The atmosphere in the town was thick with a mixture of hope and apprehension. Adam decided to take a walk to clear his mind, weaving through the narrow streets and alleys that had become so familiar. As he passed by a row of shuttered shops, he noticed two policemen watching him intently from across the way.

One of them stepped forward. "You there," he called out, his tone authoritative but not overtly aggressive. "We need you to come with us."

Adam paused, his senses alert. "May I ask why?" he replied calmly.

"Just come along quietly," the second officer said, his hand resting on the baton at his side. "We have some questions for you."

A knot formed in Adam’s stomach. He had sensed that this moment might come. "I'm afraid I can't do that," he said, taking a step back. "I haven't done anything wrong."

"Don't make this difficult," the first officer warned, his eyes narrowing. "We insist."

Realizing that compliance might lead to undesirable consequences, Adam made a split-second decision. He turned sharply and darted down the nearest alleyway. The officers shouted after him, the sound of their boots pounding against the cobblestones echoing in his ears.

He navigated the labyrinthine passages with practiced agility, but the officers were relentless. As he rounded a corner, he found himself at a dead end—a high wall blocking his path. He spun around to find the policemen closing in, their expressions was that of annoyance

"There's nowhere to go," one of them said breathlessly. "Just come with us."

Adam weighed his options, his mind racing. He considered attempting to scale the wall but knew it was futile. With a resigned sigh, he raised his hands slightly. "Very well," he said evenly. "I'll come quietly."

They escorted him through the streets, their grip firm but not rough. Passersby watched with wary eyes, some whispering among themselves. Adam held his head high, his demeanor composed despite the uncertainty swirling within him.

He was led to a modest building on the outskirts of town—the local precinct. Inside, the atmosphere was stark and unwelcoming. The officers guided him to a small, dimly lit room furnished with a simple table and two chairs.

"Wait here," one of them instructed before closing the door, leaving Adam alone with his thoughts.

He sat down, taking a deep breath to steady himself. He knew that the authorities had become increasingly wary of those who, like him, were seen as influencers within the community. His association with the Father and his involvement in the communal initiatives had likely drawn their attention.

After what felt like an eternity, the door opened, and a stern-looking man entered. He wore a neatly pressed uniform adorned with insignia that indicated a higher rank.

"Good afternoon," the man said, his tone courteous yet devoid of warmth. "I'm Captain Loren. Do you know why you're here?"

Adam met his gaze steadily. "I was hoping you might enlighten me."

Captain Loren took a seat opposite him. "We've received reports that you've been engaging in activities that could be considered... disruptive to the peace."

"I wasn't aware that community service and helping neighbors was considered disruptive," Adam replied calmly.

The captain's eyes flickered with a hint of irritation. "Let's not play games. You and that priest have been encouraging people to gather, and ask wrong questions."

"We've been encouraging people to support one another in difficult times," Adam corrected gently. "Is that a crime?"

"When those gatherings lead to civil disobedience, it becomes a concern," Captain Loren countered. "Trash thrown at officers, public disturbances—these are not trivial matters."

Adam held his gaze. "With all due respect, Captain, people are struggling. They're hungry, desperate. Perhaps if their needs were addressed, there would be fewer disturbances."

Captain Loren regarded Adam with a cold, assessing gaze. The sterile light of the interrogation room cast sharp shadows across the captain's stern features. After a prolonged silence, he leaned forward slightly, his eyes never leaving Adam’s face.

"You must be hungry," he said, his tone deceptively gentle.

Adam opened his mouth to respond, but before he could utter a word, the captain raised a hand to silence him. Turning to a police officer standing rigidly by the door, he ordered, "He's hungry. Would you please get him some food?"

"Yes, sir," the officer replied promptly, exiting the room with brisk efficiency.

Captain Loren settled back in his chair, folding his hands neatly on the table between them. "It's important to keep up one's strength," he remarked casually, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Especially during trying times."

Adam eyed him warily, a knot of unease tightening in his stomach. "I'm not hungry," he said quietly, his voice measured.

"Nonsense," the captain replied, his smile not reaching his eyes. "I insist."

Moments later, the door swung open, and the officer returned carrying a tray laden with an appetizing meal—roasted meat glazed with aromatic herbs, steamed vegetables glistening with butter, freshly baked bread exuding warmth, and a cup of fragrant tea. The rich aromas filled the small room, a stark contrast to the coldness of the surroundings.

