25: what's the best way to get out of an interrogation?

It's the second time I've been arrested in the past two weeks, and there's no getting used to it. Especially not this time.

I'm thinking there's got to be something illegal about this—they haven't told me anything. The cops just brought us to the station, separated me out from everybody else, and shut me behind this steel door. I haven't the slightest idea where Midge is—or Jamie or Safiya or River, for that matter—and I haven't the slightest idea why I'm here.

I saved a mall full of people from getting turned to barbecue, and this is my reward? The justice system confuses me.

I'm ninety-five percent sure this is an interrogation room. It looks like I've stepped into a crime drama: the metal desk, the dim, gray walls, the solitary light swinging just over my head. My own pale face stares back at me in the mirror, a streak of soot still smeared underneath one of my eyes. The air sings with the scents of disinfectant and cigarette smoke.

I grimace at my reflection, beyond bored. "Look at you, Grey Meesang," I say. "You're officially a criminal."

"Not yet," says a voice.

I jolt, shifting in my seat. A door slams shut, and in comes a very uptight-looking detective guy, his badge clutched in his hand. He pulls the seat out in front of me, flips it around, and sits with his arms leaning over the chair's back. I raise an eyebrow at him, but he ignores me, pulling his pants up over his enormous breadbasket—which doesn't do too much to hide it. "You know why you're here, don't you?"

Maybe I should be nice. But then again, maybe I shouldn't. "It's your job, right? To arrest people who're just trying to do the right thing."

Uptight Guy's eyes narrow. He flips open his badge and lays it down on the table for me to see. Nudging it with his finger, he raises a pimply eyebrow. "I'm gonna need a little bit more respect from you."

My gaze moves from his face to the picture of him beside the badge, next to the printed words Detective Ramsey. "I don't see what I have to tell you, Detective," I say then, meeting his eyes again. "There was a dragon attack. I stepped in to stop it, and that landed me here for some reason."

Ramsey chews his lip; I glance away as a bubble of saliva forms beneath his teeth. "That's not all, is it?"

I scowl. "What the hell else is there, then?"

I regret asking it, maybe the second it leaves my mouth, maybe the second Ramsey pulls a photo from his pocket and slides it across the table to me. There's a surge of apprehension within me when I recognize the surfer-like hair, those lazy green eyes, the freckle on the side of his nose.

I drift off into silence, and Ramsey seems pleased about this. He smirks at me. "Edmund Rocco," he says, like he doesn't know that I already know who he is. "You and Edmund—you're friends, right?"

"It's Rocco," I murmur.

"What?"

"It's just Rocco," I repeat, louder. "He doesn't go by Edmund. Never has."

I'm not sure why I bothered to tell him that; it's not like it matters. But my nerves are building up and everything's just super fuzzy and I can't think a single clear thought. Rocco. Rocco. They know about Rocco?

"Sure," Ramsey goes on, "Rocco. So, clearly the two of you are close. I'm sure you've been devastated ever since he's gone missing, right?"

"Devastated is a bit much," I answer, tapping my nails across the desk, focusing on the rhythmic thumping rather than on the detective. "He's just barely been gone for twenty-four hours. I'm concerned about him, yes...but...I'm sure he'll come back."

It's a lie. At least, the part about me being sure. I'm not sure. He was taken by a dragon and now the dragon's gone and he still hasn't resurfaced. Truth is, I'm terrified. I let him out of my sight, and now he's probably in danger somewhere, cursing my name, and I don't know what to think. The least I do know, however, is that I'm not letting Ramsey in on any of this. I don't need a predominantly human police force taking hold on a case like this; it'd be a catastrophe.

My friends and I can handle this. My friends and I will handle this.

"And you don't know anything about his disappearance?" Ramsey asks then, sitting back and crossing his arms over his broad chest. I rest my elbow on the desk, my chin in my palm. I already know where this is going, and I don't like it.

"No, I don't."

"Nothing?" Ramsey presses.

"No, sir," I say, practically a hiss.

"I mean, we've all seen it before, haven't we? One friend does something the other doesn't like, a fight happens, and maybe—especially with your kind—something happens that you wish hadn't?" Ramsey coos. A smile that's far from smiley meets his lips. "It's alright; you can tell me."

Especially with your kind. The words echo a jillion times in my head, and the more I hear them, the more utterly pissed off I get. It takes all my energy to reel myself back in, to keep from springing across this desk and choking this guy out. God, there's so many methods with which I could kill him. Counting the ways is the only thing keeping me sane.

"I would never lay a hand on Rocco," I say steadily, meeting his eyes, "and he knows that, and that's probably why he's been the most loyal friend I've ever known. If you came here to ask me if—if I murdered my best friend, then you're wasting your time."

"Perhaps you don't remember. Violence comes in surges with most demons—"

"Oh, by hell," I snap, my hand thudding down upon the desk, causing the metal to rattle. A pen rolls and strikes the floor. "I'm half-demon, thank you. And people like you are the reason I'm not so fond of my human side."

I get the pleasure of seeing the guy blink.

"Are we done here?" I ask. "Sorry about the mall. Really. But, hey, I'd rather the building be scorched than the thousands of people that were there, wouldn't you?"

Ramsey gives a haughty sigh, adjusting his pants again. The more I look at him, the more I talk to him, the more sick I am. I just need to go home. Well, screw it, what was my home is in smithereens. I just need—I don't even know. To be away. "I asked for respect," he reminds me.

"Respect is mutual."

Ramsey gives me a long, calculating look, but then he just stands, walking to the door and pulling it open. His eyes regard me tiredly, like I've been a waste of his time, and I'm sure I have. But that's far from my fault. "Hope your friend comes home soon," he says, and of course it's so sincere. "You're free to go."

I brush past him and out into the hall, flexing and clenching my hands together to chill myself out. I think I've said it before, but yeah, I'm a pretty chill guy. People like that make me not chill, and that's a very dangerous thing to be.

Rocco, the bastard. As soon as I find him, I'm gonna punch the guy in the face.