The Chains That Bind - MLM (John Kramer X M!Reader)

Chapter 30: Into the Lion's Den 💋

The call comes early in the morning. It's curt, clinical: "We need you to come down to the station for questioning." The voice on the other end offers no explanation, just an address and a time, leaving you staring at the receiver in silence long after they've hung up.

You arrive at the station, your nerves tightly coiled, every sense sharpened. The gray walls and fluorescent lights make everything look cold and stark, and the atmosphere hums with the quiet bustle of officers and staff. It's a reminder of how exposed you are-one mistake, one wrong word, and everything could unravel.

As you're led down a narrow hallway, your escort stops by a heavy metal door and gestures you in. You enter the room, your stomach tightening as your eyes fall on the man seated at the table: Detective Mark Hoffman. His expression is impassive, unreadable, but a flicker of recognition flashes in his gaze before he masks it.

"Take a seat," he says, gesturing to the chair opposite him. You comply, folding your hands on the table to steady them.

There's a tension in the air, a quiet, coiled energy that both of you can feel. You're uncertain of Hoffman's angle, and for a moment, there's silence as he studies you. Then, he leans back, his fingers interlaced on the table, and lets out a slight sigh.

"You're here to answer some questions about your father's death," he begins, his voice low but direct. "There are inconsistencies we need to address."

"I've answered everything already," you reply, doing your best to keep your tone calm, controlled. "I told the detectives everything I know."

"Sometimes," Hoffman says, his voice almost sympathetic, "details slip through the cracks. Especially when we're under stress." He leans forward slightly, his eyes narrowing. "You've been through a lot, haven't you?"

You nod, carefully managing your expression to project just enough vulnerability. "Losing him was hard. I was already under stress before... everything happened."

Hoffman lets the silence stretch out, and in that moment, you understand that he's giving you a chance-a moment to fill with the right response, the right lie.

"So," he says, feigning a thoughtful look as he flips through the folder in front of him, "your boss confirmed you hadn't been at work for months prior to finding your father. You were looking after him, you said?"

"Yes," you answer, your voice steady. "He'd become unpredictable, drinking more. He... he needed someone around." You pause, allowing a hint of vulnerability to show. "I felt like it was my responsibility."

Hoffman watches you intently, but there's a faint flicker in his expression, a subtle acknowledgment between the two of you. He knows the truth, and you're both well aware of the stakes.

"What time did you find him that night?" Hoffman continues, his tone cool but oddly encouraging, as though coaxing you along a carefully planned path.

"Late," you say, staying consistent with your previous answers. "It was after work. I came home, and... he was just lying there. At first, I thought he was asleep." Your voice hitches slightly, a controlled tremor that you know Hoffman will recognize as part of the act.

He nods, seemingly convinced, and closes the folder. "Thank you," he says, his voice almost... relieved. He leans back, giving you a look that's more perceptive than accusatory. "I know this must be difficult for you."

"Yes," you say, meeting his gaze, a flicker of mutual understanding passing between you.

The door opens, and another officer steps in. Hoffman glances at him, nods briefly, and then turns back to you, as if giving a silent signal. "You're free to go," he says, his tone professional but with an underlying current of dismissal.