Chapter 160

Chapter 160
[Marcus's POV]

I stood outside the interrogation room, the yellowed letter in my hand feeling heavier than it should. Through the one-way mirror, Adrian sat exactly as he had for the past six hours—eyes closed, head tilted back against the chair, hands folded loosely on the metal table. The picture of patience. The epitome of control.

I glanced down at the letter one more time. Benjamin's handwriting, slightly uneven but careful. Words that had been hidden for God knew how long, waiting for this moment.

"You ready?" Sarah asked quietly.

I nodded. Didn't trust my voice.

The door clicked shut behind me as I entered the interrogation room. The sound made Adrian's eyelids flutter, but he didn't open them. Didn't acknowledge my presence at all.

I crossed to the table. Set the letter down with deliberate care. The paper made a soft whisper against the metal surface—somehow louder than it should have been in the silence.

Adrian's breathing didn't change. His posture remained relaxed, almost meditative.

I pulled out my chair. Sat down slowly, matching his calm with my own. Let the silence stretch for a moment. Two. Three.

"Adrian," I said finally. Voice steady. Conversational. "We've recovered new evidence. It's from Benjamin."

His eyes snapped open.

For the first time in six hours, I saw genuine emotion flash across his face. Surprise. Confusion. Something that might have been fear, quickly buried. His gaze dropped to the letter on the table between us, and I watched his throat work as he swallowed.

"Would you like me to read it to you?" I asked.

A muscle jumped in his jaw. His hands, still folded on the table, tightened almost imperceptibly. He stared at the yellowed paper like it might bite him.

Then, so slowly I almost missed it, he nodded.

I picked up the letter. Cleared my throat. Let my voice drop into a lower, gentler register than I'd used during the previous hours of questioning.

"Adrian, I know you from the beginning approached me to gain knowledge and experience in writing..."

Adrian's entire body went rigid. His hands gripped the edge of the table, knuckles turning white against the metal. I paused, watching the tension ripple through his shoulders.

"You wanted to know the secrets of successful authors. How to tell stories that move people. How to turn experiences into words. I understood all of this. From the very start, I knew what you wanted."

His breathing quickened. Chest rising and falling in shallow bursts. The muscles in his jaw clenched so tight I could see the outline of bone beneath skin.

I let the words hang in the air for a moment before continuing.

"But I want you to know—I never cared about any of that."

A strangled sound escaped Adrian's throat. His eyes were bright now, moisture gathering at the corners. He bit down hard on his lower lip.

I forced myself to keep reading. To let Benjamin's words do the work.

"Because over these ten years, you gave me something more precious than writing advice—you gave me your companionship. When everyone else saw Benjamin Davis the successful author, when they only wanted publishing connections, writing techniques, shortcuts to success—only you truly listened to me speak."

The first tear fell. A single drop tracking down Adrian's cheek, catching the fluorescent light.

"Every deep night, when nightmares woke me, when I was tortured by the visions of death I'd foreseen, when I felt myself going mad—you answered my calls. You never complained. Never left disappointed when you got no writing guidance. You just quietly listened to me describe those dark, terrible dreams."

Adrian's face began to contort. More tears spilled over, faster now. His hands trembled where they gripped the table.

"You don't know what that meant to me. In those loneliest, most desperate moments, knowing there was still one person who believed I wasn't crazy, who was willing to accompany me through every fearful night—that was more important than any writing achievement."

A sob broke from Adrian's chest. His shoulders shook. He tried to hold it back, I could see him fighting it, but the tears kept coming.

I had to pause. Swallow past the tightness in my own throat. Behind the mirror, I knew Claire was watching. Knew she was feeling every word of this as much as Adrian was.

I continued, voice rougher now.

"Adrian, I want you to know—you saved me."

His hands flew up to cover his face. The sob he'd been holding back burst free, raw and broken.

"Not as someone who wanted to learn writing, but as a friend. A true friend. These ten years, when the whole world thought I was a strange person cursed by nightmares, you were the only one who made me feel less alone."

Adrian collapsed forward onto the table, forehead pressed against the cold metal, entire body wracked with sobs that seemed to tear themselves from somewhere deep inside him.

"So whether you truly wanted to learn writing, whether you'll become an author in the future—none of it matters to me. What matters is that you were there when I needed you most. You let me know I wasn't alone."

The sound of his crying filled the room. Harsh, choking sounds muffled against his arms. His back heaved with each breath.

I read the final lines slowly. Deliberately.

"Whatever you need, I'll give it to you. Because you are my only true friend of these ten years. Thank you, Adrian. —Benjamin"

I set the letter back down on the table. Gently, as though it were something sacred. Then I leaned back in my chair and waited.

Adrian's sobs gradually began to subside. The harsh, gasping sounds softened into hiccupping breaths. His shoulders still shook, but the violent trembling eased. Minutes passed. I didn't rush him. Didn't speak. Just sat there, watching a man come apart under the weight of his own guilt.

Eventually, the crying stopped almost entirely. Just the occasional shuddering breath. The wet sound of tears still streaming down his face.

I cleared my throat. Soft. Almost gentle.

"So," I said quietly. "Can you tell me what you want to say now?"

Adrian lifted his head slowly. His face was a wreck—eyes swollen and red, cheeks streaked with tears, lips trembling. He dragged his hands across his face, trying to wipe away the evidence of his breakdown, but it was useless. The tears kept coming.

He looked at me. Really looked at me for the first time since I'd started reading. His eyes were hollow. Defeated.

"Yes," he whispered. Voice broken. Barely audible.

He drew in a shaky breath. Let it out. Drew in another.

"Benjamin..." His voice cracked. He tried again. "Benjamin... I killed him."

The words fell between us like stones.

I didn't react. Didn't move. Just held his gaze and gave the smallest nod of acknowledgment.

"I killed him," Adrian repeated, louder this time. As if saying it again would make it more real. Would make him believe it himself. "I killed my only friend."

And then he started crying again—quiet now, exhausted tears that seemed to have no end.

Through the mirror, I could feel the team's collective exhale. Six hours. Six hours of silence, and it had taken one letter—one honest expression of friendship and trust—to break through the walls Adrian had built around himself.

I sat back and let him weep. Let him face what he'd done.

The confession was just the beginning. But it was enough.

For now, it was enough.