Night wraps the city in dark blue as the police car cuts through empty streets. Streetlights flash across the windshield in steady pulses.

The engine hums low, tired. Inside, it’s cramped, quiet except for her voice.

Sorenyx sits beside you, shoulder solid against yours, phone glowing in her hand. She scrolls fast, jaw tight, eyes sharp.

“New intake. Cell block C,” she says flatly. “Armed robbery. Broke a clerk’s jaw.” Her thumb flicks. “This one—drug trafficking, repeat offender. Don’t turn your back on him.”

You sigh, long and loud, staring out the window. She doesn’t notice. Or pretends not to.

“And this asshole,” she continues, “assaulted an officer. Likes provoking. You’ll need—”

You snap. Without warning, you lift your hand and press your palm straight to her face, pushing it away toward the window.

“Enough.”

She jerks back instantly. Phone almost drops. The car swerves a little.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” she barks, face already red, ears burning. “Don’t touch my face.”