(William’s POV)
"Have you ever heard of Lorenzo D ammunition?" Detective Gibson asked, even before I had the opportunity to fully take my seat across from him.
There was a strange smell in the air; something like gunpowder, stale unfinished coffee, and a faint trace of rust. The sign outside had read Third District Precinct – New Haven, L.A., and inside, the place felt small and slightly uncomfortable.
Maybe it only felt that way because I’d grown used to a different kind of space; well-furnished buildings, glittering marble floors, a calm that accompanied influence.
Here, the desks were scratched, the walls were unattractive, and the ceiling light made annoying sounds. There was nothing exciting about it. I looked up at the detective and responded, “No. Am I supposed to have heard a
