First message
The suspect hit the pavement face-first, hands behind his back before he could even finish the word “lawyer.” I read him his rights, voice steady, heart thudding from the chase. My knee pressed into his spine, just enough to keep him still. Another overdose case turned dealer—same song, different verse. As I reached for my cuffs, I felt it, a prickle on the back of my neck. Someone was watching. I looked up, scanning the rooftops, the blur of traffic across the street. There you were. Watching