[First Draft] Unresolved (New Chapters Daily)

Part Twenty One

Robin's POV


Fuck. Stay calm. The mantra pulses in my head, a rhythm barely keeping my thoughts from spiraling. I try to steady my breathing, to keep my hands from shaking. The officer's gaze is unyielding, and every second under those fluorescent lights feels like a spotlight burning down on me, exposing every crack and flaw.

He doesn't know anything. He's fishing, waiting for me to slip. Don't slip.

"Yeah—yeah, she's also one of mine," I manage to say, forcing my voice into something resembling calm. But the edges are rough, fraying, and I know he can hear it too. My words hang in the air, and he jots something down on his notepad, the pen scratching across the paper with a deliberate, almost lazy pace.

I glance down at the sheet, trying to make out the upside-down scrawl, but it's all just jagged lines, indecipherable. His handwriting is atrocious. I can't see what he's building there, what narrative he's trying to pin me to, and the uncertainty gnaws at my insides.

"How long have you worked at that university?" he asks, his voice cutting through my thoughts. There's a sharpness to it, like a hook dragging me back to the present. I snap my eyes away from his notes, forcing myself to focus.

"Just over two years," I answer. Confidence. Assert yourself. I straighten up in my chair, trying to project a calm, composed front. But it feels like a mask slipping down my face, and I can't shake the feeling that he can see the cracks forming underneath.

The officer doesn't seem impressed. He scribbles again, his face giving away nothing. "And how long have you known Cole?"

I keep my expression neutral. You're in control. I swallow hard, feeling the words lodge in my throat before I force them out. "It's his second year. He was studying something else at the time. I taught him briefly last year while standing in for another tutor."

I shift in my seat, finally managing to square my shoulders, to sit a little straighter. It's a small victory, but in here, I'll take what I can get.

The cop's pen pauses, and he looks up at me, his expression unchanged—stern, evaluating. But there's something new in his eyes, a sharper glint, like he's finally found a thread he wants to tug on.

"And how long have you known Eva?" he asks, his tone shifting, taking on a new edge—almost curious, like he's probing for a reaction.

I can feel my pulse quicken, my heart pounding against my ribs like it's trying to escape my chest. Lie. Lie. Just tell him what he wants to hear. But the moment her name is in the air, I feel something snap inside me, something I can't quite control. My gut twists, and my mind races back to her—her voice, her face, the things we never should have said to each other. I have to protect her.

"I'm sorry, but what does Eva have to do with this?" I shoot back, the irritation slipping through my words before I can stop it. My voice is sharper than I intended, defensive. I realise my mistake the moment the words leave my mouth, regret crashing into me like a wave. Stupid. Keep your cool.

The officer pauses, his eyes narrowing as he studies me, letting the silence stretch just long enough to make my skin crawl. He sets his pen down slowly, deliberately, folding his hands together on the table. The shift in his posture is small but calculated—a signal that he's steering this conversation now, not me.

"Mr. Cannon, these are standard questions," he says evenly, but his gaze never wavers, cutting straight through me, stripping away any pretence I've tried to hold up. It's a power play, a reminder that he's holding all the cards, and I'm the one under the spotlight. My mouth goes dry, and I try to hold his gaze, but it's like looking into a black hole. Every second stretches, the weight of his eyes pressing down on me until I feel like I might crack wide open.