“And Bruno. How is she?”
His expression somehow gets more uncomfortable, a slight red tint beginning to stain his cheeks.
For a man who looks like he could bench press a small sedan, he blushes way too easily.
He blinks, clearly recalibrating. “Bruno is in excellent health, thank you for asking.”
Casey, who’s been quietly hovering, steps up behind me and clears his throat. “You’re here about last night?”
Officer Stud Muffin stares at Casey for a long, slow second before finally addressing him.
“That is correct. I’m conducting a routine follow-up. Can you walk me through the events that occurred?”
Casey and I exchange a glance.
A whole silent conversation passes between us.
“We went there to get some pizza and grab her bag,” he starts. “We walked in and there were already people there,” he continues. “A lot of them.”
Officer Stud Muffin nods once.
“And then?”
Casey’s hand drifts unconsciously toward the bruise on his throat.
Officer Stud Muffin’s gaze follows the movement.
For the briefest moment, something hard flashes across his face.
Gone so quickly I almost miss it.
“Then things got weird,” Casey says.
“Weird,” the officer repeats.
I snort. “That’s putting it mildly.”
His attention shifts to me.
“Perhaps,” he says, his voice oddly formal, “it is possible you witnessed a... disagreement that escalated beyond what was expected.”
The explanation slides into my head so easily it feels prepackaged.
A disagreement.
Sure.
A disagreement.
A normal disagreement involving shattered glass, a crossbow bolt, and Casey being lifted off the floor by his neck.
Wait.
I frown.
“No.”
Officer Stud Muffin looks genuinely confused.
