Before Vance could reassert his grip, the heavy sound of a door swinging open echoed down the corridor. The sharp, rapid click of low-heeled boots against the linoleum signaled a new entrance.
Captain Sarah Jenkins stepped into the frame. She wore the same solid black uniform as Vance, but she carried it with an air of sharp professionalism. Her hair was pulled back into a tight bun, and her expression was one of cold, calculating fury. Tucked securely under her left arm was a thick manila folder.
Jenkins took in the scene in a fraction of a second. The staging was disastrous: one of her veteran officers pinning a man in a burgundy suit to the wall while the rest of the precinct stood by like paralyzed extras in a background shot.
She didn't shout, but her voice cracked through the air like a whip. "Vance!"
Vance turned his head, his hands still clutching Marcus’s jacket. "Captain, I'm just clearing out—"
"Hey," Jenkins interrupted, closing the distance with rapid, aggressive strides. She pointed a rigid finger directly at Vance’s chest, her body language radiating absolute authority. The camera angle of the room seemed to pivot, the focus entirely snapping onto her intervention.
She stopped just feet away, her eyes blazing. "Taking your hands off him because in ten minutes, this becomes his building."
The words hung in the air, echoing slightly against the concrete walls. The ambient sound of the precinct seemed to vanish entirely, replaced by a profound, heavy silence.
Vance froze. The color rapidly drained from his face, leaving his skin a pale, sickly gray under the harsh fluorescent lights. His brain struggled to process the dialogue. His building.
Slowly, as if moving through viscous fluid, Vance’s hands released the fabric of the burgundy suit. He took a clumsy, uneven step backward, his physical dominance shattering instantly. The aggressive, high-key lighting that had previously made him look intimidating now merely highlighted the sweat beading on his forehead and the sudden, raw panic in his eyes.