Nasya's POV
The female officer in her crisp uniform held the access card against the reader until the heavy door emitted a sharp beep. With a mechanical clunk, the reinforced stainless-steel barrier slid open. She gestured inward, her expression professionally neutral.
"This will be your holding space," she stated, her voice devoid of inflection. "All personal effects recovered during your search have been logged as potential evidence and will remain in secure custody. Once the investigation concludes and the actual perpetrator is identified, you may petition for their return."
I absently fingered the stiff collar of the shapeless garment I'd been given—something between medical scrubs and prison wear—before nodding silently. A barely audible "Thanks" escaped my lips as I stepped across the threshold.
