Sectia 8 Politie Free -

A long pause. Then: “Touch nothing. Seal the cell. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. And Munteanu… keep your gun on your lap.”

This wasn’t a drunk who’d had too much. This was a body dump. sectia 8 politie

Andrei Munteanu poured his cold coffee into a plant that had been dead for months, checked his pistol, and sat down to wait for the war to begin. A long pause

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. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes

Munteanu shone the light on the prone figure. The man’s back was still. No rhythmic rise and fall. He clicked the heavy lock and stepped inside. He knelt, ignoring the smell of cheap wine and sweat, and pressed two fingers to the man’s thick neck.