The atmosphere inside the police station was thick with agitation and stale coffee. Fluorescent lights overhead gave a flat glow over the rows of desks cluttered with files, paper works, and half-eaten snacks.
A couple of officers moved briskly between rooms, while others leaned against filing cabinets, muttering over case notes or typing furiously into the computers.
Along one side of the room, a lineup of petty offenders sat slouched in mismatched chairs. One man was handcuffed and muttering curses under his breath, another argued with a detective about an unpaid parking fine like it was a matter of life and death.
Seated at one such cluttered desk was a middle-aged detective with tired eyes and a neutral expression that had probably been honed over years of listening to far too many lies.
And seated across from him were two men who stood out from the usual crowd. Neither looked like they belonged here–not in the way the others did.
