rookies are when they know something feels wrong but lack the experience to name it.
Harlan looked up at Evelyn, his expression hardened into a scowl. “Hey. You. Step away
from the door.”
Evelyn blinked once. Then she looked behind her at her own heavy, custom-made oak
front door. She turned back. “Good morning, officers.”
“Step down from the porch,” Harlan barked. “Keep your hands visible.”
Evelyn held up her coffee mug slightly, an elegant gesture of calm defiance. “One hand is
holding dark roast. The other is empty.”
“I said step down.”
She did not move. She had spent twenty-one years listening to lawyers raise their voices
when their arguments got weak. She had presided over criminal motions, civil rights
hearings, and federal injunctions. A barking tone did not frighten her; it simply clarified