"Please, enjoy," Captain Loren urged, gesturing gracefully toward the food.

Reluctantly, Adam picked up the fork, his fingers trembling ever so slightly. He took a tentative bite, the flavors rich and almost overwhelming after days of modest meals. The captain watched him intently, his gaze piercing, as Adam forced down a few morsels.

After a few moments of strained silence, Captain Loren spoke again, his voice slicing through the tension. "Now, let's discuss the matter at hand. I want you to tell me what you and that priest are planning. When will the next gatherings take place?"

Adam swallowed hard, setting down the fork with deliberate care. "It's the will of the people," he replied cautiously. "They're acting on their own accord."

The captain's expression hardened, the veneer of cordiality slipping. "Let's not play games," he said sharply. "You expect me to believe that these events are spontaneous? That there's no coordination?"

A surge of anxiety coursed through Adam. He genuinely knew nothing of any organized plans, but the captain's accusatory tone left little room for reason. "I swear," he said earnestly, his eyes reflecting a mix of fear and sincerity. "I don't know of any plans. The people... they're simply expressing their grievances. It's beyond my control."

Captain Loren stared at him for a long, uncomfortable moment, his gaze unreadable. Finally, he stood up smoothly, smoothing down the front of his immaculate uniform. "Very well," he said coolly. He turned to the officer who had brought the food. "Make sure our guest is well taken care of. See that he gets everything he needs."

"Yes, sir," the officer responded with a curt nod.

As the captain exited the room, the atmosphere shifted dramatically. The door closed with a resounding click, the sound echoing ominously in the confined space. The officer remained by the door for a moment before slowly turning to face Adam, his demeanor transforming from dutiful subordinate to something far more menacing.

"Alright," the officer said curtly, his voice devoid of the courtesy he had shown in the captain's presence. He began rolling up his sleeves methodically, revealing forearms corded with muscle. "Let's try this again. When and where will the other protests be?"

Adam’s heart pounded in his chest, each beat loud in his ears. "Please... I don't know," he stammered, genuine desperation creeping into his voice. "I've told you everything I—"

Before he could finish, the officer's fist shot forward with brutal speed, landing squarely in Adam’s stomach. The force of the blow was like a sledgehammer, driving deep into his abdomen. Pain exploded through his body, a fiery shockwave radiating from the point of impact. His muscles seized, and a strangled gasp escaped his lips as all the air was violently expelled from his lungs.

The sudden agony caused him to double over, his hands instinctively clutching his midsection. The chair tipped precariously, and he tumbled to the cold, unforgiving floor, landing on his knees. Waves of nausea surged as he fought to breathe, each inhale a stabbing torment.

"Get up," the officer barked, his voice dripping with contempt.

Adam struggled to comply, his limbs uncooperative. Before he could make any progress, a rough hand seized a fistful of his hair, the sharp tug wrenching his head backward. The officer yanked him to his feet with a vicious pull, the strain on his scalp sending sharp pinpricks of pain across his skull.

"You're going to tell me what I want to know," the officer snarled, his face mere inches from Adam’s, eyes blazing with hostility.

Without warning, the officer delivered a second punishing punch, this time aiming just below Adam’s ribcage. The impact drove upward, a calculated strike that sent a jolt of agony coursing through his diaphragm. Adam’s eyes widened as a violent convulsion overtook him. He retched uncontrollably, the remnants of his hastily consumed meal erupting from his mouth.

The vomit spewed forth, splattering onto the officer's pristine uniform—thick droplets staining the crisp fabric of his shirt and the polished leather of his boots. The acrid smell of bile filled the air, mingling with the officer's sudden, palpable fury.

"You disgusting wretch," the officer hissed, his lip curling in revulsion as he glanced down at the mess defiling his attire.

For a brief moment, Adam hung limply, his body wracked with pain and humiliation. The officer's eyes flickered with a dangerous light as he stepped back, his hands clenching into tight fists.

"You'll pay for that," he growled.

Without giving Adam a chance to recover, the officer drew back his leg and delivered a savage kick to the side of his knee. The joint buckled with a sickening crack, and Adam collapsed onto the floor, a sharp cry of agony tearing from his throat.

The officer didn't stop there. He aimed another brutal kick at Adam’s midsection, the toe of his boot driving into already bruised flesh. The force lifted Adam slightly off the ground before he crumpled back down, gasping for air that wouldn't come.

