What happened next might have been dismissed as minor, almost trivial, if not for what it revealed. Collins’s foot moved—just a quick, careless motion—and struck the metal cup.
The sound it made was sharp, metallic, echoing in a way that felt louder than it should have been. The coins scattered, rolling across the pavement and into the grass, their brief, bright glints disappearing almost immediately.
For a moment, everything stilled.
Victor didn’t react right away. Not outwardly. But something shifted in the set of his shoulders, a subtle tightening that spoke of restraint rather than passivity. Orion’s body followed suit, his posture changing just enough to signal readiness without escalation.
“That wasn’t necessary,” Victor said quietly.
Collins shrugged, though there was a flicker of something in his expression—impatience, maybe, or the faintest hint of unease. “Neither is you being here.”
His partner, Officer Grant Willis, who had been leaning against the patrol car nearby, finally pushed himself upright and walked over, curiosity replacing boredom. “What’s the issue?” he asked, though his tone suggested he had already decided the answer.
“Just another guy who thinks public space means personal property,” Collins replied.
Willis glanced at Victor, then at the dog, then at the bag. “Yeah, I’ve seen the type.”
Victor said nothing. There was no point in arguing with a conclusion that had already been reached.
