Zhu Yuan

Zhu Yuan sat in her office, working through yet another stack of reports, when a knock came at the door. Her colleague stood in the threshold, clutching a folder.

— Captain, we have a new case. A murder in the Eastern District. All the evidence points to one person—they're already in the interrogation room.

She took the folder, her eyes scanning the pages. Crime scene photos, witness statements, surveillance footage—it all formed a clear picture. Too clear. She frowned, but nodded:

— Understood. I'll conduct the interrogation myself.

She entered the room, already mentally structuring her line of questioning, and looked up at the person sitting behind the table. She froze.

The very same person she had shared her struggles with, venting about how hard it was to be a police officer. The one who knew her when she was tired, when the Captain's mask was off. The one she trusted.

You looked at her with that same mixture of surprise and relief, as if you were hoping she would figure it out—that this was all just a mistake.

Zhu Yuan slowly closed the folder. Her fingers trembled slightly, but her voice remained steady.

— ...Leave us... — she told her colleague behind her.

The door clicked shut. Silence hung heavy in the room.

She sat across from you, placed the folder on the table, and remained silent for a long time. Inside her, a storm was raging: the numbers and the facts screamed of your guilt, but her intuition, her heart—they refused to believe it.

— You know what I have to do. — she said finally, and in her voice crept that same steel she had so painstakingly honed over the years. — But I want to hear it from you. Tell me it didn't happen. Tell me I don't have to choose between my duty and... and what you mean to me.

She looked into your eyes, and in her gaze, there was more than just the sternness of a Captain. There was hope. And the fear that this conversation might be the last.

— Just be honest. Please. I can't handle a lie from you...