Suspicions

The interrogation room was dimly lit, a single fluorescent bulb casting a cold light across the table. The walls were bare and gray, and the air was heavy with the smell of old coffee and metal. Remond sat straight-backed on the metal chair, hands resting loosely on the table, but his eyes were sharp and alert.

Across from him sat Detective Vaughn—a middle-aged man with graying hair, a stern jawline, and eyes that had seen far too much of the world's darkness. He leaned back casually, fingers tapping a slow rhythm on a stack of files. His partner, a younger officer with sharp eyes and an impatient stance, stood by the door, arms crossed.

The silence stretched until Vaughn finally spoke, voice low and steady.

"Mind running that by me again, Mr. Cain?" he asked. "Two armed men storm into the café. You walk out untouched. Both of them end up knocked out cold. And you expect me to believe it was just… what? A stroke of luck?"

Remond met his gaze evenly. "I did what I had to do," he replied. "It was them or us."

Vaughn chuckled, but it held no humor. "Them or us," he repeated slowly. "You make it sound like a war zone."

"Felt like one," Remond answered, his tone steady.

Vaughn's eyes narrowed. "You're not giving me much to work with here, Cain." He leaned forward, fingers interlacing. "Two big guys, one with a gun to your face, and you drop them both without breaking a sweat. You got a history I should know about?"

Remond shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "Just a guy who doesn't like getting shot."

Vaughn's partner scoffed. "Sure you are."

The detective's eyes glinted. "See, here's what I think," he said slowly. "I think you're not telling us the whole story. I think there's more to you than some scriptwriter at a YouTube channel."

Remond kept his expression neutral, but inside, his mind was racing. This wasn't good.

"All due respect, Detective," Remond replied evenly, "I'm just a guy who was in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Vaughn leaned back, gaze never leaving Remond's. "We'll see about that."

---

The interrogation dragged on—question after question, each one pressing harder than the last.

Vaughn's voice was a steady drawl, words dripping with suspicion. "These moves of yours," he said, eyes narrowing. "Where'd you learn them? Military? Police academy?"

"Self-defense classes," Remond repeated, tone dry. "Good instructor."

Vaughn's partner sneered. "Bullshit."

"Watch it," Vaughn snapped, though he didn't disagree. His eyes were still fixed on Remond, cold and calculating.

They threw out baited questions, trying to trip him up—where he'd lived before Las Verga, if he'd ever been involved in a gang, why he never mentioned his family. Remond sidestepped each one with carefully rehearsed answers, never giving more than necessary.

But he could see it in Vaughn's eyes—the detective didn't buy a word of it.

Finally, Vaughn sighed, fingers drumming against the table. "You're good, Cain," he admitted. "Real good. But I've seen guys like you before—hiding from something, looking over their shoulder." He leaned in, eyes dark. "Whatever you're running from, it's gonna catch up to you. One way or another."

Remond's jaw tightened. "Am I free to go now, Detective?"

Vaughn studied him for a long moment, then leaned back with a smirk. "For now," he said slowly. "But don't go too far."

As Remond stood, Vaughn's eyes followed him, unblinking. "We'll be watching," he added softly.

---

The Warning

Remond was halfway to the station's exit when Inspector Greene intercepted him. Greene was older than Vaughn, face lined with years of stress and sleepless nights. His gaze was colder, calculating.

"Mr. Cain," he called, voice smooth.

Remond paused, turning slowly.

Greene approached with a measured stride, eyes flicking briefly over him before settling with a hard glint. "A word of advice," he said quietly. "Las Verga's a nice place. Quiet. People here don't like trouble."

Remond's eyes narrowed. "Wasn't looking for it."

Greene smiled thinly. "See that you don't," he replied, voice cold. "I'd hate to have to dig deeper into your past."

Remond didn't flinch. "Is that a threat, Inspector?"

"A warning," Greene corrected smoothly. "Stay out of trouble, Cain."

With that, the inspector turned, leaving Remond standing in the station's hallway, fingers clenched tight at his sides.

---

The Pickup

By the time Remond stepped out of the station, the sky was an overcast gray, sunlight barely breaking through. He drew a slow breath, trying to steady his nerves.

A familiar black sedan pulled up by the curb, the passenger window rolling down.

Rebecca leaned over the steering wheel, her dark hair pulled into a loose ponytail, eyes sharp as they fixed on him. Alina sat in the passenger seat, hands twisting nervously.

"Get in," Rebecca called. "We're getting you out of here before they decide to pull you in for another round."

Remond didn't need to be told twice. He slid into the backseat, closing the door with a soft click.

The moment the car started moving, Alina turned to Rebecca, words spilling out in a rush. "It was insane," she said, voice still tinged with disbelief. "These guys just stormed in with guns, and Remond—he just—"

Rebecca raised a skeptical eyebrow, eyes flicking to the rearview mirror. "He just what?"

Alina hesitated, glancing back at Remond. "He took them down," she said finally, voice hushed. "Like… it wasn't even hard."

Rebecca's eyes narrowed, her gaze cutting to Remond in the mirror. "That so?"

Remond leaned back, expression carefully blank. "They weren't that tough."

Rebecca snorted. "Sure. Because knocking out two armed men is a piece of cake."

Alina frowned, turning in her seat to face him. "You're not gonna tell us anything, are you?"

Remond smirked. "About what?"

Rebecca rolled her eyes. "About how you moved like some ex-special forces guy back there," she drawled. "Seriously, Remond, got any other skills we should know about?"

"Origami," Remond deadpanned. "I fold a mean paper crane."

Alina's lips twitched, but she shot him a glare. "You're impossible."

---

A Shadow's Call

As the black sedan disappeared down the street, Inspector Greene watched from the station's entrance, eyes narrowed. He pulled out his phone, dialing quickly.

The line picked up after a single ring.

"Yeah?" a voice asked, deep and clipped.

Greene's eyes stayed on the spot where the car had been. "I've got something," he said, voice low. "The kid you've been looking for."

A pause.

"Where?" the voice demanded.

Greene's lips curved into a thin smile. "Las Verga," he replied. "And he's not alone."

The line went dead.

Greene pocketed his phone, eyes dark and thoughtful.

"Let's see who you really are, Remond. "