The police station smelled faintly of disinfectant and exhaustion.
Cold walls. Metal chairs. Fluorescent lights that hummed just enough to make silence uncomfortable.
Emma stepped inside quietly.
No designer heels.
No sharp silhouettes.
No Sterling name wrapped around her.
Just blue jeans. A simple top. Hair tied back.
Unremarkable.
Intentional.
Sonya Hart walked beside her—calm, precise, every step measured.
A different kind of power.
Not loud.
Not visible.
But dangerous in its own way.
At the front desk, Emma spoke first.
“I’m here regarding the nurse from last night’s incident.”
The officer looked up, recognition flickering in his eyes.
“Yes, ma’am. She’s in custody.”
A pause.
“She’s… unstable. Keeps repeating she did it for money.”
Emma’s expression didn’t change.
