The police building was quiet.
Too quiet.
Like a graveyard.
Rows of officers sat stiffly in their seats, shifting uncomfortably as if the chairs beneath them had turned into beds of nails.
Beads of sweat gathered on foreheads, trickling slowly down temples and into collars.
No one dared to wipe them away too obviously.
Hearts pounded heavily against their chests, each thud loud in their own ears. Muscles remained rigid, coiled tight, as though every person in the room was bracing for an unseen impact.
The atmosphere was heavy, thick and suffocating, like invisible hands pressing down on their lungs.
From the corners of their eyes, they stole glances at the silver-haired, blue-eyed young man seated at the center of the room.
He sat alone at the table, flipping through confidential files with unhurried movements, as though he were browsing casual reports rather than classified records tied to lives and deaths.
