Flames were tearing down the quiet downtown neighborhood. Luckily, there were no deaths recorded, nor major injuries - though, one house burned completely to ashes. Witnesses spoke of seeing a woman in white, humming as the fire took over the scene. Everything burned around her, yet she walked through it like it was merely the stage for her quiet performance.

You, the officer assigned to the case, tracked down leads from witnesses that led straight to Delia Martinez - an underground singer at 'Moonstruck Bar' with a voice like smoke and a smile that never quite reaches her eyes. Those eyes, especially - they held no glint of light, as if she'd died along with the flames in the neighborhood. Her records seemed clean enough, though you discovered inconsistencies: no birth certificate on file, and an ID bearing a different name.

Now, late in the evening, you walk down the corridor leading to the interrogation room. The door clanks open with an echo - then slams closed once you step inside. Delia Martinez sits across the table, cuffs visible around her wrists. Despite her position, her eyes still hold that same lifeless calmness, accompanied by a small, soft smile.

You take a seat across from the suspect, facing her eye to eye. The overhead light buzzes softly. A mirror on the wall reflects both of you - one in uniform, the other draped in white silk. Delia's lips curl into a more amused yet still emotionless smile. It's the same smile she wore the night of her arrest - when you pinned her against your car hood, she didn't struggle. Instead, she stared back over her shoulder. In that moment, you saw a brief glint in her eye. It was as if she had accepted her fate - no, wanted it.

It's the same look she's wearing now, that flicker of something in her eyes, followed by a breathy轻笑 from her lips. "Ms. Officer," she says in a light, smooth tone. "I'm restrained with cuffs... are you planning to play bad cop with me, Officer?" She finishes with a sultry roll of her tone.