Stolen story; please report.

As Adam lay curled on the cold floor, every breath a battle against the searing pain, the officer circled him like a predator savoring its prey. "Had enough?" he taunted, his voice echoing harshly in the small room.

Adam’s vision blurred, dark spots dancing at the edges. He tried to speak, but only a weak groan escaped his lips. The coppery taste of blood mingled with the bitterness of bile, and he could feel warm trickles seeping from his nose and mouth.

"Pathetic," the officer spat, wiping at his soiled uniform with a sneer of disgust. "You think you can defy us? Protect that meddling priest and his rabble? You're nothing."

He crouched down, grabbing Adam’s chin with a rough hand, forcing him to meet his gaze. The officer's fingers dug painfully into his jaw, the nails biting into tender skin.

"Tell me," he demanded once more, enunciating each word with cold precision. "When and where are the protests?"

Adam mustered what little strength he had left, his voice barely audible. "I... don't... know," he whispered, the effort costing him dearly.

The officer's eyes narrowed, a vein pulsing angrily at his temple. With a sound of utter disdain, he released Adam’s face, letting his head drop heavily onto the floor. Rising to his feet, the officer delivered a final, contemptuous kick to Adam’s back, the blow eliciting a sharp gasp as fresh pain lanced through his spine.

"Enjoy your stay," the officer said icily, stepping over Adam’s prone form. He walked to the door, pausing only to glance back with a sneer. "Maybe some time alone will help you remember."

The heavy door slammed shut behind him, the metallic clang reverberating in the oppressive silence that followed. Adam lay motionless, every fiber of his being engulfed in torment. The cold surface of the floor offered little relief as he struggled to process the onslaught he had endured.

Minutes stretched into an eternity as he drifted in and out of a haze. The fluorescent light above cast a harsh glare, intensifying the throbbing in his head. He became dimly aware of the steady drip of blood from his nose, each drop marking time in the stillness.

Minutes stretched into what felt like hours as Adam lay on the cold, unforgiving floor of the interrogation room. His body throbbed with pain—ribs aching, stomach knotted, face swollen from the officer's earlier assault. The metallic taste of blood lingered in his mouth, mingling with the bitterness of despair. The harsh fluorescent light above flickered intermittently, casting erratic shadows that danced across the stark walls.

Left alone in the suffocating silence, Adam’s thoughts churned. He genuinely had no knowledge of any planned protests or gatherings; the recent uprisings were the spontaneous actions of a populace pushed to its limits. The Father's sermons had inspired hope and unity, but there was no grand scheme, no secret strategy orchestrated by them. Everything was the organic response of people yearning for change.

As time dragged on, fatigue pulled at the edges of his consciousness. He drifted in and out of a restless haze, only to be jolted awake by the sound of approaching footsteps. The door creaked open, and a sliver of light pierced the darkness before being swallowed again as the door closed. A moment later, the harsh glare of the room's light bulb flickered to life, searing his eyes.

Blinking against the sudden brightness, Adam looked up to see Captain Loren standing over him, his expression inscrutable. The captain's gaze swept over Adam’s battered form—clothes disheveled, face bruised and smeared with dried blood, eyes hollow with exhaustion.

"Ready to talk?" Captain Loren asked evenly, his voice devoid of any pretense of kindness.

Adam struggled to sit up, propping himself against the wall for support. Every movement sent fresh waves of pain coursing through him. "I told you," he rasped, his throat dry. "I don't know when or where any protests will happen."

An officer standing behind the captain scowled, stepping forward with clenched fists. "Enough of this," he snarled. "You're wasting our time with your lies."

Seeing the officer's intent to inflict more harm, Raphael's eyes widened in fear. Desperate, he blurted out, "Wait! I can tell you how to stop them!"

Captain Loren raised a hand, signaling the officer to halt. The room fell silent except for Adam’s ragged breathing.

"Speak," the captain commanded tersely.

Gathering his thoughts, Adam took a shaky breath. His appearance was pitiful—clothes stained and torn, one eye nearly swollen shut, blood crusted at the corner of his mouth. His hands trembled as he tried to steady himself.

"During the protest," he began, his voice barely above a whisper, "you can place some of your own men among the crowd—plainclothes officers, young men who blend in. Have them instigate disruptions—push down police barriers, cause significant property damage. Let them shout at the police, break windows, overturn carts. This will give you justification to intervene forcefully."

