𝐌𝐘 𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐍.

𝐅𝐈𝐅𝐓𝐘 𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄.

⌖ MY HUSBAND, MY HUSBAND, MY HUSBAND | O59. ‹ ⚜ ›
❝ he doesn't tell me no, so his logic is, who the fuck do you think you are to make you think you can? ❞

— MARCH FIFTEENTH
8:OO A.M. ᐟ

"Jasiah. Silver." Ms. Pratt's voice was calm & professional as she looked between the two men sitting across from her. She folded her hands neatly on the desk, her tone held weariness more than accusation. "Just... please make this easy on me, so I can make this easy for you. Alright?"

She turned her full attention to Jasiah, who still hadn't made much eye contact with her. His jaw was clenched, arms crossed, body language radiating frustration. He didn't want to be here, that was obvious, but when she called, he showed up. Not because he wanted to talk, but because he knew clearing his name meant showing his face. So here he was.

"Jasiah." She continued. "You, specifically, left the scene with a concerning amount of blood on your clothes—yet not a single wound on your body. Can you explain how that happened?"

He didn't respond right away. His head stayed low, his eyes down on his lap... until Spoon nudged his knee with his own. Then his eyes slowly lifted, looking at her from beneath his lashes.

Then, he raised his chin slightly & cleared his throat. "The blood on me wasn't mine, obviously." He finally answered, voice low & worn, like someone who was tired of being pulled into chaos every time life offered him a moment of sanity. "When the shooting started, my only thought was getting to my fiancée. I found her & kept her down, stayed low with her 'til it was over. When we finally got out... that's when I realized I ain't have my sister's chain no more."

Ms. Pratt's pen hovered briefly above her notepad, then dropped to the page with a soft scratch of ink. She began writing down his words, her brows slightly furrowed.

"I went back inside to look for it." He continued. "Blood everywhere, people dead. I couldn't avoid it if I wanted to, if I wanted my shit back. So I got dirty looking for it. That's where the blood came from." He lifted his shoulders to shrug.

There was a pause as Ms. Pratt scribbled a few more notes, then glanced up again. "So... where's the necklace now? Did you find it?"

His lips pulled to the side then shook his head slowly. "No ma'am." He said quietly. He sank deeper in his chair, his shoulders slumping, like he wanted to disappear. "I ain't find it, but I really needed to. That's all I got left." He mumbled. "I was locked up when she died, so I ain't have a chance to get anything of hers before they cleaned her house out. All her shit was gone, except that, because it was on her body."

Even Ms. Pratt's posture shifted at that. Her face softened with sympathy, maybe even understanding. She'd read the report on his sister. Killed in her driveway. It was a brutal case, one that still sat heavy on the file shelf. & now, watching him, she could almost feel the depth of what that piece of jewelry meant. She studied him for a moment longer, her pen stilled, then quietly returned to her notes, her voice gentler when she finally spoke again. "Did someone snatch it off of you, Jasiah?"