𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦, elite

𝐨𝐧𝐞. welcome

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Cold.

That was all that Emilia felt, sat in a chair in a dimly lit police interrogation room.

In a police interrogation room. Being interrogated. In the case of Emilia's dead classmate.

A sixteen year old girl. Dead. A girl that Emilia knew, and could still remember how her voice sounded, how her eyes looked, how she walked. All of these vibrant, all full of life.

And now, all of the life had evaporated and she was dead. It was impossible. Just two days ago, she was alive. Now, she wasn't. And because of her, Emilia was sitting at a police station, alone - the inspector went to get herself something to drink - but there was another officer right by the door. Guarding her. So that she couldn't escape.

But Emilia didn't feel anything else apart from the goosebumps that invaded the entire surface area of her skin, her thin hands standing on ends and flutterring, as if there was wind to make them so.

How did you get here?

Emilia had no idea. Five months ago, she was living in Munich, was on her way to the state championship in track, and had a casual relationship. She had good grades, she hung out with her friends on the weekends, getting tipsy with beer at the lake. Her life had been normal.

Now, it seemed that she has gotten herself tangled in something that she might never get out of. Considering the current situation, Emilia should be feeling a hell of a lot more than cold, but somehow, she couldn't concenrate on a different feeling than the breeze over her hands and legs, which caused her to hug herself with her elbows and put up her kness on the chair, trying to pull her skirt over them. It was not a modest position by any means, considering that her white dress with red flowers was fairly short, but Emilia didn't care that she would offend the inspector, who seemed to care more about getting a cup of coffee than her last witness.

Or suspect.

That thought sent another wave of shivers down the blonde's spine, and a heavy exhale out of the girl's mouth, the first expression of emotion that the room had seen from her.

"I'm sorry. The machine was broken," a middle aged-woman announced in a somewhat too-cheerful tone, considering the situation, entering through the gray door and shutting it carefully. "You don't have to be afraid of anything, Emilia, it's just a few routine questions."

Emilia looked up at the inspector's face, who immediately caught her gaze and tried to reassure her of her words by lifting up the corners of her mouth – despite knowing of the purpose, wearing a smile still seemed inappropriate to the girl – and announced: "I'm cold."

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