Am I being arrested? If so, for what?

Standing in front of Tom's flat, number 148 out of the 600 on this 44th floor, I glanced at my comlink for the time – 02:43 PM. The corridor was unusually quiet, the kind of silence that amplifies every sound. I knocked on the door forcefully. "Tom, open up! We need to talk," I called out, but no response came, just the echo of my own voice bouncing off the cold, metal door.

A text from Castor popped up in corner of my eyes, an apology. I quickly replied, "It's okay. Let's just forget it," and sent it off. I knocked again, my impatience growing. Just as I was about to give the door a good kick, a voice interrupted me.

"Excuse me, are you Marlene de Burge?"

I turned to see a man in a long coat, silver hair neatly combed back, and black glasses masking his eyes. He looked to be in his 40s, his face marked with lines that hinted at a life of hard experiences with scars. There was a chillingly polite edge to his voice.

I replied cautiously, "Talking to the police around here isn't usually a good idea."

He simply smiled, a gesture that didn't quite reach his eyes, and began circling me. "I'm Detective Alden Pierce," he introduced himself. There was a subtle but distinct sound of his coat brushing against itself, a soft whisper in the corridor's silence. His voice was calm but carried an undercurrent of authority that was hard to ignore. It had a gravelly texture to it, the kind you'd associate with someone used to giving orders. His movements were precise, almost cat-like, adding to the enigmatic aura that surrounded him.

"Am I being arrested? If so, for what?" I questioned, trying to mask my unease.

Detective Pierce stopped, his gaze fixed on me. "Where were you last night?" he asked.

"In the food hall, having a good time with friends. Plenty of people saw me," I responded, maintaining a neutral tone.

"And after that?"

His question irked me. If not for my cyberware keeping my emotions in check, I might have snapped. "That's my business," I retorted sharply.

He smiled again, observing the passersby. "I'm looking for Mr. Tom Highwater. I have a few questions for him," he said, turning his attention back to me.

I decided to feign ignorance. "Tom was out of line last night. I just came to talk to him about it," I lied, keeping my voice steady.

Detective Pierce's smile widened slightly, but he remained silent, seemingly inviting me to continue.

Seeing no point in lingering, I started walking away. "I don't want to be involved in whatever this is, I'm not some rouge element."

He watched me leave, and just as I was a few meters away, he called out, "Ms. Marlene, do you know why Mr. Tom isn't home?"

I paused briefly, but my cyberware helped me maintain composure. Turning slightly, I shrugged nonchalantly and continued walking. I felt like Detective Pierce's gaze followed me.

I walked away, with my mind racing. "God, Tom, what have you done?" I muttered under my breath. Was he just being his usual drunk self, or had he gotten himself into something serious? My concern for Tom was mixed with frustration. Why did he always have to be the center of trouble? 

I couldn't help but notice Detective Pierce's hands as he circled me earlier. They looked rough, with knuckles that bore recent bruises, as if he'd been in a fight not too long ago. What was more unsettling was the way he rested one hand inside his coat. It seemed unnatural, deliberate, like he was concealing something. There was something about him that suggested he was more than just a detective looking for Tom.

I dailed on my comlink and called Castor. He answered immediately, but his voice was tinged with concern. "Marlene, about earlier—"

"Not now, Castor," I interjected. "Where's Tom?"

Castor's tone shifted, a hint of defensiveness creeping in. "Why the sudden interest in Tom?"

I clenched my jaw, my patience thinning. "Just tell me when you last saw him, Castor."

He sighed. "Alright, alright. I dropped him off at his place last night after the party. He was pretty wasted."

"Did you notice anything unusual? Anything at all?" I pressed, hoping for a clue.

Castor was silent for a moment. "Well, now that you mention it, he did seem off. More down than I've seen him before. Kind of... melancholic, I guess."

I frowned. "Listen, Castor. A detective's been asking about him. Detective Alden Pierce. He might come to ask you too, Tom used to work at ur place."

There was a pause, longer this time. When Castor spoke, his voice was lower, more serious. "Pierce, huh? Thanks for the heads up. I've got some things I need to take care of."

"Wait, Castor," I said quickly, "Have you seen Uncle Chen today?"

He hesitated. "No, can't say I have."

The line went dead before I could respond. Frustration coursed through me, tempered only by my cyberware that kept my emotions in check. I quickly dialed Uncle Chen's number, but it went straight to voicemail. That was unlike him; he was always reachable.