Miller moved closer, circling slightly, his eyes scanning me in a way that suggested he was looking for something specific but didn’t know what it was. There was hesitation in him, I noticed that immediately. A flicker of uncertainty that contrasted with Calloway’s more aggressive stance.
“ID,” Calloway said.
I reached slowly into my coat pocket, narrating the movement as I did it. “Wallet. Left side.”
He didn’t respond, but his posture shifted, more alert.
I handed over my ID.
He glanced at it briefly, then handed it to Miller without much interest. Neither of them seemed particularly concerned with verifying anything in that moment. The stop wasn’t about confirmation. It was about control.
“Turn around,” Calloway said.
“For what reason?” I asked.
That was the first moment his patience snapped.
“Turn around,” he repeated, louder this time. “Or we’re going to have a problem.”
