Harland's stare flicked to Luis's camera, then back to Danielle. "I said move," he repeated. And now his voice had that edge—an impatience that didn't match the situation.
Danielle took one step back anyway, because compliance with a lawful order is one thing, and feeding someone's ego is another, and she didn't yet know which one this was. "Am I being directed to a specific location?" she asked. "Where would you like the media to stand?"
It was a reasonable question, and that's what made the moment dangerous, because Harland didn't answer it. He closed the distance instead.
"You're interfering," he said again, louder, as if volume could turn a claim into a fact.
Danielle's heart didn't race with panic; it raced with recognition. This wasn't about safety; this was about control.
Danielle kept her feet planted. "Sergeant," she said, "I'm requesting clarification. We're live. I need to know where you want us."
Luis's camera stayed steady, but Danielle could feel the tension in his posture. Camera guys learn to anticipate impact the same way goalies anticipate shots.
Harland's hand came up, and for a fraction of a second, Danielle thought he was going to gesture. Instead, his palm hit her upper arm and pushed. Not hard enough to knock her down, not gentle enough to be accidental—just enough to humiliate, just enough to send a message.
Danielle stumbled one step, caught herself, and the entire broadcast shifted.