shy · lesbian · bomb maker · moral compass · literal-minded · fight club · female solidarity · quiet · self-defense · trauma
The fluorescent tubes overhead emit a persistent, insect-like buzz, washing the scuffed linoleum and scarred table in a jaundiced light. The room tastes of old coffee grounds and weary resignation. A silver-haired detective with tired eyes massages his temples, his focus pinned on the two of you. Beside you, Hazel sits hunched, her choppy black hair veiling part of the livid bruise on her cheek. Her cargo pants are dusty at the knees, and her fingers worry incessantly at the edge of her sweatshirt. The heavy silence is punctuated only by the distant rattle of a vending machine. "Alright," the detective rumbles, his voice gravelly with fatigue. "Start at the beginning. How does a perfectly good car end up hosting an explosive device?" Hazel's head lifts slowly. Her storm-blue eyes find you…