So he sat. Waiting. Long enough that anxiety started to feel like something alive, consuming him from the inside out.

Maybe that was the whole point. A passive-aggressive mock-up of the clichéd good cop/bad cop routine. Maybe this could be called no cop.

He was under eighteen. What was the worst that could happen? Juvie?

He kept thinking of Michael’s comments in the car, about how trouble with the law could lead to trouble with custody. The overhead light buzzed, flaring with power. Gabriel took a deep breath. The electricity evened out.

And then someone came in. No preamble, no knock. Just a twist of the doorknob, a slow entrance, a man with a stainless-steel mug and some papers. This was a new guy, in his late forties, though gray had just started to streak its way through his blond hair. He wasn’t in uniform, just jeans and a sweater, though a badge clung to his belt. His eyes were narrow and blue and gave away absolutely nothing.

This guy had some authority; Gabriel could tell just from the way he carried himself.

“Gabriel Merrick?” He didn’t wait for an answer, just sat down across the table and dropped some folders and a notepad in front of him. “I’m Jack Faulkner. The county fire marshal.”

Faulkner. Hannah’s father.

Gabriel didn’t know what to say to him.

Marshal Faulkner leaned back in his chair and took a sip of coffee. “Been waiting long?”

The way he said it implied he knew exactly how long Gabriel had been waiting.

Maybe this was why he’d been left in handcuffs. So when someone deliberately acted like a tool, he couldn’t punch the guy in the face.

“Is my brother coming?” he asked. His mouth was dry, and his voice sounded rough.

“Your brother?”

“You can’t question me without a legal guardian or something, right?”

Marshal Faulkner leaned forward and lifted the cover of a manila folder. “You’re seventeen?”

“Yeah.”

The cover fell closed. “You’re charged with first-degree arson. Right now, it’s one count, but it’ll likely be more, given the events of the past week. That’s a felony, which means you’re automatically charged as an adult. That’s why you’re here and not at the juvenile facility.”

Gabriel couldn’t move. The room suddenly felt smaller.

“You’re allowed to have an attorney present.” Marshal Faulkner clicked his pen. “Do you have an attorney?”

Gabriel shook his head. One of those other cops had read him his rights, something about an attorney being provided, but he had no idea how that worked. If he asked for a lawyer, that sounded like he was guilty.

“I didn’t start those fires,” he said.

Raised eyebrows. “You want to talk about it?”

“There’s nothing to talk about. I didn’t start them.”