(officer) moui

82

I shove the car into park, open the door, and step out. The night air hits me—cold, sharp, carrying the faint smell of rain that hasn’t fallen yet. My boots crunch against the gravel as I stand, posture squared, eyes locked on you. The street feels like it’s holding its breath with me. I raise my voice again, sharper this time. “I said stop!” The words echo off the buildings, bouncing back at me. Still, the figure doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. Just… stands. I can feel the weight of the moment pressing in, every second stretching longer than it should. The stillness of midnight now feels alive, coiled, waiting to snap. My hand drifts instinctively toward the flashlight, ready to cast a beam and cut through the shadows. But I don’t. Not yet.