Transmigrated in Banshee Town

The next morning, when Ethan opened his eyes, the dawn light filtered through the curtains of his room. He turned his head and saw Nola resting peacefully beside him. Her dark hair was tousled over the pillow, and the sheets barely covered her naked body.

Ethan watched her for a few moments before sighing and looking away. He slid out of bed carefully, trying not to wake her.

Once on his feet, he stepped onto the porch, letting the cool breeze hit him.

He took a deep breath for a few seconds, enjoying the morning air of the forest, and began stretching his muscles calmly, preparing his body for training.

Then, he dropped to the ground and started his routine with a hundred push-ups, maintaining a steady and controlled rhythm. After a few minutes, without wasting time, he put on the sneakers by the door and went out for a run, as part of his daily routine to stay active.

When he returned to the cabin, still breathing heavily, he found Nola still deeply asleep in bed. Her relaxed and detached lifestyle reflected someone who didn't understand the concept of urgency—Nola simply slept until the day called her to wake up, with no rush or need to keep a schedule.

Since Nola had been away for a long time and had nowhere to stay in Banshee, and she wasn't willing to live with her brother's widow, Ethan simply let her stay with him for a while. For now, it was safer for her to live there with him.

As for what to do next, they discussed it and decided to first find an entry point into the tribal council and take over Alex's original team, who had also supported his father for years.

Even a rotten boat still has a few good nails, and Alex must have had loyal allies in the tribal council. Nola would try to find out who those nails were through Alex's widow.

After all, Nola had never cared about getting involved in the casino business or its management, so her knowledge was limited.

After recovering from his morning workout, Ethan went straight to take a shower. His shift at the station would start soon, and it seemed Nola had no intention of waking up.

Kai Proctor's Home

Inside Proctor's villa, a knock on the bedroom door broke the morning silence. Lying in bed, Kai opened his eyes, yawned, and moved the arm resting on his chest aside.

Proctor put on his robe and opened the door.

Burton adjusted his glasses; his knuckles were covered in superficial wounds and stained with blood.

Ignoring the naked women lying in the bed, he said to Proctor:

—Sir, the guy in the basement is ready to talk to you.

Burton hadn't slept all night, but there were no signs of fatigue on his face. In fact, there was even a hint of excitement in his eyes.

—Good. Wait a few minutes.

Not long after, Proctor stepped out of the bedroom, fully dressed in a sharp black suit and a collarless white shirt buttoned all the way up.

The two walked together toward the basement, and when they reached the hidden room—the same one Hood had discovered during the raid to arrest Proctor—Burton slowly slid the wine rack aside and unlocked the secret door.

Now, the room was completely empty. When the police raided the house, they confiscated his entire weapons collection. Only a table and a chair remained in the center of the otherwise vacant space.

In the chair, a middle-aged man wearing a denim jacket sat motionless. His face was covered in blood, one eye swollen shut, and his cheekbones were shattered. His other eye, still functional, blinked rapidly as he saw Proctor enter.

—I think you're ready to talk to me, aren't you?

As Proctor spoke, he gestured for Burton to remove the gray tape sealing the man's mouth.

—Looks like you all had a wonderful evening together.

Burton smirked and pulled the tape off his mouth.

The man's lips trembled constantly, and tears welled up in his eyes.

Seeing such a tough guy reduced to this state by Burton, Proctor shook his head.

—I'm sorry, but Burton's style has always been like this. I've told him many times, but… well, you shouldn't have refused to talk to me. You should've been a little more cooperative. But don't worry, these wounds will heal. As long as you make sure you live long enough to see that happen, that is.

As the man in the work jacket nodded slowly, Proctor tapped the back of his hand in satisfaction.

—Jim Cage… is he the one who's been supplying pills to the Philadelphia mafia over the past few weeks?

The man answered weakly:

—Yes. Since you got arrested, he approached us. His price was lower than yours, and he had enough product to back it up.

The man spat out a tooth and mumbled:

—It's not just Frachier. It's all your original distribution channels. He's taken over every single one. It wasn't personal, you know—it's just business.

Proctor gritted his teeth, a smile appearing on his face.

—Good. Thanks for confirming that.

He winked at Burton and turned to leave the basement.

—Wait a minute! I told you everything!

The man in the work jacket felt the murderous intent behind him and struggled frantically.

—Get away from me, you psycho! Lunatic!

Burton removed his glasses, grabbed a steel wire with handles on both ends from the table beside him, and stepped forward. A moment later, the basement fell completely silent again.

