Welcome Party

The next day, Ethan arrived at Miles' restaurant as usual. He saw Brock sitting in a corner, reading the newspaper and drinking coffee.

—Good morning, Brock. What's new today?— Ethan said as he sat down across from him.

Brock set the newspaper aside and replied, —A boring newspaper means a boring day.—

—The 76ers won last night. Did you watch?— Ethan commented as the waitress served him coffee.

—No, after dealing with an incident involving Emmett last night, it was too late, and I couldn't catch up.—

Ethan shook his head before adding, —Fortunately, you weren't on duty.—

Last night, a neighbor made a report after hearing gunshots; a woman had shot her husband and his male lover when she found them both in bed at her house. The husband got shot in the buttock but managed to survive.

Brock stared at the brown coffee in his cup, hesitated for a moment, and then decided to set the cup aside.

—Damn it, I'm out of here. Later, we'll head to court for Hood's swearing—in ceremony. There's also a welcome party hosted by Kai Proctor tonight. Don't forget.—

Ethan nodded. The organizer of the town's underground forces was throwing a welcome party for the new police chief, and he definitely wouldn't miss it.

After Brock left, Ethan greeted the waiter to order.

The waiter approached quickly with a plate of pastries in hand.

—Good morning, Officer. This is the strawberry cake I just made. I'd like you to try it.—

Ethan noticed the name tag on his chest.

—Daria, thank you. You can call me Ethan. Please bring me another cup of coffee.—

—Alright, Ethan, I'll have it ready in a moment.—

Daria gave Ethan a sweet smile, swaying her hips as she walked away.

Looking away, Ethan took a spoon, cut a piece of the cake, and brought it to his mouth.

—It's very good.—

Back at the police station, Ethan found Hood standing in front of a full—length mirror, awkwardly adjusting his clothes.

Ethan approached to help him adjust the collar of his shirt and said, looking at the person in the mirror, —Not used to wearing this?—

Hood was tucking his shirt into his pants. Hearing Ethan's words, his hands paused.

Ethan pretended not to notice Hood's discomfort and continued, —It can't be easy for you, coming to Banshee Town from out west. If you need help, just ask.—

Hood, still looking at the mirror, locked eyes with Ethan, who kept talking calmly, —Martin Star Dry Cleaners has a partnership with our station. If the clothes don't fit well, you can ask them to make some adjustments.—

Hood turned around and said, —Thanks, but I think it's fine.—

—Alright, then let's go. It's time to head to court and take the oath,— Ethan said, giving him a pat on the shoulder.

Hood watched Ethan's figure walk away, smiling to himself, wondering if he was being overly sensitive.

The Banshee Town courthouse stood imposingly, its old—style façade reflecting the history and authority of the city. Inside, the atmosphere was charged with formality. Wooden benches lined up in rows were already occupied by local police officers, government officials, and some prominent community members.

Ethan walked into the courthouse with a firm stride, his boots echoing off the marble floor. He observed the familiar faces filling the room, all attentive, waiting for the ceremony to begin. Brock and Emmett were sitting in the third row, exchanging murmurs as they observed the activity in the hall.

The judge, an older man with a stern and weary expression, occupied the central podium. He wore a black robe that accentuated his austere figure. In front of him, on a small table, lay a Bible, ready for the oath.

Hood stood to one side, nervous. He wore his new police chief uniform, which still didn't seem to fit quite right. His hands moved restlessly, adjusting his tie and smoothing his jacket. When his eyes met Ethan's, the newcomer felt a sense of relief in the calm gaze his companion returned.

Ethan walked over to him and, with a small smile, whispered, —It'll be fine, Hood. It's just a formality.—

Hood nodded, though his hands continued to fidget.

The judge lightly tapped his gavel, calling for attention.

—Order in the court. We will now begin the swearing—in ceremony for Banshee Town's new police chief, Lucas Hood,— he announced, his deep voice echoing throughout the room.

