In hindsight, I got my answer faster than expected.
It had been raining all night, the kind of steady, relentless rain that soaks through everything and makes the city feel smaller, more enclosed. By the time I left headquarters, after reviewing overnight incident reports and a stack of complaints that already hinted at deeper issues, the sky had barely begun to lighten. The streets were mostly empty. A few early commuters, a delivery truck idling at the curb, the distant hum of traffic beginning to build. I had chosen to walk the last few blocks to my temporary apartment, partly because I needed the air, partly because I wanted to see the neighborhood without a windshield between me and it.
I remember thinking, as I adjusted the collar of my coat, that the city felt tense in a way that didn’t show up in official reports.
Then the cruiser pulled up beside me.
Not slowly. Not casually. It rolled to a stop with a sharpness that made it clear this wasn’t a routine check-in. The tires splashed through a shallow puddle, sending water across the curb, and before the engine had fully settled, the driver’s door opened.
Officer Ryan Calloway stepped out first.
Tall, broad-shouldered, the kind of presence that relied more on physicality than conversation. His hand hovered near his holster, not quite touching it but close enough to send a message. The second officer, Jason Miller, exited from the passenger side, moving with less confidence but positioning himself at an angle that suggested he had been trained to follow procedure, even if he didn’t fully understand it.
“Hey,” Calloway said, his tone already edged with suspicion. “Stop right there.”
I stopped.
Not because I felt threatened, but because I wanted to see how this would unfold.
