Instead, he slowly circled Marcus while the other four officers closed in, creating a human wall that blocked the view from most pedestrians. You know why we stopped you? No. You fit a description. What description?
The kind that causes trouble. Several people watched from across the street. None intervened. An older man quietly pulled his grandson farther away. A woman loading groceries hurried into her car.
Everyone understood the unspoken rule. Don't get involved. Linda Foster whispered from beside Nia. They've been doing this for months. Why doesn't anyone report it?
Linda let out a bitter laugh. To who? She nodded toward the officers. They investigate themselves. Outside, Travis suddenly grabbed Marcus's backpack.
What's inside? My clothes. Ryan ripped the zipper open. Everything spilled across the sidewalk. A worn jacket.
A toothbrush. A family photograph. A neatly folded Bible. A pair of work gloves. Nothing illegal.
Ryan looked disappointed. Eric kicked the photograph farther across the pavement. Marcus rushed toward it. Please, don't. Ryan shoved him again.
Harder this time. Marcus stumbled into the park bench. The crack echoed across the square. Nia instinctively reached for her phone. Her training told her to stay under cover.
Her conscience demanded something else. She discreetly opened the camera application. Across the street, Travis leaned closer to Marcus. You've been warned before. I didn't do anything.
You don't get to decide that. Nia pressed the record button. The small red light appeared on the screen. Every second mattered now. She had no way of knowing that one careless glance from Officer Dylan Hayes was about to change everything.
Dylan's eyes drifted across the street. They stopped. Locked directly onto the phone in Nia's hand. His expression hardened. He leaned toward Travis and murmured something too quietly for anyone else to hear.
Travis slowly turned his head. His eyes found Nia. Then they found the phone. His smile disappeared. Without saying a word, he started walking straight toward her.
Travis Cole's polished boots crossed the street with slow, deliberate confidence. Every step carried the silent certainty of a man who had never been told no. Nia Brooks lowered her phone naturally, pretending to read a text message instead of recording video. She kept her breathing steady. The instinct to reach for the FBI credentials hidden deep inside her tote bag flickered through her mind, but she buried it immediately.