" i got to say, i’m impressed. " (from marcus as a lieutenant)
the harsh lights abovehead in the interrogation room hums like angry bees as ben sits slouched on the metal chair, cuffs biting into his wrists, the table cold against his forearms. he looks mildly like hell, with the mud on his jeans and a half split in his lip, but he still carries himself like someone who has been here before. maybe not with the officials, but in rooms that reeks of sweat, iron, and inevitability. when the man walks in, his presence fills the space the way that a blade would fill a sheath. dangerous. inevitable. the folder that rests on the table between them is thick, too thick, but if ben is nervous, he doesn't let it show. he used to practice in mirror at home when he was younger, and had to share a lie to dean, who would see through ben's bullshit instantly. ben has since come a long way from trying to convince his mother's boyfriend that his homework was done. i'm impressed. ben tilts his head back with a tight simper, tugging on the corner of his mouth like he has been waiting for the line. "don't tell me you went through all this trouble just to flatter me."
