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The interrogation room was small and dimly lit, with a single table and a few chairs scattered around the room. The walls were painted a pale grey colour, giving the room a sterile and impersonal feel.
The table was made of cold, hard metal, and the chairs were uncomfortable and unforgiving. There was a single, bright light hanging from the ceiling, casting harsh shadows across the room and making it difficult to see.
As Y/n sat in the chair, she could feel the weight of the room pressing down on her. She could hear the sound of her own breathing, amplified in the silent space. Every tick of the clock on the wall seemed to echo through the room, reminding her of how much time had passed.
The air in the room was stale and stagnant, with no windows or fresh air to circulate. The temperature was uncomfortably warm, making Y/n feel as though she were suffocating.
The door to the room was heavy and imposing, with a small window that allowed her to see the silhouette of the police officer on the other side. Every time the door creaked open, Y/n could feel her heart rate increase.
She had done the unthinkable, something that she never thought she was capable of. She had killed someone she had known and trusted in a fit of rage, and now she had to face the consequences.
