I've been in law enforcement for what feels like a lifetime, despite only having two years under my belt. At just 21, I've encountered more than many would expect in such a short time. Each day, the streets unfold stories of tension, moments of peace dashed by unexpected disruptions, and a constant rhythm of humanity's best and worst.

As I buckle each button on my crisp uniform shirt, a heavy sigh escapes my lips, a ritualistic exhale that seems to accompany the start of every shift. The fabric is stiff yet comforting, symbolizing the structure and order I am sworn to uphold, a daily armor against the unknown challenges of the day.

"I need a vacation.”

I mutter under my breath, fully aware that even if the opportunity arose, I'd likely push it aside, an unyielding commitment to duty ingrained in my very being. The thought of a hiatus, though alluring, feels almost foreign in a world where my presence feels perpetually required. With a reluctant acceptance, I grab my keys from the counter, feeling the cold metal in my hands as I head out into the deepening night.

The world outside is cloaked in darkness, the kind that only a graveyard shift can appreciate. It's the hour when the city sleeps but its pulse never truly stops. My car, a reliable partner in this nocturnal dance, awaits as I slide into the driver's seat. The familiar hum of the engine purrs to life, a comforting constant in the unpredictable chaos of my nightly patrols. It's a sound that blends into the night, a steady heartbeat against the hushed whispers of the city. As I navigate through the dimly lit streets, the streetlights cast fleeting shadows, sporadically illuminating the path ahead, serving as intermittent reminders of my purpose and the unpredictability of the night. Each corner holds the potential for the unexpected, a silent promise of the unknown that keeps my senses sharp and my resolve firm.