Maddox nodded again, bowing his head as if swallowing every remaining doubt.
Ali, the youngest officer, sat at the far end of the table, trying to keep his composure. Hale suddenly turned, locking eyes with him. That look sent a chill up Ali's spine, like someone had pressed a slab of ice against it. He swallowed hard and felt in that moment that today's orders were not routine. This wasn't about managing a marketplace or reacting to a scuffle; it was deeper, uglier, and his instincts told him the truth here didn't match the narrative Hale always forced them to repeat.
Hale pulled a file from beneath the table and slammed it down, sending dust into the air. "No one mentions the night Brooks died," he said, each word heavy enough to bruise. "End of discussion."
As he pushed the file, a few photos slipped out and scattered onto the tile floor like bones exposed in dry earth. One photo landed face up, showing Brooks's blood-covered face beneath the market's sickly yellow lights. Kellen looked away, while Ali felt his breath shorten as he stared at the dried streaks of blood staining the paper.
The meeting room door burst open suddenly. Chief Dempsey's head appeared, lined with tension. "Hale, out here now."
Hale followed him into the hallway. The old door groaned shut behind him.
Inside, the room thickened with unease. Maddox rolled his neck to break the suffocating stiffness. No one spoke; every passing second felt like a wire being pulled tighter.
In the hallway, Dempsey spoke quickly, voice low and urgent: "The feds are here, Marcus. Control yourself. Don't make this worse."
Hale clenched his jaw, his eyes narrowing. "I am controlling myself." He paused, gaze drifting to the frosted window. "If I weren't, I'd have cleared out that entire market already."
Dempsey paled and began to reply, but Hale was already turning away, pushing the door back open.