Stanford University, Psychology Counseling Room No.1

"The only thing I need from you is silence." Hazel Wright pushed her glasses up slightly, her tone calm as she stared at the murder suspect sitting across from her. Matthew Evans leaned back, strapped to the lie detector, looking relaxed. "Can you do that, Mr. Evans?"

Hazel's English was crisp, her voice clear and soft, and when she spoke, her eyes stayed locked on you—focused like she was studying a fine piece of art.

Matthew scoffed, a mocking smile playing at his lips. His gaze slid over Hazel with thinly veiled contempt.

Tall, blonde, blue-eyed—he was the stereotypical white-collar elite. A high-paying job at a law firm fed the illusion that only Americans were worth his attention. Everyone else? Beneath him.

"I'm going to start asking some questions now, and I want you to watch my eyes." Hazel placed a slim folder on the table, her movements deliberate and composed. She flipped it open to reveal a detailed map of his neighborhood. Holding her pen steady, she began:

"Mr. Evans, is your wife Andrea Evans' body hidden somewhere in your home?"

Matthew's expression barely shifted, but then a slight frown tugged at his brows and he sniffed sharply. "I—"

Hazel cut him off, firm. "No talking, Mr. Evans. Just look at my eyes."

From the side, Kennedy Phillips let out a quiet huff, lips twitching in mild ridicule. They’d asked about the body’s location more times than he could count, but still had nothing. He shot Hazel a smirk that all but said, "Come on, seriously?"

Hazel ignored him, drawing an X over the Evans residence on the map.

"Did you bury the body in the mountains nearby?"

Matthew kept quiet, face unreadable, eyes calm, his brows relaxed.

Another steady X on the mountain area.

"Did you dump the body in the landfill?"

Her eyes briefly caught the upward twitch at the corner of his mouth. It lasted less than half a second—but she caught it.

She drew another X, this time over the local landfill.

Hazel noticed he kept glancing at the map, carefully but repeatedly. Subtle, but she knew the subconscious didn’t lie—people tended to fixate on meaningful places without realizing it.

She dragged the tip of her pen slowly across the map, watching every flicker in his pupils.

Her tone turned casual, almost teasing. "Let’s take a wild guess—maybe you left Andrea’s body in the park?" Her eyes locked with his. "Nope." X.

“Construction site?” A pause. “No.” X.

Finally, the pen landed on Moon Lake, just a kilometer from his house. "How about here?"

Matthew’s pupils instantly widened. A sharp inhale. His lips parted like he was about to speak, but stopped cold under Hazel’s cool gaze. He pressed his lips together, breathing deep.

Hazel dropped her pen, calmly turned toward Kennedy, and said, “He sank the body in Moon Lake. That’s where she is.”

"You sure?" Kennedy shot up, eyes wide.

She closed the folder quietly, pulled off her glasses. Without the lenses, her eyes were sharp and icy. "Absolutely."

Her voice steady, her presence unshaken. Confidence radiated from her—not arrogance, but the certainty of someone who knew exactly what she was doing.

...

Three hours later, Kennedy knocked on her office door, grinning with disbelief. They’d found Andrea Evans’ body—right where Hazel said. Moon Lake.He grinned with excitement. "Miss Wright, you're like a real-life Sherlock Holmes! Just one look at him and boom—found the body! That's insane! How on earth did you figure it out?"

Hazel Wright glanced over at Kennedy, her tone flat, totally unmoved by his sudden praise. She hadn’t forgotten his earlier skepticism during the polygraph test—it was still fresh in her mind.

She picked up the remote, coffee still in hand, and pointed to the screen. "This is the work of microexpression analysis."

The screen lit up with footage from the earlier polygraph. She paused it and began her breakdown:

"When I asked Evans if the body was hidden at his house, he showed a combo of frowning and nose disdain. See his eyebrows? That downward angle screams contempt. He was mocking my guess—totally sure I was wrong. So yeah, the body’s definitely not at his home."

Hazel moved to the next clip. Kennedy leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand, fully focused.

"I then asked him if it was somewhere up in the hills. He barely reacted. No eye movement, no hesitation—clear sign he wasn’t even entertaining the thought. Cross that off, too."

Kennedy nodded like it all suddenly clicked.

"Now watch when I ask about the landfill," Hazel continued, slowing the clip to fifty times normal speed. "See that tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth? Barely a smile but it’s there. That was him quietly laughing at me for guessing wrong again. Basically calling me an idiot in his head."

"Uh..." Kennedy stared at the slowed-down footage, not really sure what to say. Honestly, most people wouldn’t have noticed a thing, but he was starting to seriously admire Hazel’s perceptiveness.

She fast-forwarded to the next part and froze it again—close-up on Evans’ eyes.

"Notice anything?" she asked casually.

Kennedy squinted at the screen. "...His eyes?"

Hazel raised an eyebrow. Clearly, she was used to this kind of response.

Microexpression science was still new, after all. Most folks didn’t know how to spot the subtle stuff, let alone interpret it.

"When I asked if the body was in the park or at a construction site, his pupils didn’t dilate," she explained. "That means he felt nothing, wasn’t tense—those places didn’t mean anything to him. The body’s not there."

Kennedy locked onto the footage, matching each point to Evans’ reactions. He was clearly impressed.

Then Hazel switched scenes again. "But watch what happens when I bring up Moon Lake." She pointed to Evans’ face.

"His pupils get big. Real big. That’s anxiety kicking in—faster heart rate, warmer skin, shallow breaths. He looked like he was dying to speak but remembered I told him not to. That’s why he swallowed. His throat went dry. That reaction? That scream—you hit the spot. He was scared. He wanted to hide it. But why? Because that’s where he stashed Andrea Evans’ body.”

She paused. “And once we found her, there’s no escaping. First-degree murder. The court’s definitely going to convict. Life sentence at best, death penalty at worst."

Nailed it.

Kennedy stood up, looking genuinely impressed. He extended a hand. "Miss Wright, I owe you an apology. I doubted you, and I really shouldn't have."

Hazel gave a faint smile, set down her coffee, and shook his hand with calm ease.

Kennedy felt this deserved more than just polite thanks—she’d cracked the murder case wide open.

"Seriously. Thank you for everything."

That handshake said it all—an eighteen-year veteran cop, showing respect and recognition to a 24-year-old expert in microexpressions.

Not long after Kennedy stepped out of the office, news broke: over in Rao City, another murder. This time, the victim was adult film star May Green. And the prime suspect? None other than Anthony Grant, the high-profile CEO who practically ruled A Country's business, military, and government circles.