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— Move slightly to the left, Miss Thompson. — The officer’s voice was curt and mechanical, as if he’d said the same phrase a hundred times that day.
Lilly stepped to the side, her back brushing against the cold white wall. The air carried a faint scent of cheap air freshener and stale tobacco. Across from her was the lens of an old, battered police camera, and next to it stood a dim light fixture that seemed to make the police station feel even gloomier. Lilly swallowed nervously, the tight lace bodice of her dress pressing against her chest— a chest that hadn’t even existed six months ago.
— Head straight, — the officer barked again. He raised the camera and clicked several times.
Lilly tried not to look at him, lowering her gaze. She could feel her long strands of hair tickling her neck. The golden earrings in her ears jingled softly with every slight movement of her head. A stark reminder that she was no longer Tom Wilson, but a twenty-year-old girl on paper—Lilly Thompson—living with her “aunt.” A role she had once agreed to take on as a dare had now become her reality.
— Done. You can head into the office, Miss Thompson. — The officer gestured toward a door that looked far more menacing than it had any right to.
Lilly took a step, the heels of her sandals clicking against the linoleum floor. She caught the officer’s gaze lingering on her body a second longer than politeness allowed. A cold sweat broke out on her skin. He saw her as a young woman—attractive, maybe even pretty—but not as Tom. She still struggled to believe it herself. Trying to take a deep breath only made the fabric of her dress stretch tighter. Her face burned.
Behind the door, another officer waited. He was older, with gray hair and deep lines etched into his face. Without a word of greeting, he gestured for her to sit in the chair across from his desk.
She sat, smoothing the edges of her dress. The fabric barely concealed anything, and the shape of her chest, which seemed to have a life of its own, constantly reminded her of who she had become.
— So, Miss Thompson, — the officer began, opening a folder of documents. — Tell me why you were at the store that evening.
— I… I work there, — Lilly swallowed the lump in her throat, trying to keep her voice from shaking. Her voice now sounded too high, almost childlike despite her appearance—the result of not just hormones but experimental treatments Rachel had somehow found and injected into her during those early months. — It was my shift. I was closing the store, and…
Lilly faltered, her throat tightening. She clasped her hands together, trying not to let them tremble. Her fingers felt the smooth polish on her nails—bright pink, a color Rachel had insisted on, declaring, “My niece has to be stunning.”
— And? — The officer raised an eyebrow, his gaze locked on her face. His eyes, sharp and probing, seemed to bore straight through her.