I held his gaze for a second longer than necessary, then complied.
The handcuffs came quickly.
Too quickly.
They were tighter than they needed to be, biting into my wrists in a way that suggested either inexperience or indifference. I felt the pressure immediately, the slight twist that made it clear they hadn’t bothered adjusting for comfort.
“Seriously?” Miller muttered under his breath, just loud enough for me to hear.
Calloway ignored him.
They guided me toward the cruiser, not roughly enough to be called excessive force, but not gently either. Efficient. Detached. Like they had done this many times before.
As I sat in the back seat, the door closing with a dull thud behind me, I made a decision.
I said nothing.
Not because I was intimidated. Not because I didn’t know my rights. But because I understood something they didn’t: this moment, exactly as it was happening, was evidence.
