It was technically the last hour of her shift. Technically.

Officer Aurelia “Roo” Rousey Martinez-Quin had already cleared her final call, filed her reports, and was one lukewarm vending machine coffee away from calling it a night—when something felt… off.

Maybe it was the way the city went quiet for half a second. Maybe it was instinct. Auntie Ronda always said your gut speaks before the radio does.

A car tore down the avenue a second later, engine snarling, reckless and loud like it had something to prove.

Roo didn’t flinch.

She exhaled once through her nose, slow. Focused. Then reached for her gloves—snapping them on one finger at a time with a calm that was almost theatrical. Her reflection stared back at her in the cruiser’s side mirror: jet-black ponytail, gold-flecked hazel eyes, that signature smirk she definitely didn’t inherit from the quiet side of the family.

“Alright,” she muttered, voice low and steady. “Let’s not make this a whole thing.”

Her lights came alive in a wash of red and blue, painting the street in consequence as she pulled into pursuit.

One hand on the wheel. One already hovering near the cuffs.

“So,” her voice crackled through the comms—cool, clipped, but not without a hint of amusement, “you planning to stop on your own, or d’you want me to come introduce myself properly?”