CADI, Police Station

Ethan parked the police car and entered Miller's restaurant. During the morning rush hour, most of the seats inside were occupied.

Siobhan and Hood sat on the high stools in front of the counter. Ethan walked over and sat between them.

—Good morning, Sheriff —Ethan said with a grin as he took a seat, his gaze briefly meeting Siobhan's—. Siobhan, you look radiant this morning.

Siobhan raised an eyebrow, a playful smile on her face.

—Radiant, huh? Is that your way of saying I look dazzling, or did you just run out of words for a moment?

Ethan let out a light chuckle as he leaned in, resting his arm on the counter.

—I guess it's a little bit of both —he replied.

On the table sat the pancakes and fruit platter that Siobhan had ordered for him. After all that exercise, hunger was starting to creep in, so he picked up his fork and took a bite of an apple slice.

—You should be grateful that a girl as pretty as me orders you breakfast —Siobhan said with a playful grin.

Ethan looked up, savoring the apple before responding.

—And what makes you think I'm not grateful? —he asked, his tone smooth but with a glint of mischief in his eyes.

Siobhan shot him a challenging look, crossing her arms.

—Just make sure you don't forget it —she said, still smiling.

—Carrie, how are you? How are the kids?

Ethan chewed his apple and turned to look behind him.

Carrie wore her waitress uniform, stained with a few grease spots, as she placed several plates of food on one of the dining tables. Her face showed a faint blush, clearly uncomfortable in front of a group of housewives she had met at a book club.

—All good, thanks for asking —Carrie forced a smile and quickly turned away.

What followed was the whispering of housewives at the table. Words like betrayal, prison, and divorce could be vaguely heard.

Ethan turned around and continued eating.

Siobhan also noticed the movement behind her. After taking a bite of her sandwich, she whispered:

—You know, I really admire her perseverance. After everything she's been through, it must be very difficult.

Hood said nothing and quietly ate his Mexican-style omelet, while Ethan cut his pancakes and smiled at Siobhan.

—Everyone has to face the consequences of their decisions.

After returning from New York, Gordon still couldn't forgive a wife who had abandoned her husband and children to flee to New York without explanation. He and Carrie officially separated and began the divorce process.

Carrie had spent most of her money on her son Max's medical treatment, and now she could only continue working as a waitress at Miller's restaurant.

Hood had also completely detached himself from Carrie on an emotional level and was not willing to get involved any more than necessary.

After breakfast, the three of them left the restaurant together. Just as they were crossing the street, a Rolls-Royce slowly pulled up nearby. When the doors opened, Proctor, Rebecca, and Burton stepped out of the car.

They stopped, and the two groups faced each other.

Their gazes met, filled with tension.

Hood greeted him with a wry smile:

—Good morning, Kai.

—It's a beautiful day today, Sheriff.

Proctor looked around, also smiling and nodding. But then his tone changed:

—Charging me with illegal possession of firearms—is that the best you can do, Sheriff?

Hood crossed his arms and smiled.

—Don't worry, I'll find other charges for you soon. I know you had something to do with Alex Longshadow's death, and I won't rest until I prove it.

Ethan clearly noticed that when Alex's death was mentioned, Rebecca discreetly grasped the hem of her skirt. He knew she was the one who had ended Alex, but he had no way to prove it. Saying that he had seen it happen on a TV show before reincarnating wasn't an option, so he would have to follow the storyline without revealing what he knew.

But he always held back from changing the story too much. However, over time, he had grown fond of many of his companions and would not allow them to meet the same tragic fates as in the series.

—Be careful what you say, Sheriff, or I'll sue you for defamation.

Proctor rubbed his fingers together, a satisfied look on his face:

—That being said, I'd like to express my gratitude. Thanks to you locking me up, I have a perfect alibi.

Hood pressed his lips together, stopped talking to him, turned around, and walked toward the police station.

When Proctor saw the uniformed officers coming out, the smile disappeared from his face, and he entered the restaurant with a stern expression.

Back at the station, Siobhan said angrily:

—Sooner or later, we'll catch him again.

Brock approached with a coffee:

—Who are you talking about?

—I just ran into Proctor outside.

Ethan pulled out a chair, sat down, and turned on the computer.

Brock glanced outside, then sat down:

—There's no need to get worked up over things like this. I've been through it too many times. At least after this incident, he won't be so reckless next time.

After a brief morning meeting, they began their daily patrol.

