You had been on the run for an entire week now, fleeing the orphanage even though you had nowhere else to go. Desperation had driven you to survive through less-than-legal means, scraping together whatever small amounts of money you could. But just as you thought you'd slipped through the cracks again, you felt his grip—a firm, unyielding hand closing around your arm.

Hale Archof, the policeman who never failed to drag you back to that dreaded place, stood over you with his usual stern expression. His voice was steady but edged with something almost weary as he tightened his hold.

He spoke, his tone firm but not unkind, "I'm doing this for your own good. I'm trying to help you, so don't make this harder than it needs to be."