The Prison-Made Queen novel Chapter 992

"If my own leverage couldn't get the brass to greenlight this, what makes you think you can?" Hawkins demanded. "What you need right now is to go home and cool off."

Ethan stood frozen.

The two men were locked in a tense standoff. But Hawkins was the boss. Jaw clenched so tight his teeth ached, Ethan finally forced out a single syllable. "...Yes, sir."

He spun on his heel and strode out, slamming the door so hard the walls shook.

The deafening crash echoed down the hall, making a few passing officers jump. Ethan didn't look at anyone, his heavy boots pounding furiously against the floor tiles.

"What's eating the Captain?" a rookie whispered to Richard Cheney.

Richard shook his head, keeping his voice low. "Don't ask. The brass definitely killed his op."

"Word is, people he cares about got caught up in that explosion in Myanor. They're MIA, and upper management just tied his hands. How could he not be losing it?"

"But... rules are rules, right?"

"Rules don't bleed," Richard sighed. "Stick around long enough, kid, and you'll learn that a policy manual doesn't always make things right."

Ethan practically ran to the parking lot. He threw himself into the driver's seat and slammed the door, but didn't start the engine.

His mind was racing, a chaotic blur of horrific possibilities. He gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white, the suffocating ache in his chest threatening to tear him apart.

He sat in the dark car for an entire hour. Only when the streetlights flickered on did he mechanically turn the key, completely aimless.

...

Late night, a dimly lit corner bar.

Ethan sat alone in a secluded booth, three empty beer bottles already lining the table. He rarely drank like this, but tonight, the crushing reality of his helplessness was too much. He needed the alcohol to numb his brain.

"Hit me again," he rasped, shoving an empty bottle toward the bartender.

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