Tyler hauled him up by the handcuffs, ignoring Malcolm's heavy groan as pain tore through his rotator cuffs. The officer dragged him toward the cruiser, shoved him aggressively against the back door, and slammed his head against the roofline before forcing him into the plastic backseat.

Malcolm landed sideways. His ribs burned. His cheek was wet with his own blood.

For the first time that morning, he stopped explaining. He began to memorize. Badge number. Time. Street corner. The witness on the porch. The exact words spoken. The unprovoked use of force.

Tyler climbed into the driver’s seat, entirely unaware that the quiet morning had just become the beginning of his ruin. He grabbed the radio.

“Dispatch, Unit Three-Lincoln. I’ve got one in custody at Walker Park. Suspect caught tampering with playground equipment. Resisted arrest. Transporting to booking.”

“Copy, Three-Lincoln,” dispatch crackled back. “Subject name?”

Tyler looked in the rearview mirror. Malcolm met his eyes in the reflection, his gaze unyielding. “My wallet is in my back pocket.”

Tyler smiled a cruel, self-satisfied smile. “John Doe,” he said into the radio. “Refused to identify.”

The ride to the central precinct took twelve minutes. For Tyler Vance, it was a victory lap. For Malcolm Avery, it was a masterclass in endurance.

When the cruiser pulled into the precinct's rear garage, Tyler dragged Malcolm out by the chain of the handcuffs. He marched the mayor through the heavy steel doors and into the harsh fluorescent light of the booking area.

“Got a live one, Sarge,” Tyler called out, shoving Malcolm toward the processing bench. “Resisting, vandalism, failure to ID.”

Sergeant Miller, a twenty-year veteran of the force who was just sipping his morning coffee, looked up from his computer monitor. He blinked. He rubbed his eyes. He stood up so quickly his heavy wooden chair tipped backward and crashed to the linoleum floor.

“What the hell have you done?” Sergeant Miller breathed, the color draining completely from his face.

Tyler frowned, confused by the reaction. “He was tampering with—”

“Take those cuffs off him!” Miller roared, his voice echoing off the concrete walls. He scrambled over the desk, pulling a set of keys from his belt.

“Sarge, he was resisting—”

“That is the Mayor of Riverton, you absolute idiot!” Miller yelled, shoving Tyler aside.

Tyler froze. The smirk melted off his face, replaced by a sudden, chilling paralysis. The air in the booking room seemed to vanish. He looked at the bruised, bleeding man in the gray hoodie, suddenly noticing the absolute calm in the man's eyes—a calm that only comes from someone who holds all the cards.