The atmosphere in the police station was tense, filled with the scent of stale coffee and disinfectant.
Ethan sat on the metal chair, his elbows resting on the scratched wooden table as he ran a hand through his disheveled hair.
His head was pounding from the alcohol, but he was much more sober than before.
Across from him, the three men he had fought with were fuming, their faces red with anger and their clothes slightly rumpled from the brawl.
"I already told you," Ethan muttered, his voice hoarse, "they started it."
"Bullshit!" one of the men snapped, slamming his hand on the table.
"You bumped into us, you refused to apologize, and then you started throwing punches like some entitled prick!"
Ethan clenched his jaw, but before he could respond, the officer standing between them raised a hand.
