, as if she were already dismissing the whole thing, as if the case didn't matter to her at all. A simple taunt, but one that carried more weight than it seemed.
I exhaled slowly, the smoke escaping in thin trails as I considered her response. ""N for nervous, actually. That's what you look like when I mention the victims."
Her eyebrows arched in surprise, and for a moment, something flickered across her face—irritation, maybe, or even unease. But just as quickly, her expression shifted, lips twisting into a faint smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
"Nervous?" she echoed, her tone smooth but missing its usual sharpness. "Interesting choice of words, detective."
Still, her body betrayed her. A subtle tension crept into her jawline, and her fingers adjusted the edge of her sleeve, as though restless. She was trying to convince me the necklace had nothing to do with anything, but her reaction was telling.
I leaned back in my chair, the faintest smirk tugging at my lips. The necklace mattered. She had just proven it.