MARBLED EYES

"Your work must have been quite hectic. As an eye surgeon.," I tried my best to make her drop her guard.

Her powerful gaze fixated. She looked at me like an eagle ready to hunt it's prey. If she was not my prisoner she would have attacked me then and there. I wasn't weak either. I had learned martial arts and had a black belt in Taekwondo.

Our police training was rigorous, designed to prepare us for the most intense situations. We were always armed, knowing the gun in our hands served a dual purpose: to instill fear or, when necessary, to shoot.

"Yes. Surgeons are the busiest doctor out there. It was almost a twenty hour shift with an emgerncy call.," she said with a taste of pride in her doctor status.

I might have tolerated her attitude if she were a respectable citizen. But no, she was a criminal, sitting there with the arrogance of someone who mastered a field as intricate as eye surgery. Meanwhile, I barely scraped by in criminology - a comparatively simpler discipline.

She had some terrible personality.

"You smoke?," I offered, flicking the cigarette to her.

She was annoyingly calm, her composure unshaken. In contrast, I could feel a bead of sweat tracing its way down my cheek, betraying the tension I couldn't hide.

"Only when I am tense. It helps me calm my nerves.," she said, rejecting the offer.

What a heartless she devil.

"Do you believe in God?," I asked trying to steer the conversation in different direction.

"No.," her answer was confident, short and direct.

"Christianity?"

"No.," she said again, her voice unflinching. Her responses were as sharp as her stare, cutting through my attempts to unnerve her.

""Okay… Satanism?" I asked, feigning casual interest as I exhaled a cloud of smoke.

"No."

That was a relief—though I wasn't sure why. Maybe it was the confirmation that she wasn't some satanic zealot or a devout follower of an ideology that might twist her actions into something even darker. Her disbelief, though unsettling in its own right, felt easier to manage. For a moment, the weight pressing on my chest eased, if only slightly.

"Buddhism, maybe?"

"No."

Her dismissive tone threw me off. She wasn't interested in explaining, and I wasn't sure what to make of her indifference.

"I don't believe in anything," she finally said, "but I respect every religion."

That answer caught me off guard. It was unexpected, contradictory even.

"You don't believe, but you respect?" I echoed, steadying my trembling hands as I lit another cigarette.

"Exactly.," she said, her arms were crossed and she leaned on the chair comfortably. Her posture, her attitude, her composure, her speech delivery - everything made a mockery of my experience and profession.

I took a drag, buying time. "Can you make this case easier for me?"

"And rob you of the thrill of solving it? Not a chance," she said with a wicked smile.

"We already have solid evidence against you," I said, my tone firm as I tried to scare her into cooperating. "It would be in your best interest to provide something useful."

Instead of showing any fear, she met my gaze with a defiant smirk and said, "Be my guest."

The sheer audacity in her voice caught me off guard. For a moment, I felt a chill run down my spine—I was intimidated, though I had never admit it.