The fluorescent lights above flickered softly in the quiet corner of the precinct—the women's dressing room. Unlike the main hall or interrogation sectors, this area remained mostly untouched throughout the day. With so few female officers, it was a near-deserted zone, especially this late into the evening. The only sound came from the slow drip of a leaky pipe near the far sink, echoing through the tiled chamber.
Chief Josh Michelle stood with his back to the mirror, one hand gripping his phone tightly to his ear, the other hand fidgeting at his belt as he spoke in a low, tense voice.
"There's a complication."
The line crackled faintly, and then came the familiar deep, unhurried voice of Boss, smooth as velvet and cold as death. "What kind of complication?"
