I could tell from Officer Wright's tone that he was not taking this seriously. He did not care about the truth. He only cared about closing the case.

I slowly lifted my head and faced him. “Officer Wright, if I press my fingerprint, does that mean I’m admitting to all the charges?”

“Of course.”

“Including voyeurism, harassment, and distributing obscene images?”

“That’s right. Multiple charges combined, enough to put you away for a few years.”

I paused for a moment. My voice dropped slightly. “My name will be forever tied to voyeur and sexual harasser, won’t it?”

His impatience was obvious now. “What’s with all the questions? You did this to yourself!”

I laughed. The sound felt jarringly out of place in the cramped holding room. “Is that so?”

In the next second, I reached out, found the statement, and tore it apart. The sound of paper splitting was sharp in the air. Nothing was left but shreds.

Officer Wright froze for a moment. He clearly did not expect that.

“Y-You… Have you lost your mind?!” He shot to his feet. His voice rose sharply. “That’s resisting law enforcement! Your sentences just got worse!”

I lifted my head. My voice was steady and clear. “I won’t confess to something I didn’t do. You can fabricate the evidence.”

I paused for a moment. “But if you want me to admit guilt, I’d rather die.”

The air seemed to solidify. Officer Wright’s breathing turned rapid. “Fine… Fine… Fine!”

He spat the word three times. His voice shook with anger.

“You’ve got guts. I’ll see how long you can keep this up!” He stormed off and shouted into the hallway, “Someone get in here! Cuff her! File for formal detention! I want to see how long she lasts!

Within seconds, two officers rushed in. They yanked me off the bed roughly.

Cold handcuffs snapped around my wrists again. They were tighter than before, with the metal biting into my skin.

I was shoved forward, stumbling as I was led out.

Then, my phone rang. The flat, mechanical tone of a blind-access phone cut sharply through the hallway.

One of the officers moved to decline it.

I said, “Let me take it.”

My voice was calm, too calm for someone being dragged away.

The officer hesitated for a moment.

“Take what? Move!” Officer Wright barked impatiently.

I said evenly, “If this call delays the result you want, you’ll deal with the consequences.”

That made him pause. In the end, the phone was placed in my hand. I felt for the button and answered.

A cold, distant female voice came through. “Yvie, you have three days to move out.”

She paused for a moment, her tone laced with undisguised disgust. “I don’t want a disgusting peeping Tom living in my property.”

The voice on the other end belonged to my landlord, Ms. Holt. Her voice felt ice cold even though it came from the other end of the line.

“Ms. Holt, that’s not how it is.” I tried to explain.

“I don’t want to hear it!" she cut me off sharply.

“All I know is that you’ve been here one week, and you’ve already caused a scandal! The building’s group chat is blowing up! Everyone’s blaming me! How am I supposed to rent this place out in the future? What about my reputation?”

Her voice grew sharper and sharper, filled with anger at being dragged into the mess.

“Yvie, I don’t care whether you really have issues or you’ve been wronged. I’m giving you three days. If you haven’t moved out after three days, I’ll have someone throw all your things onto the street.”

Then, she hung up with a sharp click.

The holding cell fell back into silence.

Officer Wright’s face carried an undisguised trace of satisfaction. “Did you hear that? Feels bad being abandoned by everyone, doesn’t it?”

He nodded toward his subordinates. “Take her away.”

I was escorted down the long corridor. This time, no one whispered anymore. Their stares were colder than insults. It was like they were looking at something already condemned.

I was pushed into a police car, heading to the city detention center. There, I would wait for what they called 'trial'.

Outside the window, the noise of the city slowly faded. I leaned against the cold metal interior, feeling the vibration of the vehicle. Despair surged in like a tide from all directions, slowly, steadily, swallowing everything.

Then, a calm, professional female voice sounded in my ear. “Ms. Lane, this is Grace Quinn from the Municipal Legal Aid Center. I’ve been assigned as your attorney. Your case is now under my responsibility.”

I was slightly startled.

Legal aid? I never applied for it.

“It was requested by the police, in accordance with the law.”

It was as though she anticipated my question. Her tone remained steady.

“Under the regulations, your case requires legal representation.”

I understood.

Procedure. It was just a procedure.

The lawyer named Grace was probably just like the others. She was already convinced I was guilty. Her job was simply to make everything look more 'lawful'.

