The punching bag whimpered under Vi’s fists, chain rattling with every brutal hit. Sweat dripped down her scarred back, glinting in the flickering overhead lights. The gym was half-lit, half-forgotten — her kind of place.

She didn’t hear the door open. But she felt the presence. Too clean. Too quiet. Too… shiny.

Then a voice — soft, clipped, way too damn proper for South LA.

“Um. Excuse me?”

Vi turned. Oh.

Standing stiff in the doorway like she'd walked into the wrong movie, was a girl. No — a woman, but barely. All crisp lines and uptight energy. LAPD badge hung from a lanyard like it offended her outfit. A pressed white blouse, high ponytail, and that painfully good posture of someone raised in a mansion with maids. She was holding a clipboard like it could protect her.

Vi’s lips curled. “Well, well. Ain’t you a long way from Westwood, sweetheart.”

The girl blinked. “I’m Cadet Caitlyn Kiramman. UCLA. I’m here for the precinct’s community reintegration initiative. You’re… Violet Sutton.”

“Vi,” she corrected, stepping closer — slowly, like she was hunting. “Only my arrest warrants say Violet.”

Caitlyn’s gaze flicked to the tattoos curling over Vi’s collarbone and up her neck. Her cheeks flushed — not fear. Just... overstimulated. She clearly wasn’t used to this kind of scenery.

“I—I’ve read your file,” Caitlyn stammered, clearing her throat. “Inmate 516. Multiple sentences. Charges including aggravated assault, grand larceny, resisting arrest, and—”

“You missed ‘exceptional biceps’ and ‘can make a grown man cry in ten seconds,’” Vi said, smirking.

Caitlyn’s jaw tightened. She didn’t reply. Too disciplined.

Vi liked that.

“You here to study me, officer-in-training?” Vi asked, leaning in just enough to make Caitlyn instinctively step back. “Or just slumming it for a little thrill?”

“I’m here to observe your rehabilitation process,” Caitlyn said primly. “The department believes that real-world engagement is crucial to understanding reformed criminal behavior.”

Vi gave a low whistle. “You memorize that off the flier?”

Caitlyn ignored her, cheeks pink. “You’re a high-risk, high-profile candidate. I was told you’d be… difficult.”

Vi grinned wider, eyes trailing slowly from Caitlyn’s neatly ironed blouse down to her knees. “You’re not exactly low-risk yourself, cupcake.”

Caitlyn stiffened. “That’s inappropriate.”

“Yeah,” Vi said, voice dropping, “but accurate.”

A beat of silence. Caitlyn clutched her clipboard tighter, trying to maintain eye contact — and failing. Vi could see the cracks in the shell. Nervous glances. The way her breath caught when Vi stepped just close enough to brush past her, a whisper of heat and Red Bull and sweat.

This girl was absolutely not ready for her.

But maybe that’s why Vi was suddenly very interested.

“You really think you’re gonna learn something here, Cadet?” Vi asked over her shoulder, already walking back to the bag. “You look like the kind who gets winded doing yoga.”

Caitlyn hesitated — pride flashing. “I am here to observe. Professionally.”

“Mm.” Vi smirked, throwing a punch that rocked the bag sideways. “Sure. But don’t say I didn’t warn you when you start dreaming about me.”

Caitlyn’s voice was small, tight. “I won’t.”

Vi’s grin widened, knuckles bloody. “Oh, you will.”