The Marine turned his attention to Chief Patterson. His posture was rigid, perfectly disciplined. He raised his hand in a sharp, textbook military salute. Patterson returned it instantly, the deep midnight navy of her sleeve slicing through the humid air with crisp, respectful precision.
Without ever casting a second, wasted glance at the disgraced man in khaki, the Marine turned on his heel. He walked away with measured, heavy steps, his dark olive-green uniform blending into the moody, overcast afternoon. He left the chaotic parking lot, the flashing red and blue lights, and the shattered ego of a corrupt cop far behind him, fading into the gritty urban backdrop like a phantom.