Hood stepped forward to the podium, each step feeling like a heavy burden. When he arrived, the judge gestured to the Bible.

—Place your left hand on the Bible and raise your right hand, please.—

Hood complied, feeling the weight of all the gazes in the room. He lifted his right hand, trying to control the trembling that threatened to betray him.

—Repeat after me,— said the judge, his tone firm and ceremonial, —I, Lucas Hood, do solemnly swear...—

—I, Lucas Hood, do solemnly swear...— Hood repeated, his voice stronger than he expected, resonating in the room.

Having completed the oath, the Sheriff had officially assumed his position.

The judge nodded in approval and gently lowered his gavel.

—Welcome, Chief Hood. May your tenure bring safety and justice to Banshee Town.—

The room filled with applause, short but powerful. Ethan, watching from his place, noticed Hood's shoulders relax slightly, the relief evident in his posture.

After the applause died down, several officers approached Hood to congratulate him, shaking his hand and patting him on the back. Though his face maintained the seriousness befitting the occasion, Ethan could see a small smile tugging at the corners of Hood's lips.

When the ceremony ended and the formalities gave way to more casual conversations, Ethan approached Hood and patted his shoulder.

—You did well, Hood. Now the real work begins.—

After the swearing—in ceremony concluded and the congratulations were exchanged, Ethan returned to work. It was a relatively quiet town, with cases like the previous day's being rare. Soon, evening arrived. After returning home, he cleaned his kitchen utensils, boiled half a pot of water, and tossed in the pasta he'd bought from the supermarket.

For a welcome party like those held in the United States, simpler food was expected: some appetizers and cocktails. However, few people actually ate or drank at the party; mainly, it was a social occasion.

After filling his stomach, taking a shower, and putting on one of his father's black suits, Ethan drove to Proctor's house. It was a well—known residence in town, an old—style white house.

Shortly after, he arrived in front of a private villa, where a temporarily hired valet greeted the arriving cars.

Following the valet's directions, Ethan found a parking spot and secured his car.

As he walked toward the door, he saw a car parked in front of him. The person inside impatiently opened the door, and Ethan paused.

—Good evening, Mr. Hopewell.—

—Good evening, Ethan, right? We met at the court today,— Gordon said, forcing a smile as he recognized him.

With a smile, Ethan shook hands with Gordon Hopewell, the district attorney of Banshee Town. Then, he turned to the woman in a black evening dress standing beside Gordon.

—This is my wife, Carly.—

—Hello, pleased to meet you, Mrs. Hopewell,— Ethan said, nodding toward Carly before entering Proctor's villa with them.

Crossing the lawn to the backyard, the atmosphere immediately livened up. It was the first time Ethan had seen so many people gathered in one place since arriving in Banshee Town. Though Proctor had a bad reputation, he seemed to do a good job of maintaining social connections.

Of course, there were also people like Gordon, who simply wanted to stay in the new police chief's good graces and take the opportunity to network.

The scene was well—organized: everyone was chatting and laughing. A small stage had been set up by the pool, and a band played upbeat music.

Ethan saw Brock and Emmett standing by the poolside. He excused himself from Gordon, stopped a passing waiter, grabbed a glass of champagne from the tray, and headed over to Brock and Emmett.

Clinking glasses with both, Ethan raised his and took a sip.

—Good evening, guys. What were you talking about?—

—About what happened yesterday at the sawmill, Ethan. You were there too. If Proctor hadn't shown up with that attitude, Chief Hood would have taken down the Moody brothers,— Brock said with a puzzled expression. —With his skills, aren't you curious about what he's been through?—

Ethan shrugged. —You know, everyone has their secrets, just like us.—

—Ethan's right, Brock. Aren't you glad our Sheriff is a good fighter?— Emmett nodded.

Brock shrugged and drank his champagne in one gulp.

After chatting for a while, Ethan set his empty glass down and looked around. At that moment, a low shout emerged from the crowd. A familiar figure accidentally knocked over the waiter's tray, spilling drinks on her clothes before quickly walking away.

