A few moments ago...
Marshal sat in the dimly lit interrogation room, her hands trembling slightly as they rested on the cold, metal table.
The fluorescent light above buzzed faintly, and the walls felt like they were closing in, painted in a shade of institutional gray that screamed confinement. Across from her sat Detective Carter, a wiry man with sharp, calculating eyes that seemed to cut through the silence like a scalpel.
"Marshal Hayden," Carter began, his voice calm but with an edge of authority, "thank you for coming in. I'm sure you understand the seriousness of this situation."
Marshal swallowed hard and nodded. Her throat felt dry, as though the weight of the accusation lingered there.
Carter leaned forward, folding his hands on the table. "We're investigating the death of your roommate, Micha Kornet. She was found in your shared apartment, stabbed multiple times. A violent and personal attack. I need to ask you a few questions to clarify the events leading up to her death."
Marshal clenched her jaw, biting back the rising tide of emotions that threatened to spill out. Micha was—had been—her friend. Her confidant, even though not close. Until last night, when everything had shattered.
"You argued with Micha," Carter continued, pulling a notebook from his jacket pocket and flipping it open. "Witnesses reported shouting coming from your apartment a few days ago. Want to tell me what that was about?"
Marshal exhaled sharply, her voice trembling but firm. "We argued because I found out she'd been sleeping with my boyfriend. For over a year." Her words hung in the air like a blade.
Carter arched an eyebrow but didn't interrupt.
"She admitted it," Marshal continued, her voice breaking slightly. "I…I didn't even know what to say. I was so angry, but I didn't—" She stopped, her breath hitching. "I didn't kill her."
Carter nodded slowly, scribbling in his notebook. "So you're admitting to the argument. What happened after that?"
Marshal closed her eyes, replaying the night in her mind. "I left. I needed to get out of there, clear my head. I walked around the block for maybe thirty minutes, and when I came back, the apartment was…quiet."
"And Micha?" Carter prompted.
"She was not in her room," Marshal said, her voice barely above a whisper. "The door was closed. I assumed she went to bed or perhaps left. I didn't check."
Carter studied her for a moment, his gaze unrelenting. "Marshal, do you own a knife set?"
"Yes," she admitted, panic prickling at the back of her neck. "It's in the kitchen. But I didn't touch it. I swear."
Carter tapped his pen against the notebook. "Forensics found a knife from your set at the scene. It was the murder weapon."
Marshal's stomach dropped. "I don't know how… I didn't touch it. Someone else—someone must have—"
"Do you have any idea who might have wanted to harm Micha?" Carter asked, cutting her off.
Marshal's mind raced. Micha had been charming, magnetic, and occasionally reckless. She had enemies, sure—but who would go so far as to kill her? And why frame Marshal?
"I don't know," she murmured, tears welling in her eyes. "I don't know."
Carter's gaze softened for a moment, but only briefly.
"You had motive, Marshal. You were hurt, betrayed, and angry. That's not an accusation—it's human. But I need the truth. The whole truth."
Marshal leaned forward, her voice shaking but resolute. "I didn't kill her. I wanted answers. I wanted to scream at her, yes. But I would never—" She broke off, her hands clenching into fists.
Carter nodded again, standing and gathering his notes. "We'll be looking into your alibi and examining all the evidence. In the meantime, don't leave town. And don't switch off your phone again, it makes things worse on your end."
As the door closed behind him, Marshal slumped in her chair, her mind spinning. Micha was dead, and someone wanted her to take the fall.
And whoever it was, they were still out there.
***********************************************
The heavy door of the interrogation room clicked shut behind Marshal, the sound reverberating through her chest. She paused, breathing deeply, trying to compose herself. Her hands still trembled, the weight of Detective Carter's questions pressing heavily on her shoulders. But she couldn't stay here any longer.
Walking down the cold, sterile hallway, her mind raced with fragments of that night—Micha's voice shouting, the betrayal, the unbearable silence when she returned to the apartment.
She hadn't even had time to grieve, to process, before the police had shown up. And now? Now, she was a suspect in her roommate's murder.
She rounded the corner into the waiting area, and there they were: Alison, James, Kyro, and Amber. Micha's closest friends. The ones who had always circled her like planets around a star. They were a tight-knit group, and Marshal had only ever been on the periphery, connected to Micha but never fully accepted.
Four pairs of eyes snapped to her the moment she appeared, and she immediately felt the tension radiating from them. Alison, with her perfectly styled auburn hair, crossed her arms tightly over her chest, her jaw set in a hard line. James stood with his hands shoved into his pockets, his usually easygoing expression replaced by one of quiet anger. Kyro leaned against the wall, his dark eyes narrowing as they locked onto her. Amber, who normally avoided confrontation, was visibly shaking, tears streaming down her face.
Marshal stopped short, her stomach twisting.
"You," Alison hissed, stepping forward. Her voice was sharp enough to cut glass. "What did they ask you? Are you finally admitting it?"
"Admitting what?" Marshal replied, her voice weaker than she intended.
"That you killed her!" Alison's words came out like venom, her eyes blazing. "You had every reason to, didn't you? Micha told me about your fight last week. She was scared of you."
Marshal's heart sank. "Scared of me? She's the one who betrayed me! I had every right to be angry, but I didn't—"
"You didn't what?" James interrupted, his voice low and dangerous. "Didn't stab her? Didn't leave her to bleed out in her own room? Because that's what happened, Marshal. And you're the one who had the most reason to do it."
Tears pricked Marshal's eyes, but she refused to let them fall. "I didn't kill her," she said firmly, though her voice shook. "Yes, we argued. Yes, I was furious. But I left. I walked around the block. By the time I got back, she was already…" She trailed off, unable to say the word.
Kyro scoffed, pushing off the wall. "Convenient, isn't it? You leave, and then Micha just happens to end up dead. Stabbed. With a knife from your kitchen."
"Kyro," Amber whispered, her voice trembling. "Maybe we don't have the whole story. We should—"
"No, Amber," Kyro snapped. "The whole story is right here. Marshal found out Micha was sleeping with her boyfriend, lost it, and killed her. It's obvious."
Marshal's hands curled into fists at her sides. "You think I'm a monster? You think I'd kill the person I lived with, who I cared about, even after what she did?"
"You cared about her?" Alison spat, her voice rising. "You hated her. She told me how jealous you were, how you always felt like you weren't good enough because she had everything you didn't."
Marshal recoiled as if she'd been slapped. "Jealous? Of her lies? Of her betrayal? I wasn't jealous, Alison. I was hurt. And now she's gone, and I don't even know how to feel about it because you're all too busy blaming me to even consider the possibility that someone else did this!"
The room fell silent for a moment, the weight of her words settling over them like a heavy fog.
Amber finally spoke, her voice barely audible. "If you didn't do it… then who did?"
Marshal shook her head, tears threatening to spill over. "I don't know. But I'm going to find out."
She turned and walked away, her head held high despite the storm raging inside her. Behind her, the group remained silent, their accusing eyes burning into her back.
Marshal didn't know who had killed Micha. But one thing was clear: she was on her own.