“I have nothing to say.” My voice came out dry. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

A brief silence followed.

I expected her to begin pressuring me into a confession like Officer Wright. Yet she did not. Her tone remained precise, controlled.

“I’ve reviewed the information provided by the police. A pair of binoculars and a camera containing explicit photos were recovered at the scene. The victim’s statement is detailed, and multiple neighbors have given unfavorable testimony.

“Based on the current evidence, the case is heavily against you.”

Every word was calm and almost clinical yet completely devoid of emotion.

“If you insist on pleading not guilty, once the case proceeds to trial and the evidence is admitted, your sentence will only be heavier.”

I closed my eyes. The hollow sockets felt dry and empty. “So you’re here to tell me to confess too?”

“No.” Her answer was immediate. “I am your defense attorney. My duty is to protect your legal rights, not to decide guilt for either side.”

She paused for a moment. Then, her tone deepened and sounded more focused. “Now, I need you to answer a few questions truthfully. First, are the binoculars and camera yours?”

“No.”

“Second, do you know Curtis Lowe? Have you had any contact with him?”

“No. I don’t know him.”

“Third…” She paused for a fraction of a second. “Other than vision, do your hearing or tactile senses show any abnormal enhancement?”

That question made something in me tighten. She was the first person to notice that.

“Yes.”

There was a brief silence on the other end.

Then, “Good.” It was just one word from her. However, her tone had shifted ever so slightly. It was as though something crucial had just been confirmed.

“Ms. Lane, the police will transfer you to the detention center within 30 minutes. Before that, they will ask you to sign some documents.”

Grace's voice turned colder and more precise. “Do not sign anything. Wait for me to arrive.”

The call ended.

I held the phone in my hand. My cold palm was, unexpectedly, slightly damp with sweat. There was hope. For the first time since falling into this dark pit, I felt hope—even if it was as faint as a flame in the wind.

The police car soon stopped. I was taken into an office.

Officer Wright slammed a document down in front of me. “Sign it.”

I shook my head. “I won’t sign anything until my lawyer arrives.”

His expression darkened instantly. “Lawyer? Can you afford a lawyer?”

He let out a cold laugh. “I’m telling you, it’s useless! No one can save you!”

He grabbed my hand, trying to force it onto the ink pad.

It was at that moment, a calm female voice came from the doorway. "Stop."

It was not loud, but it was heavy with authority. The movement in the room froze instantly.

The sound of high heels clicked clearly against the floor. A woman walked in, dressed in a professional suit. She moved with decisive steps. Her presence was sharp and cutting. Her gaze swept the room, and her brows were slightly furrowed.

“I'm Grace Quinn, defense attorney for Ms. Lane. Your attempt to force my client to sign documents after she explicitly refused is a violation of the law.”

She placed a file and her bar license on the table. Her movements were clean and precise.

“I was assigned by the Municipal Legal Aid Center. Here is my authorization and credentials.” She looked up. Her tone was calm but unyielding. “Now, I demand a private consultation with my client.”

Officer Wright’s expression turned ugly. He picked up the documents, flipping through them repeatedly, as though he was searching for a flaw. However, he found none.

Grace’s paperwork was complete, compliant, and airtight.

“Tsk… Legal aid…” he muttered in disdain but ultimately did not dare object further. “Ten minutes.”

With a dark expression on his face, he led the others out, leaving the room to us. The door closed. There was only Grace and me in the room.

The sound of high heels striking the floor was clear and steady, drawing closer with each step. Then, they stopped in front of me. A faint, cool scent of paper and ink drifted into my breath.

“Ms. Yvie Lane.” Her voice came out calm, measured, and controlled. “In your phone call earlier, you mentioned your hearing is unusually sensitive. Can you elaborate?”

I did not expect that to be her first question. Still, I did not hesitate. “After I went blind, my other senses, especially hearing and touch, became significantly sharper. I can judge a person’s build, habits, and even emotional state by the rhythm and weight of their footsteps.”

I paused for a moment. “And I can pick up details most people miss.”

Grace did not interrupt. She simply listened quietly. Then, she asked the key question. “Did you notice anything unusual from the apartment across from you?”

My heart tightened slightly. “Yes.”

I lowered my voice. “Curtis doesn’t live alone.”

Grace kept silent.

I continued, “Before he called the police, I heard it at least three times late at night. There were two sets of footsteps in his house.”