CHAPTER 24: NO VARIABLES

The hallway to the interrogation room was less bustling than the rest of the station—sterile, humming faintly with the buzz of fluorescent lights. Officer Tyler walked half a step ahead of her, his shoulders broad and his black hair tousled, but his tone had softened.

"Just... be careful in there," he said, low enough that only she could hear.

Erisia tilted her head at him, hazel eyes narrowing with that flicker of dry amusement. "He’s in cuffs, isn’t he? I don’t exactly plan on holding his hand and asking about his childhood trauma."

Tyler’s mouth quirked—the closest thing to a smile she’d seen from him so far. Still, his gaze lingered on her a second longer, as if gauging whether her bravado was iron or porcelain.

Truth was, Erisia didn’t like the idea of sitting across from a criminal at all. People like him radiated a kind of grime that soap never washed off. But, she had faced far worse criminals than the one in the room, so she would just treat it like coming back from years-long vacation. Besides, she wasn’t here to feel safe—she was here to confirm who was behind all of this.

She’d never been safe from the moment she came to this world, and she would continue not to be if she didn’t get to the bottom of things.

Which was something she didn’t want. At least it was part of what her bastard father had taught her that actually helped in the long run.

Tyler stopped at the heavy steel door, swiped his card, and the lock clicked open. "Stay behind the line. Let him talk first. If you feel unsafe at any moment, signal me."

Erisia folded her arms, lips twitching. "Relax, Officer. I know how to handle trash."

The door swung wide, and the scent of cheap cigarettes drifted out. Inside, the man sat hunched at the table, cuffed wrists resting on the scarred metal surface. His greasy hair fell into restless eyes, darting like a cornered rat’s.

The system flickered alive in her mind’s eye—

[ Glass Vein: Active. ]

Silver text rippled across the glass.

If he lied, she’d know. If he twitched wrong, she’d catch it.

[ Note: Host Erisia’s existing expertise in micro-expression analysis was detected. Supplementary ability—Emotional Diagnosis—will activate only in high-complexity scenarios. ]

She raised a brow, tempted to ask how the system knew about that, but then remembered—it had summarized her life the first time it appeared.

The man in the chair raised his head then, and for the second time their eyes met. Something in his stare tried to crawl under her skin, oily and invasive.

But Erisia only pulled out the chair opposite him, sat down with calmness, and leaned in just far enough to let him know she wasn’t afraid of his unsightly, low-life appearance.

"Let’s make this quick," she said, her voice flat. "Tell me who sent you."

The man’s lips cracked into a grin, yellowed teeth flashing. "Lady, you’ve got the wrong idea. I don’t even know you. I was just driving—"

"No, you know what? Let’s leave the matter of who sent you—for now." Erisia leaned back, crossing her legs, hands resting neatly on her knee. A cool smile tugged at her lips. "To say you failed miserably at the job you were given would be an understatement. The evidence is sitting right here in front of us, isn’t it?"

His grin faltered. He shifted in his chair, the cuffs rattling.

"But I think I understand why." Her voice was calm, "Considering the person who gave you the job wanted it done immediately, you didn’t have much time to prepare, did you? Waiting for me to step outside, lining up the car, timing it just right to run me over—it was all rushed. And because of that, you slipped. Honestly, though?" She tilted her head, a hint of amusement in her eyes. "Even if you had all the time in the world, I still wouldn’t be dead."

That hit him. His jaw flexed, betraying the nerves he thought he could hide.

[ Subject’s micro-expression: Tightened jaw, rapid eye movement.

Conjecture confirmed: Erisia’s deductions about the rushed attempt and external instigator are correct.

Emotional Diagnosis: Subject’s fear spikes at the mention of the ’one who gave the job.’ ]

’Of course it was Sierra,’ Erisia replied, lips curving faintly. She was already a hundred percent sure. The system only confirmed what she knew. The real question wasn’t if Sierra was behind this—it was how. Who had she used this time? Because in the novel, the first attempt on "Erisia’s" life had been a beating carried out by some hired thugs by one of her male friends. The second—a direct kill order—had come straight from Sierra herself. So now she needed to know: which pawn had Sierra moved into place this time?