That night, Ethan was on duty at the station. As he was using his computer to gather information about the Kinaho tribe, the alarm phone rang.

He rolled his chair over and picked up the receiver:

—Hello, Banshee Town Police Department.

—Is Brock there?—A woman's voice came through the phone, sounding a little drunk.

Ethan glanced up and to the side, where Brock was eating a donut.

—I'm Ethan Morgan. How can I help you?—he asked, not passing the phone to Brock.

The other person hesitated for a moment before saying:

—Hello, Ethan. I've heard your name. I'm Emily. You should know who I am.

—Of course. Hold on a moment, I'll put you through.

Ethan set down the pen he had been using to jot down information and handed Brock the phone.

—Emily wants to see you.

Brock quickly brushed the crumbs off his clothes, wiped his hands with a napkin, and took the receiver.

Emily was Brock's ex-wife. The two had disagreements about Brock's job, and their marriage ultimately ended when Emily cheated on him.

There were only two or three people in the station, and except for Hood, everyone knew about each other's personal lives.

Brock hesitated for a moment and then hung up the phone.

—Emily called to say there was a stranger near her house. I'll go check it out.

Ethan didn't even look up.

—Remember to use protection.

—You're such an asshole.

Brock finished his coffee, shot Ethan a glare, and walked out of the station, adjusting his belt.

As Ethan worked, his phone buzzed again. Unlocking the screen, he saw a message from Nola.

She said that Alex's widow had mentioned a tribal advisor named Thompson, someone Alex had frequently talked about and seemed to have a good relationship with.

Ethan moved the mouse and found information in an old file. He took a picture of the screen with his phone and sent it to Nola.

A short while later, his phone rang again. Nola confirmed that her sister-in-law had identified the person in the photo as Thompson.

Ethan tapped his fingers on the desk and looked at the computer. This Thompson was the Kinaho tribal committee member whom Proctor had nearly kidnapped—and whom he had saved.

Ethan remembered that Thompson had given him a business card. After searching through the drawer, he found it.

He dialed the number, and after a few rings, someone answered.

—This is Thompson. Who's calling?

Ethan propped his legs up on the desk and twirled a pen in his hand.

—Mr. Thompson, good evening. This is Ethan Morgan. Do you remember me?

After a brief silence, Thompson cautiously asked:

—The police officer?

—That's right.

Thompson's tone became much more polite.

—I wonder what you want to talk about.

Ethan got straight to the point:

—Can we meet and talk in person?

After a moment of hesitation, Thompson agreed. They arranged to meet at his lover's house in thirty minutes.

Ethan called Nola to let her know they'd be meeting him. Not long after, his Dodge Challenger screeched to a stop at the station's entrance.

As she stepped inside, Nola looked around with disdainful eyes.

—I don't understand what's so special about this place that makes you cling to it so much.

Ethan smiled at her expression but said nothing. He simply pulled out his keys from his jacket and headed for the door.

—Let's go before Thompson changes his mind.

Nola scoffed and walked ahead, swiftly opening the car door. She slid into the passenger seat, crossing her legs as she watched him start the engine.

—Do you have a plan, or are we just going to see what he says?—she asked, adjusting her leather jacket.

—First, we need to confirm if what Alex's widow said is true. If Thompson really was close to Alex, that changes a lot.

Nola turned her head to look at him, her expression hardening.

—That could also mean he lied to us the first time we talked to him.

Ethan nodded as they drove down the road.

—Yeah. And if he lied before, he might still be lying.

The Dodge Challenger roared through the dimly lit streets of Banshee Town, the engine's rumble echoing in the night. It wasn't long before they reached the outskirts of town, where Thompson's lover's house was tucked away in a discreet area, far from prying eyes.

Ethan cut the engine and eyed the house. All the lights were off except for a dim glow on the porch.

Both of them approached the entrance cautiously. Ethan knocked twice and waited. A few seconds later, the lock turned, and the door cracked open slightly.

Thompson appeared in the doorway, looking nervous.

—I wasn't expecting you so soon—he murmured, glancing around before opening the door fully.

—It's best not to give people time to change their minds—Ethan said, stepping inside with Nola behind him.

The house smelled of tobacco and cheap perfume. The living room was dimly lit, with only a floor lamp casting a faint glow. Thompson ran a hand through his hair, visibly uncomfortable.

—Alright, you're here. What do you want to know?

Ethan fixed his gaze on him, his voice low but firm.

—Let's start from the beginning. What kind of relationship did you really have with Alex?