The air inside the office carried the scent of fresh paper and polished wood — a place that reeked of authority and order. A massive oak desk sat at the center, its surface neat yet intimidating, with files stacked in perfect alignment and a brass nameplate reading Commander Fin. Behind him hung framed medals, badges, and old photos from his years of service — testaments of a man who had built his life on the law. A faint hum came from the ceiling fan above, slicing the silence like clockwork.
Cain stepped in calmly, his black suit a sharp contrast to the disciplined blue of the officers outside. His lips curved faintly as he greeted,
"Hello."
Commander Fin raised his eyes from a document. "Officer Gon, leave us."
"Yes, sir." Gon saluted and walked out, closing the door quietly behind him.
"Have a seat," Fin said, gesturing toward the chair across his desk. His tone was firm — the kind of tone that made most men sit straighter.
