Third Person’s POV Ethan entered the station like a man carrying a storm beneath his skin, restrained only by discipline and purpose. The glass doors slid shut behind him with a soft hiss, but the sound seemed louder than it should have been, echoing faintly in the controlled coldness of the building. Inside, everything was orderly predictable. Officers moved about with practised efficiency, voices kept low, footsteps measured. Papers shuffled, phones rang, keyboards clicked. It was a world built on procedure, on authority. Ethan’s gaze was dark, fixed straight ahead, his expression carved from something harder than anger, his jaw flexed subtly as he approached the reception desk, every step deliberate. The receptionist looked up. “Good morning, sir,” she said carefully. “Good morning,” he replied, his tone polite but devoid of warmth. “I’d like to see your superior officer. Immediately.” The receptionist nodded quickly. “Of course, sir. Right away.” Within seconds,
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