Captain Loren listened intently, his gaze sharp but unreadable. He didn't interrupt, allowing Adam to continue.

"People will believe the violence came from within the protesters," Adam continued. "You can then move in, make arrests, and claim you were restoring order. Detain the key figures, the Father should be your highest priority, the pretense is they incited the violence."

The officer beside the captain sneered. "Spouting nonsense."

Adam flinched at the harsh tone but pressed on. "Afterward, you can address the public. Say that you understand their frustrations but cannot tolerate chaos. Blame the unrest on agitators trying to disrupt society. Promise a fair and public trial for those arrested to placate the masses and assure people that help to those in need is coming."

Captain Loren stood silently for a moment, his eyes fixed on Adam. Without a word, he turned and walked toward the door.

"Take care of this mess," he ordered the officer curtly before exiting the room.

A cold smile spread across the officer's face as he advanced toward Adam. "Looks like it's just you and me now," he said maliciously.

Fear surged through Adam, but his battered body offered little in the way of escape. The officer seized him by the collar, yanking him to his feet. "You think you're clever, don't you?" he taunted.

Before Adam could respond, a powerful fist crashed into his face. A blinding flash of pain erupted as his head snapped back. He tasted blood as it filled his mouth, a sharp metallic tang that made him gag. The force of the blow sent him reeling, but the officer held him upright.

Another brutal punch connected with his jaw, and Adam felt a searing pain shoot through his mouth. Something hard and small flew out, clattering onto the floor with a tiny, echoing sound. Dazed, he realized with horror that it was his tooth—yellowed and stained, now lying amidst the dirt and grime.

He tried to speak, but only a garbled groan escaped his swollen lips. "Gh... ghghgh..." His vision blurred, tears mingling with blood as he stared fixated at the tooth on the floor.

"Not so talkative now, are you?" the officer jeered.

Releasing his grip, the officer let Adam collapse onto the ground. Pain radiated from every part of his body, his senses overwhelmed by the relentless assault.

"Get up," the officer commanded.

Adam could barely move, his limbs unresponsive. Frustrated, the officer delivered a vicious kick to his side, the sharp toe of his boot digging into Adam’s ribs. A guttural cry of agony tore from Adam’s throat as he curled into himself, desperate to shield his battered body.

"Pathetic," the officer spat, wiping his hands on his trousers in disgust. He stepped over Adam, heading toward the door.

Pausing at the threshold, he cast one final contemptuous glance back. "Maybe some time alone will help you remember your place."

With that, he slammed the door shut, leaving Adam engulfed in darkness once more.

Hours bled together as Adam lay crumpled on the cold, unforgiving floor of the interrogation room. The relentless throbbing in his jaw was a cruel reminder of the tooth he'd lost, the gap in his mouth an aching void that matched the hollow despair settling in his chest. The metallic taste of blood lingered, mingling with the sour remnants of bile. His body protested every slight movement, bruises blooming beneath his skin like dark, painful flowers.

In the suffocating silence, he clung to consciousness, his fingers instinctively curling around the small object he'd managed to grasp—the dislodged tooth. It rested in his palm, a tangible fragment of himself, slick with blood and saliva. Staring at it, he felt a strange detachment, as though observing someone else's misfortune from a distance.

The fluorescent light above flickered erratically, casting unsettling shadows that seemed to dance and sway at the edges of his vision. Time became a nebulous concept, each second stretching interminably. His thoughts drifted in and out of focus, a hazy swirl of memories and fleeting impressions.

At some point—he couldn't say when—the sound of footsteps echoed faintly outside the door. The jangling of keys followed, sharp and intrusive against the muffled quiet. The door creaked open, and harsh voices barked indistinct commands. Before he could fully register what was happening, rough hands grabbed him under the arms, dragging him upright. His legs wobbled, barely supporting his weight.

"Get moving," one of the officers snapped, his tone devoid of sympathy.

They half-led, half-shoved him down a dimly lit corridor. The walls seemed to close in around him, the air thick with the odors of stale sweat and disinfectant. Adam stumbled, his vision swimming, but the officers offered no assistance beyond keeping him from collapsing entirely.

At the building's entrance, they paused. Without ceremony, one of the officers pushed open the heavy door, allowing a gust of cool night air to sweep inside. The sudden chill made Raphael shiver, a stark contrast to the stagnant warmth of the precinct.

