Almost an hour later, the interrogation was finally ready to begin.
The atmosphere inside the police headquarters had shifted into something far more formal, as if the very temperature of the room adjusted itself to match the pressure that weighed within.
The pale gray walls reflected the cold glare of the fluorescent lights, while the faint, monotonous hum of the ceiling fan filled the air — a constant, droning sound that carried a chill not just to the skin, but to the nerves themselves.
The scent of aged paper and old records mingled faintly with the sterile fragrance of antiseptic, giving the place an impression that was both immaculate and unnervingly tense.
This time, the case involving a student wasn't a trivial matter of school discipline, nor something that could be settled with standard procedures.
It was a case that entangled the names of high-ranking elites — one that demanded special and delicate handling.
