Processing becomes theater: glossy stills, a witness form, a heavy pen, and a stainless eye that zooms when someone says "Blue room." Jack doesn't sign their version; he writes BLUE ROOM and makes them flinch. By dawn, he's out on paperand deeper in truth. Sabine salutes from a patrol car, a promise tucked in the look: Next time, I'll wear your badge. An unknown voice calls to see if he'll keep playing. The city answers with rain, cameras, and a black sedan that belongs to everyone. The frame isn't a single charge; it's a system with perfect lighting. And it just asked Jack to bring a pen.
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