𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐘 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒

𝐒𝐈𝐗𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍

"I'M GOING TO GIVE YOU ONE LAST CHANCE to come clean!" Jonah barked, "Where were you on November 5th, at three thirty a.m.?"

This was going fucking nowhere.

Rueben pressed the bottom of his palms into his eyes, rubbing hard enough that a filter of stars greeted him around the edges of his vision. His mind, his guts, and his apathy had been attacked for the last three hours without pause—he was growing restless.

This interrogation exhausted him and drilled holes of relentless questions into his mind on a topic he was clearly uneducated on. And to make it worse, he knew he wasn't leaving until he said what they wanted to hear—admit to a crime he didn't commit.

The cuffs on his wrists burned as he yanked on them, desperate to be let free to stretch.

"I already told you I didn't do it. I was at the bar with Isaac and Mason that night. So no matter how many times you ask me, my story isn't going to change."

"You'll slip eventually," Jonah's second-in-command cooed.

Rueben shot his tired eyes over to her—with one leg on the table, a wrist supporting her leaning body weight, and hawk-like black eyes, she had done nothing but instigate. He could see from her posture alone that a raging superiority complex sat hidden underneath her tan complexion and egregious patchwork tattoos.

Her free hand twirled a piece of long grey hair—so long it reached her waist standing—and the action vaguely amused him. In a line of professionalism, he thought looking clean was important, but with an industrial, gauges and two slits in her brows, she was better off being a bartender.

Intimidation-wise, however, was a different story.

She might have been winning in the book.

"How about you answer my questions?" Rueben tested.

"No," she sneered.

"Why haven't you brought Isaac or Mason in for questioning to confirm my alibi? They followed us to the station when you arrested me, so I know it's not due to a lack of resources."

"Because your lackeys will do anything to save the poor, poor, heir," she mocked.

Rueben rolled his teeth over one another, clenching his jaw hard enough to swallow the insult that would dig him further into this grave. He knew she could see his pulse thrumming faster in his neck, and at the sight of her squirrely grin, he itched to do something just as dehumanizing to her.

"Auden, knock it off," Jonah spoke without looking at her.

She rolled her eyes, but stayed quiet.

"We haven't questioned them because we're not finished with you. We have every reason to believe you committed this crime. With the evidence we've gathered, we have a solid case against you. You're not getting out of this so easily, no matter what you're called. It's best if you just make this easy on everyone and confess. Save me a trial."

Rueben merely looked at him without expression. He could argue his point. He could scream until they listened. He could smash and break everything in this room. But he was so beat. He had no energy left to get upset.

Hearing Jonah refer to his sister's death as a trial drained every bit of will left inside.

Rueben hadn't been given even a second to process and grieve over this sudden loss before they swarmed his house and took him downtown for questioning. And on top of it all, he was drowning. Not in a vat of water—not in sadness—but in disappointment.

He was an utter waste of space—he couldn't save the one person that mattered most to him.

The sister he loved—the one he adored beyond all measures—practically the female version of himself—was gone forever. He would never see her smile, hear her laugh, or meet her kids. And he couldn't help but feel like it was all his fault. If only he hadn't paused his search. If only he'd been more thorough.

Then maybe Lilly would still be alive.

The burn of his wrists became incomparable to the burn in his eyes as he rested his forehead against the cold metal slat. The difference in temperate did its best to soothe him, but nothing could mend his broken body—nothing except Lilly.

I'm sorry, Lil.

I failed you.

"Rueben?" Jonah reeled him back in.

He inhaled through his nose, wiped the single tear that escaped his eye, and sat up. He rid every ounce of emotion from his face as he looked at the cop that'd given him Hell for the better half of his life. And he waited. He waited for the continuous accusations.

For him to call Lilly a body again—to blame him for her murder.

But it didn't come.

In place of it, Jonah's sharpened eyes were now soft with consideration, and Rueben had no idea what had changed. Was there a possibility that he believed his innocence?—that they truly had no case here?—that the real killer was still out there somewhere?

"You still with me?"

He nodded.

"Good."

Jonah looked around, settled, and faced him once more.

"I kicked Auden out for the rest of the interrogation, okay? She was causing unnecessary tension and I'm trying my hardest here to make you comfortable. I don't want her cockiness to be the reason you don't want to confess—whether it be prideful reasons or something else."

"Confessing to what, Jonah?" he said, exasperated, "Murdering my kid sister? Because I won't. I won't allow you to put me behind bars for something I didn't do because you have something against me. While you continue to waste time here with me, her real killer is getting away. And when they do, the only person to blame will be you."

Jonah didn't budge, "Why don't I give you a minute? I'll fetch you a cup of water and you can relax. I don't mind waiting all night for this. Do you?"

With that, he stood and left.

As soon as the door latched on its lock, the waves he'd been pressing back splashed over the surface, and Rueben broke apart. His head awkwardly hit his hands, and he dug his fingers into his hairline, ripping at himself to feel something else.

It was so pathetic—so weak—but what else could he do?

His sister was dead, and he did nothing to stop it.