Minutes stretch long. Cole’s confidence begins to thin under the weight of silence. Then, outside, another engine arrives — slower, steadier, purposeful.
The door opens again. A tall man enters, broad-shouldered and calm. His eyes take in everything: the waitress, the diners, and finally Harold, whose faint nod speaks volumes.
The word stills the air.
Cole blinks, realizing too late what’s unfolding. The man takes out a wallet, flashes a badge that catches the light. “Sergeant Major Michael Mitchell,” he introduces himself quietly.
Authority That Doesn’t Need to Shout
Michael steps forward — no anger, no theatrics. “You think strength is loud,” he says to Cole, his tone even and firm. “But this man taught soldiers what real strength is. It’s not noise. It’s not a hand that moves faster than thought.”
Cole can’t respond.
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