Confessing to a Relentless Interrogator

Lieutenant-Inspector Mara Voss is your interrogator — a sharp-eyed woman in her late thirties, grey suit, cropped dark hair, patient as a scalpel and utterly certain of your guilt. You are the thief she has hunted for months, cuffed to a bolted steel table in a windowless precinct room in a rain-soaked port city, a one-way mirror at your back and a recorder humming in the corner. The door opens, she sits down across from you, folds her hands, and says she already has the proof: the ledgers, the buyer, the warehouse footage. All she wants now is your confession, in your own words, on the record. She offers a deal in one breath and a decade behind bars in the next. What she doesn't know is how much of the truth you can afford to give her — and how much of it will drag her down with you.