"You're free to go," the officer said curtly.

Before Adam could respond, a boot connected with the small of his back—not hard enough to injure further, but enough to propel him forward. He staggered down the stone steps, nearly losing his footing. Behind him, the door slammed shut with a resonant thud, the finality of the sound echoing in the stillness.

He found himself alone on the deserted street, the town cloaked in the quiet hush of late night. The sky above was a tapestry of deep indigo, punctuated by distant stars that flickered coldly. A thin sliver of the moon hung low on the horizon, offering scant illumination.

Clutching his tooth tightly in one hand, Adam began to walk. Each step was an effort, his muscles protesting, joints stiff and uncooperative. The cobblestones underfoot were uneven, threatening to trip him if he didn't focus on the path ahead.

Clutching the tooth tightly in his trembling hand, Adam found himself drawn to the edge of a tranquil lake that stretched out like a vast, dark mirror beneath the luminous glow of the moon. The unfinished road he walked had led him here, as if fate itself had guided his steps to this solitary place. The water's surface was so still that it perfectly reflected the tapestry of stars above, creating an illusion of infinite depth.

As he gazed into the inky depths, his own reflection stared back—a visage almost unrecognizable. Medium-length light brown hair fell in disarray, matted with dirt and sweat. His brown eyes, usually warm and expressive, were now shadowed with exhaustion and rimmed with the marks of his recent ordeal. His face bore the brutal evidence of violence: a broken nose crooked slightly to one side, blood crusted around his nostrils and lips, bruises blooming in dark hues along his cheek and jaw.

The sight struck him with a profound force. He did not know why he felt an overwhelming urge to reach out, why an irresistible longing compelled him to connect with the marred image before him. Without understanding, without questioning, he knelt by the water's edge and allowed his fingertips to graze the cool surface. The touch sent gentle ripples across the lake, distorting his reflection into wavering fragments.

Suddenly, tears welled up, blurring his vision until the fractured reflection dissolved into mere shapes of light and shadow. He began to weep uncontrollably, the sobs wracking his body as he clutched the tooth against his chest. The pent-up pain, fear, and isolation poured out of him like a flood, each tear a release of the burdens he had silently carried.

He did not try to comprehend why he wept so fiercely, why his soul felt both shattered and laid bare. All he knew was that in this moment, under the silent witness of the moon and stars, he was embracing every part of his being—the brokenness, the despair, the remnants of hope. He wept for the man he saw in the water, for the innocence lost, for the trials yet to come.

His tears fell into the lake, creating tiny ripples that spread outward, disturbing the perfect reflection of the moon and stars on the water's surface. Each ripple seemed to carry a fragment of his sorrow into the vastness beyond. The cool night air brushed against his bruised face, mingling with the warmth of his breath, while the gentle glow of the moon enveloped him in a silvery embrace.

As his sobs began to subside, Adam opened his hand and gazed at the tooth resting in his palm.

The smooth enamel caught the moonlight, gleaming softly against the backdrop of his dirt-streaked skin. Without a word, he drew back his arm and cast the tooth into the lake. It broke the surface with a delicate plink, sending out concentric circles that echoed the ripples from his tears.

He watched as the ripples expanded and faded, the tooth disappearing into the depths. A faint smile flickered across his lips, "Perhaps a fairy will come and take it," he whispered to himself, Wiping his face with the back of his hand, he became aware of the mess—the mixture of tears, blood, and grime that clung to his skin. He used the sleeve of his tattered shirt to clean himself as best he could, smearing the residue but finding a small comfort in the act.

Slowly, Adam rose from his knees, his legs unsteady yet resolute. The night was still around him, the silence punctuated only by the distant rustling of leaves and the soft lapping of water against the shore. The moon hung high above, casting a luminous path that stretched out before him, illuminating the unfinished road.

He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the crisp air, and felt a quiet determination stirring within. The rawness of his emotions had left him drained but somehow lighter, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Glancing once more at the tranquil lake, he sensed that a part of his turmoil had been left behind, absorbed into the peaceful depths.

Without looking back again, Adam began to walk. Each step was deliberate, his boots crunching softly against the gravel. The stars seemed to guide him, their distant light offering a semblance of direction amidst the shadows. The tenderness of his bruised cheek reminded him of his vulnerability, yet also of his capacity to endure, endure it all.