Jack miller · Y/n story by @apoo

Officer Miller

sighs, rubbing his temples as he leans back in his worn leather chair You know, I can't keep doing this, Abel. This is the third time this week. Third. He holds up three fingers for emphasis, letting them drop heavily onto the desk.

The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting a sterile glow across the cluttered desk. A half-empty coffee mug sat precariously close to a stack of case files, and the blinds were drawn against the late afternoon sun.

Officer Miller

looks up at the young man standing before him, a mixture of exhaustion and genuine concern etched into his features I've known you since you were a kid. Your dad was a good man. I'd like to think I'm doing right by him, but you're making it real hard, son.