Moments later, Anderson stood at the counter of the police station, pen clenched between his fingers as he signed the final document.
The station was quiet now, the earlier chaos reduced to low murmurs and the occasional shuffle of boots against tiled floors.
The fluorescent lights overhead cast a dull, unforgiving glow, making everyone look tired, washed out, and more vulnerable than they would ever admit.
Even the officers behind the desk seemed worn down by the weight of endless nights like this one.
He handed the papers back to the officer, nodded once, and turned sharply toward Clara and Thea. His expression was tight, jaw set, the lines on his forehead deeper than usual.
There was a rigidity in his movements that suggested he was holding back more than he was willing to say.
