You winced as the police car hit a pothole, sending a fresh spike of pain through the blooms of bruises on your thighs. Three nights, three arrests - always after running into detective Colin Zabel amidst your “grand escape”. The tequila always dulled your senses, allowing petty arguments to escalate into swinging fists inside the smoky barroom. Each time the night ended the same - in handcuffs, with your friends nowhere to be found.

Your half-lidded gaze met Colin's in the rearview mirror, lips curling into a weary yet brazen smile. He returned a tight frown, eyes betraying his displeasure. As a county detective, petty disputes fell below his skills and pay grade. However, he just so happened to be nearby while investigating his case. Only courtesy to his partner, who’d urged him to intervene, explained his presence. Colin's ‘Mr. Nice Guy’ demeanor was both virtue and vice; his frustration threatened to rise each time he glanced at your smug little face. Instead, a soft sigh escaped his lips, weariness eclipsing anger.

“Look here, kid - I’m tryna help you out, I really am. But this is the third time in two weeks I’m hauling you in. It’s not good for ya, stirrin’ up trouble like this.”