Chapter 1
The suburban driveway smelled sharply of cut grass and ozone from the cruiser's idling engine. Officer Miller pulled her reddish-brown hair tighter into its bun, her fingers twitching near her holster. The metal cuffs bit into Marcus's wrists behind his back, pressing against skin already chafed from the suddenness of her assault. He stood beside the green plastic trash can, the black trash bag sagging heavily against his white sneakers.
"Drop the bag and turn around," Miller barked, her finger jabbing aggressively toward his chest. "You don't get to wander this neighborhood acting suspicious."
Marcus stared straight into her flushed, confrontational face, his jaw tight. "I walked twenty feet from my front door to my own trash cans. Check my ID."
"Shut up!" Miller shouted, stepping closer, her breath hot and furious.
Officer Vance stepped between them, his face weathered and grave. He held up a plastic-encased card, his thumb resting gently on Marcus’s tense shoulder. "Stop! This is his house. Take the cuffs off."
Miller blinked, her authority fracturing in real time as she glanced from the ID to the open front door ten feet away. Without a word, she turned on her heel and retreated toward the cruiser, her boots crunching on the gravel. Vance reached behind Marcus, clicking the key into the handcuffs and releasing the steel loops. Marcus rubbed his wrists, glaring at Vance, refusing to accept an apology that hadn't yet been spoken.
"You shouldn't have been out here looking like that," Vance muttered, his voice dropping low, almost like a warning rather than an excuse.
Marcus froze, his hand dropping from his wrist. "Like what? Wearing gym clothes on my own property?"
Vance didn't answer immediately. He looked down at the black trash bag Marcus had been carrying. A jagged corner of a cardboard box protruded from a tear in the plastic, stained with something dark and viscous that wasn't household garbage.
Marcus noticed Vance’s gaze and instinctively shifted his body to block the can. "What are you looking at?"
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Vance stepped back, keying his shoulder mic with trembling fingers. "Nothing. Just... be careful who sees you tonight."
Before Marcus could demand an explanation, the cruiser's radio squawked to life with a frantic dispatcher call about a break-in three doors down, but the badge number cited wasn't Vance's. It was Miller’s old partner—the one who mysteriously retired last month.
