The atmosphere at the police station was calm today, considering how stressing the previous days have been for everyone, especially for Thatcher, who was at his desk, sipping his third cup of coffee.

He was leaning on the desk and had an arm placed on it, resting his head. Sometimes his eyes would close, then open again after a few seconds, a very slow blinking, a clear sign of his lack of energy.

There were some folders open and disorganized that he was looking at, seeming to be related to recent cases that he needed to solve as soon as possible.

He sighed "..."