"Go ahead," the taller one said, watching her every movement like she was about to pull a weapon instead of a wallet.
As she handed over the items, her hands steady, her chest burned with a quiet fury. Not because it was happening, but because it had happened before, and she knew it would happen again. This wasn't about her ID. This wasn't about a pool policy. This was about presence. Her presence in a space they didn't expect her to occupy.
The taller officer, his badge read "Officer Braxton," studied her ID as if he expected it to peel away and reveal something else underneath. The younger one, Officer Miller, held the blue plastic key card up to the sunlight like it might glow if it were real.
"Belle Johnson," Braxton read aloud, dragging out the syllables like they were foreign. "Unit 308C. That's correct."
Miller gave a little scoff under his breath and scribbled something onto his notepad. "You live here alone?"
"I live with my cousin. She works nights at the hospital."
Braxton's eyes drifted past her to the pool chairs, to her towel, her bag, the closed book in her lap. "And what exactly are you doing here today?"
Belle looked him dead in the eyes. "I'm sitting."