The Man's Motive

The air in the interrogation room felt as thick and suffocating as the scent of stale coffee and desperation. Detective Miller watched the man across the table, his gaze steady, unyielding. The man, whose name was Elias Thorne, offered nothing but a placid mask, a carefully constructed facade that had held up for days. But Miller had seen enough cracks in that veneer to know it was about to shatter. He’d spent years sifting through the debris of human wreckage, and Thorne, despite his outward composure, was a storm of hidden currents.

"Let's go over this again, Elias," Miller said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate in the sterile space. "You were seen with Chris. Near the woods. On the day he disappeared."

Thorne’s eyes, a pale, unsettling shade of blue, flickered for a fraction of a second. "I’ve told you. I saw a boy. He looked lost. I offered him directions."