[Adastra, Luxomoris. Central Police Headquarters. Late Afternoon.]
Walking through alleyways that stretched one after another in a completely illogical route, the sheriff breathed heavily, slowly making his way forward. The heaviness in his chest and legs was evident, and his back throbbed unpleasantly... age was making itself known, but the old cop's stubbornness was even more apparent. Ignoring physical discomfort seemed to have been ingrained into his brain along with his years of service.
A few intersections. A few sharp honks from cars and cyclists. A few noisy passersby... everything was registered by the ingrained habit of the law wolf.
He didn't even notice how, immersed in thought and in analyzing his surroundings, he had reached the desired location. Before him towered a huge police station with a neat courtyard and the smell of fresh paint still hanging in the air. Chemical and sharp, it mingled with the coolness of the street, stinging his nose.
The building looked too polished, as if it had been prepared for a presentation rather than for keeping order.
But the first thing that caught the sheriff's attention was the dummy surveillance cameras installed around the perimeter.
The man stopped, slowly scratched the back of his head, and cautiously looked at the entrance door, narrowing his eyes.
Now he was evaluating the security measures.
For a few seconds, he even froze, staring at the sign that read 'Premises Under Surveillance'.
[Probably counting in his head the number of fools who believed it.]
Moore opened the door unhurriedly and was immediately greeted by a young rookie cop with a broad, almost perfunctory smile.
Moor merely nodded and began to size up the young man from head to toe. His gaze lingered on the badge, the uniform, the slightly crooked posture, the feet positioned almost right next to each other... A couple of the young man's movements and his bearing were enough for Moor to determine his place within the law-enforcement hierarchy.
[Were investigative instincts his first language?]
The rookie cop was visibly flustered and looked away. He was used to uniforms intimidating people, not becoming the subject of analysis.
[Though only for those who had never worked with it.]
The rookie asked cautiously:
"Do you need help?"
But no sooner had the words left his lips than he sensed a sudden shift in attention. The sheriff turned his head slightly to the side, continuing to watch him out of the corner of his eye. A lazy, minimal movement... confirmation that he had already reached his conclusions.
"I need you," Moor cut him off confidently sharply turning his gaze to the rookie in a way that discouraged any argument.
"Me?"
"You," Moor sharply pointed a finger at the young man.
The young man reflexively mirrored the gesture, freezing with his mouth slightly open in surprise, as if an invisible mark had been placed on him. The sheriff scratched the back of his head, looked away for a second, then looked back at him, raising an eyebrow.
Narrowing his eyes, he asked directly:
"Do you know Rex?"
"Are you talking about sir Major Rex?" the rookie asked uncertainly, trying to understand the context of the question.
"No. I'm talking about Rex," Moor cut him off sharply, without changing his expression.
The young man involuntarily swallowed at that matter-of-fact confidence. He let the silence linger and looked warily at the sheriff, as though weighing whether it was safe to tell the truth.
"Yes... I know," he finally replied.
"And I know," Moor said at once slowly and deliberately circling behind the young man.
Silence hung in the air.
The rookie took a slight step back, trying to make sense of what was happening. He shifted his gaze to the front door, as though expecting someone to break the silence, then to the clock, and finally to the sheriff's boots.
Dirty. Wet. Cracked. He smelled of rain, dampness, strong tobacco, and the worn leather of an old jacket.
He didn't look like a neat officer. Nor like a typical veteran officer. Nor like someone still in active service...
However, his self-confidence, toughness, and demeanor suggested otherwise. They spoke of a man who had long been inside this system.
[Though the system had long outgrown him.]
At that moment, another police officer entered the station. Without even looking around, he called out loudly across the room:
"Some Moor is supposed to show up! You've been paired with him... Watch out for the old man… and watch out."
He said while sorting through the documents in his hands as he walked as if these words were a mere formality rather than a full-fledged warning. He didn't even bother to look at his colleague.
The sheriff immediately turned his head and carefully studied the newcomer. So intently that the man felt the weight of his gaze and immediately looked up.
"There you are. Greetings...", the officer said calmly and formally.
"Likewise," the sheriff replied dryly already shifting his gaze to the papers in his hands.
The rookie suddenly blushed, lowered his head, and briefly greeted his colleague. He could feel the intense energy between the two figures as they tried to outpressure one another.
"Are you taking him with you now?" the officer asked, still not taking his eyes off the documents.
"I came to take a look..."
"We've already gathered the necessary documents and prepared the contract," he interrupted calmly and, without waiting for a reaction, handed the papers to the sheriff.
"What the..." Moor was taken aback for a moment. "Did I ever state that?"
The officer placed a hand on his shoulder and continued calmly:
"You know how the law works. We don't require your approval."
Moor instantly shook off his hand.
"Selective laws you've got."
"Pardon?"
The officer turned his gaze to his colleague.
"Have you packed your things?"
The trainee swallowed nervously and gave a quick nod.
"Yes, sir!"
The young man quickly began gathering his things, frantically sorting through the papers on the desk. So chaotically that documents kept slipping from his hands and falling to the floor.
Among them fell a photograph of Mark and Rex. It slid across the floor and came to rest right at the sheriff's feet.
Moor slowly lowered his gaze.