"You don't get to give me instructions."
Cross kept his eyes on him.
"Then contact someone who can confirm my identity."
For a moment, nobody moved.
The fluorescent lights hummed overhead. A sheet of paper shifted slightly beneath the air vent, and the sound of a distant door closing echoed from the corridor.
Brooks looked toward the officer. She had heard enough to recognize that the simplest solution was still available. A phone call, a message to the appropriate federal contact, or even a basic credentials check could establish whether Cross was telling the truth.
There was no reason for the confrontation to continue.
"Kane," she said cautiously, "we can verify the identification before we take this any further."
The officer did not turn toward her.
"I know what I'm doing, Sergeant."
Brooks held her position.
"Then there shouldn't be a problem checking it."
Kane's shoulders rose slightly. The suggestion had been reasonable, but he received it as an open challenge in front of his own officers. He glanced at Brooks just long enough to make his displeasure obvious, then returned his attention to Cross.
"You hear that?" he said. "Now you've got everyone thinking they need to explain my job to me."
Cross's expression did not change.
"No one needs to explain your job to you. You need to establish who you're dealing with."
The words landed with a weight that silence could not soften.
Parker lowered his eyes for a moment. He knew that Cross had not raised his voice or threatened anyone, yet the conversation had reached a point where another careless movement could turn a professional dispute into a serious incident.
Brooks took one step away from the table.
"Victor, just take a breath."
Kane turned sharply.
"I said I've got it under control."
The force of his reply made Parker straighten beside the door. Brooks stopped moving, her face settling into a guarded expression.
Cross watched the exchange carefully. He could see that Kane's anger was no longer directed solely at him. The officer was now reacting to the possibility that his colleagues might question his judgment, and that possibility appeared to matter more to him than finding out whether he had made a mistake.
That was the dangerous part.
A person who wanted to establish the facts could change course when new information appeared. A person who wanted only to protect his pride might continue escalating long after the facts had become obvious.
Cross had no intention of helping Kane preserve an illusion at the expense of the truth.
"My credentials are available for verification," he said. "You can make the call, or you can ask your sergeant to do it. But keeping me here without checking them will not make this situation disappear."
Kane stared at him.
Then he moved.
The punch came suddenly, driven by anger rather than necessity. Kane swung at Cross's face, striking him hard enough to turn his head to the side. The sound of the impact cut through the conference room, followed by the scrape of a shoe against the floor as Cross shifted to maintain his balance.
For a fraction of a second, nobody reacted.
Cross's hands remained secured in front of him. He could not raise them freely to protect his face, and the handcuffs pulled against his wrists as he steadied himself. A thin line of blood appeared beneath one nostril, bright against his skin.
He drew a slow breath through his nose, immediately regretted it, and pressed his lips together.
The room seemed to contract around the four men and women inside it.
Brooks stared at Kane in disbelief.
Parker moved away from the door, his posture suddenly alert. His eyes went first to Cross's face, then to Kane's clenched hand.
For a moment, the officer who had thrown the punch looked almost surprised by his own action. The surprise vanished quickly, replaced by a hard expression that suggested he had already begun constructing a justification.
Cross slowly turned his head back toward him.
He did not lunge forward. He did not shout. He did not attempt to use his size or training to retaliate. He simply looked at Kane, a trace of blood beneath his nose and a cold clarity in his eyes that had not been there before.
The restraint was deliberate.