Sectia 8 Politie -

But something was wrong. Munteanu leaned closer. The dead man’s hands were unusually soft, the nails manicured. His shoes were expensive leather, not the usual scuffed boots of a local drunk. And his face, when Munteanu gently turned it, was bruised in a very specific pattern—not from a fistfight, but from a precise, crushing blow to the temple.

Munteanu’s blood chilled. That was Agent Secuiu. Secuiu was a brute, a man who believed the law was a suggestion and that his fist was the final verdict. Officially, Secuiu was on administrative leave pending an internal investigation for excessive force. Unofficially, he still walked the streets, doing favors for people who didn’t exist. sectia 8 politie

He looked back at the stopped clock. 3:17 AM. The hour of truth. But something was wrong

“I don’t know! They brought him in an hour ago, drunk. He started snoring, then… nothing. He stopped!” His shoes were expensive leather, not the usual