*Astrid*
Stepping out from the bleak confines of the Internal Affairs office, I can't help but feel a rush of cold air that cuts through the tension. I've just finished giving my account of the fatal shooting that took out Vice deputy Verner and along with escaped prisoner Viggo Danielsen. Despite the gravity of the situation, the sterile environment of the office leaves a bitter taste on my tongue.
As I stride into the entrance hall, the murmur of activity seems almost jarring. Among the shuffle, deputy Lukas Bertelsen stands out, his posture too casual, too relaxed. He saunters over, a smug grin on his face.
"Astrid," he drawls, his tone laced with ambiguous insinuation, "tell me you sang my praises in there. Saved your life, didn't I? And Zac's, too."
The corner of my mouth quirks
