The recording application was already open.
He pressed the button.
And followed.
The hallway smelled of industrial cleaner and stale coffee.
Andrew had been in hundreds of police stations during his career. He knew their architecture, their sounds, their invisible hierarchies.
But this one felt different.
Perhaps because Brandon had walked these halls.
Perhaps because Andrew had spent three years imagining the final moments of his brother’s life.
They stopped in front of a gray metal door.
IR3.
Interrogation Room Three.
Mitchell opened it.
“Inside.”
Andrew entered.
The room was small and windowless except for a narrow strip of reinforced glass in the door. A metal table stood in the center. Three chairs surrounded it.
A camera was mounted in the corner.
Its red recording light was off.
Andrew looked at it.
Then he sat down.
Mitchell remained standing.
Wilson closed the door.
Andrew folded his hands on the table.
For the first time since entering the station, he allowed himself to think of his brother.
I’m here now, Brandon.
But he did not know whether he was too late.
Not for justice.
Justice could wait.
He was afraid he was too late for the truth.
The Room Where Silence Lived
Craig Mitchell had always believed he could read people.
That was one of the reasons he had survived twenty years in law enforcement. He could tell when someone was lying. He could tell when someone was afraid.
Fear had patterns.
People talked too much. Their hands shook. Their eyes searched for exits.
But Andrew Harris did none of those things.
He simply sat there.
That irritated Mitchell more than he wanted to admit.
“Let’s start again,” he said. “Why are you here?”
“That information is for your captain.”
Mitchell placed both hands on the table.
“You’re not in a position to make demands.”
“I’m not making demands.”
Wilson leaned against the wall near the door.
Andrew turned toward her.
“Am I under arrest?”
She smiled.
“That depends on what happens next.”
Mitchell walked around the table.
“You came into a secure government building during shift change and refused to clearly state your business.”
“I gave you my name.”
“Not good enough.”
“You assaulted me before I had the opportunity to explain anything.”
The room became quiet.
Mitchell bent forward.
“You need to be careful.”
Andrew looked directly into his eyes.
“Why?”
That single word made Mitchell’s jaw tighten.
“Because you’re in my station.”
Andrew’s gaze shifted briefly toward the camera in the corner.
“No,” he said quietly. “I’m in a public building.”
Wilson laughed.
“You people always want to talk about rights.”
Andrew turned toward her.
“And you people always seem to forget where your authority ends.”
For the first time, Wilson’s expression changed.
Mitchell slammed his palm against the table.
“Enough.”
The sound echoed through the room.
Andrew did not flinch.
Mitchell hated that.
“Check his pockets,” he ordered.
Wilson stepped forward.
Andrew spoke before she reached him.
“You don’t have consent.”
“We don’t need it if we believe you’re a threat.”
“Do you?”
Mitchell paused.
The honest answer was no.
Andrew had not threatened anyone. He had not raised his voice. He had not made a sudden movement.
But Mitchell had never needed much of a reason before.
Wilson removed Andrew’s phone.
“Unlock it.”
“No.”
Mitchell moved behind Andrew’s chair.
“That wasn’t a request.”
“And my answer remains the same.”
The next movement happened quickly.
Mitchell grabbed Andrew’s collar and jerked him halfway out of the chair.
Andrew’s hands rose instinctively.
Not to fight.
Only to keep his balance.
Wilson immediately spoke.
“He’s resisting.”
Andrew looked at her.
For the first time, sadness crossed his face.
“That’s how you do it, isn’t it?”
“What?”
“Create the story before the report is written.”
Wilson’s eyes narrowed.
Mitchell shoved Andrew back into the chair.
“You’re going to tell us why you’re really here.”
Andrew straightened his jacket.
“Tomorrow morning. Eight o’clock.”
Mitchell’s voice grew louder.
“What ceremony?”
“The mayor will be there. City council members. Your command staff.”
“There is no ceremony.”
“There is.”
“You’re lying.”
Andrew looked at him.
“I don’t think you’re used to people telling you the truth.”
Mitchell reached for him again.
This time, Wilson did not look away.
His hand struck Andrew’s shoulder.
Then his head.
The metal edge of the table caught Andrew above the eyebrow.
There was a wet sound.
Andrew fell backward into the chair.
For a moment, nobody moved.
Blood began running down his face.
Mitchell stared at him.
Andrew touched his forehead.
When he pulled his fingers away, they were red.
He looked at them for several seconds.
Then he looked at Mitchell.
“This is exactly what you did three years ago.”
Mitchell froze.
“What?”
“Three years ago. In this room.”
Andrew’s voice remained calm.
“My brother.”
The air seemed to leave the room.
Mitchell took a step backward.
Andrew watched him.
“Brandon Harris.”
The name landed like a gunshot.
Mitchell’s face changed.
Andrew saw the memory arrive.
A frightened man.
A locked room.
Someone begging to breathe.
Five more minutes.
That was what the investigation had eventually uncovered from a witness statement.
Five more minutes.
Mitchell had wanted Brandon quiet for five more minutes.
And Brandon had never spoken again.
The door opened.
Tyler Brooks stood there holding a printed schedule.
His eyes immediately went to Andrew’s blood.
“Sir,” he said quietly, “I checked tomorrow’s calendar.”
Mitchell turned toward him.
“And?”
“There’s a ceremony.”
No one spoke.
Brooks swallowed.
“Eight a.m. Swearing-in ceremony for the new chief of police.”
Wilson pushed herself away from the wall.
Mitchell stared at the young officer.
“What?”
“It’s on the internal calendar.”
Brooks held out the document.
“Mayor Anderson. City council president. State representatives.”
Mitchell snatched the paper.
His eyes moved down the page.
Andrew watched the color slowly drain from his face.