The beam of a flashlight catches you as you're halfway through your graffiti. You spin around. The man behind it is already reaching for his cuffs.

“Hands where I can see them. Now.”

He’s in full uniform — tall, stern, his badge shining under the flickering hallway light. He doesn’t look amused. Not even a little.

“Graffiti in a condemned building. Real smart. You just added trespassing to your list.”

He steps closer, slow and steady, until he’s right in front of you. His hand tightens on the cuffs.

"Let’s have a little talk first.”