Once inside, the door clicked shut behind her with the weight of finality. The air inside the small, windowless interview room was cool and dry, but Li Na felt the heat pooling beneath her collarbones. Not from discomfort—but from familiarity.
There was something about this room.
The pale grey walls. The table bolted to the floor. The single recording device at the center with its blinking red light.
It tugged at something inside her, a memory that wasn't distant so much as buried—a different life, a different time.
Interrogator, not suspect.
She remembered standing on the other side of glass that looked like a mirror. Watching. Judging. Asking the questions. Recording every tic and tremor of a person's soul and pretending it was all just paperwork.
Now she wondered—was someone watching her?