"Why?" She grinned suddenly, spreading her hands. "Why else? Of course I knew something was going to happen. Though I admit," she chuckled, "I didn’t expect it to come in the form of a car trying to turn me into roadkill. That was... a little surprising. Do you want to know how I knew? Or do you think I’m bluffing?"

Her laugh echoed softly. It felt practiced—like someone who had danced with death a hundred times and was bored of the steps. The thug’s skin prickled. This wasn’t a harmless young woman sitting across from him.

"You should believe me," Erisia continued, her tone dropping. "Because I’m the victim here. And it’s on me to decide whether I send you rotting into a prison cell for life... or not. So, here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to ask you one question. One chance. And if you waste it, I won’t ask again. But before that—let me tell you something."

She leaned forward, elbows on the table, her eyes burning into his.

"There’s you. Then your boss. Then the one who gave your boss the job. And above them, the one who whispered in their ear. The instigator." She smirked. "That last one? I know them. Very well. Family, in fact. Which is how I knew this would happen—though I didn’t know exactly how. And the one who handed the order to your boss? I’ve got a pretty good guess. So, you see, I don’t really need anything from you. Except..."

Her smile sharpened. "The whereabouts of your boss. Or at least his name. Once I have that, the police can do the rest. Give me the name, and maybe—maybe—I’ll think about not sending you to prison for the rest of your pathetic life."

His shoulders stiffened. The cuffs rattled again as he shifted uneasily.

Erisia leaned in, her voice dropping to a near whisper, the kind that slithered into the ears and stayed there. "So? Are you going to give me the name of your boss? Or do you want to rot in jail? Because let’s be real—you’re just a petty thug. You’re not built for prison. And you’re certainly not built for dying over someone else’s war. But hey, you should’ve thought of that before you took the job. So, I’ll ask one last time. The name. Or..."

The man’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. "I... I don’t think you need to know the name of my boss—"

Erisia stood up, chair legs scraping. "It seems you don’t want to tell me. Well then—"

"Wait!" His voice cracked in panic. "That’s not what I meant! I can—I can tell you, but... I think I know who asked my boss to kill you."

Erisia froze mid-step, then turned back, her lips curving into a slow smile. "Oh? Really?"

"Y-yes." His words tumbled out, desperate, tripping over themselves. "My boss—he’s part of the cousin’s gang. The cousin of the person who wanted you dead. He’s... he’s a third-generation rich kid. His name is Adrian Hoffman. He’s the third son of the Hoffman family. My boss mentioned him when he gave me the job. Said he wondered what you’d done to piss off a guy like that, and what would happen if people found out Hoffman had hired thugs to kill someone."

Erisia shook her head, lips curling into a scornful smile. "So your boss even told you that. You guys are such fucking amateurs. It makes me wonder how you’ve managed to survive this long in the underworld." She leaned back, her gaze cutting through him before flicking toward the one-way glass. "But I guess it makes it all easier. Thanks for not dragging this out. And don’t worry—you’ll live. But don’t get too comfortable. You still hurt me, and I could have died. So yeah... you’ll be paying for what you did."

The thug’s face twisted, panic giving way to anger. "W-what?! But—you told me that you would—"

Erisia cut him off with a shrug, tone razor-sharp. "Yeah, I didn’t promise you a damn thing. I said it’s up to me to decide what happens to you. Because I’m the victim here. Remember? I’m the girl you almost turned into roadkill. I would’ve been dead—gone—if I’d been even a second slower. So don’t give me that shit about promises." She leaned in just long enough to let her words sink in. "If I feel like helping you, I will. But right now? I don’t feel generous. Be happy with what you’ve got, pal."

With that, she stood, chair scraping back, and walked out of the interrogation room.

Not a second later, the door to the observation room opened and Officer Tyler stepped out, closing it behind him.

"I didn’t think you’d be able to get anything out of him," he admitted, his voice carrying a thread of reluctant admiration. "But you surprised me—again."

Erisia arched a brow, dry amusement flickering in her hazel eyes. "When did I surprise you?"

"When you acted like someone else. Vulnerable. Pitiful. Just enough to get attention."

Her lips tugged upward in a sly smile. "Oh, and it worked."

Tyler nodded, a short laugh escaping him. "It did. Now it’ll be easier to nail Adrian Hoffman—the one who wants you dead. But it’ll be even better if we can take down the driver’s immediate boss, too. I don’t want any loose ends... any variables crawling out of the shadows later."