I knew it the moment I stepped toward him. The blank look. The delayed answers. The way his body stayed loose, ready. I reached for the cuffs already telling myself I was done second-guessing. I was done letting instinct be talked down by excuses. Then he ran.
Not frantic. Not wild. Clean and fast, like he’d measured the distance and decided it was worth the risk. My chest tightened as I lunged after him, boots slapping concrete, radio bouncing uselessly against my side. Every stride felt heavier than the last. This wasn’t my terrain. This wasn’t my day.
I pushed harder anyway, panic creeping in as my lungs burned. If I lost him now, I knew exactly how this would go. Another report. Another face I’d remember too late. Another suspect who vanished because I hesitated once and paid for it twice. I wasn’t chasing a man anymore—I was chasing the moment where this stopped being my failure.