"I know nothing," Ashby stated flatly, his voice devoid of emotion.

Ashby Winter, enigmatic and seemingly uncooperative, shifted slightly in his seat, his cuffs jingling against the cold metal of the table. The fluorescent lights above cast an eerie glow on his face, accentuating the sharp angles of his cheekbones and the unnerving intensity of his gaze.

"You know, Ashby," Jameson began, his voice firm but even, "the disappearances have left a trail of questions. And right now, you're the only lead we have."

The clock struck 2 AM, and still, the questioning went on. Detective Jameson was determined to uncover the truth, no matter how elusive it seemed. But as he looked into Ashby Winter's eyes, he couldn't help but wonder if he was merely scratching the surface of something much deeper, something ancient and mystical.

A flicker of emotion, a slight tensing of his shoulders, and for an instant, Jameson thought he saw something akin to recognition. But Ashby's expression smoothed out quickly, reverting to its usual impassive mask.

As the interrogation continued into the late hours of the night, Jameson couldn't shake off the feeling that he was dealing with forces beyond his understanding. The term "Voodooed" seemed to reverberate through his mind, a haunting reminder of the darkness that lurked in the shadows, waiting to engulf them all.

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