The hallway turned to ice.
Every sound, every whisper died under the weight of silence.
Chief Thomas's voice cracked through it — sharp, arrogant, trembling underneath false confidence.
"And who the hell are you asking me that?"
His tone tried to sound defiant, but even he could hear the faint shake in his own words.
The officers around them shifted uneasily, glancing at one another.
Most of them knew.
They knew exactly who Miles Sterling was — General Miles Sterling, the man whose name was carried with silent reverence.
But Thomas Marshall — old, corrupt, drunk on power — clearly didn't.
Miles's reply came low and steady, calm enough to sting.
"Does it matter who I am?"
He stepped forward, closing the distance between them. "I'm simply stating the truth."
He turned his gaze from Thomas to one of the officers standing rigid at the wall.
"You," Miles said. "Officer, come here."
The young officer startled slightly, but obeyed. He stepped forward and saluted.
"Sir—"
