The morning after the evidence-room madness, the station was buzzing with the usual bullshit. New shift, fresh coffee smell, radios crackling. The sergeant decided it was “clean-up day” for the holding guys standard procedure to keep the cells from turning into biohazards.
Half the prisoners got brooms for the yard, the other half buckets and bleach for the toilets and showers. Marcus drew the short straw: toilet duty.
I watched from the hallway window as they marched the line out. He caught my eye for half a second nothing obvious, just that quick flash of green that said I know what you’re thinking. My stomach flipped. I told myself I’d stay away today. Keep it professional. Let the heat die down before someone noticed the weird tension around me.
Yeah, right.
By noon the place was