Ethan recognized her instantly. Wasn't that Daria, the waitress from Miles' restaurant?

—I'll be back, going to the bathroom,— Ethan said, hurrying to follow her.

Ethan watched Daria as she quickly glided between the guests, her expression one of pure frustration. He had seen her before at Miles' restaurant, but this was the first time he had seen her at an event like this. Something in the way she moved, in the way her eyes desperately searched for an escape, compelled him to follow her.

He crossed the villa's main hall, dodging guests engrossed in lively conversations, and ascended the marble stairs with

Daria had disappeared on the second floor, and he followed her to a quiet hallway, away from the bustle of the party.

Finally, he found her next to the bathroom, in front of a mirror. She was frantically cleaning her clothes, trying to erase the cake stains that spread across her dress. Her face reflected a mix of anger and embarrassment.

Ethan approached slowly, taking a towel from a wooden box that was on a small table in the hallway.

"Good evening, Daria," he said softly, not wanting to scare her. I didn't expect to see you here.

Daria looked up, surprised, and stopped rubbing her dress.

—Ethan... my friends and I came to the party. I don't know how I could be so clumsy, I didn't see the waiter and... well, you see the mess —she replied, trying to maintain her composure, although her voice betrayed her nervousness.

Ethan offered him the towel.

—It's okay, this can happen to anyone. Do you need help?

Daria hesitated for a moment, her eyes scanning the empty hallway. Then, she nodded slowly.

"—Yes, please, if it's not too much trouble."

Ethan gave a slight smile.

—Of course not. It's an honor for me.

He approached her with the towel in his hand, but before he could do anything, Daria stopped him, looking him in the eyes.

"Ethan, I think... you're cleaning in the wrong place."

Ethan stopped, confused.

—What?

Daria smiled shyly, biting her lower lip. Suddenly, she took his hand and, with a quick motion, gently pushed him towards the bathroom, closing the door behind them. The sound of the lock turning echoed in the small space.

Inside the bathroom, the air was thick with tension. Daria approached him, so close that he could feel her breath hitching. Her eyes, which had previously shown nervousness, now shone with an intensity that Ethan did not expect. Before he could say anything, she grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him towards her, melding their lips in a passionate kiss.

Ethan responded instantly, surprised by the ferocity with which the woman had approached him. His hands, which a moment ago had been holding a towel, now slid down to her waist as she pushed him against the wall. Her lips explored every corner, her hands sliding down his back with a palpable urgency.

The outside world disappeared for both of them, replaced by the warmth of that small space. The noise of the party below faded into a distant murmur as they both surrendered to the passion of the moment, their bodies moving in a dance that only they understood.

Time seemed to stand still inside the bathroom. What began as an attempt to clean a stain turned into an unexpected encounter, charged with desire and electricity. Finally, exhausted and breathless, they separated, their foreheads touching as they tried to catch their breath.

"That... was unexpected," murmured Ethan, still feeling the rapid beating of his heart.

Daria smiled, this time more relaxed.

"I suppose so." But I don't regret it.

She gently stepped away from him, smoothing her dress and trying to fix her hair. Ethan did the same, trying to compose himself before leaving. She approached the door and, before opening it, looked at him one last time.

"Thank you for your help, Ethan."

He nodded, with a slight smile.

"Always at your service."

Daria opened the door carefully, peeking into the hallway to make sure it was clear. Leaving the bathroom, she was once again the same person he had seen in the restaurant, but now with a different spark in her eyes.

Ethan came out after her, taking a moment to hang a "maintenance" sign on the bathroom door. He couldn't help but smile as he recalled what had just happened. But her smile quickly faded when a gunshot rang out from the villa's backyard.

The scream that followed, a roar that echoed throughout the house, made him react immediately.

"Proctor!" shouted a voice from below.

Ethan rushed down the stairs, leaving behind the encounter with Daria, his mind now focused on the situation unfolding in the backyard.