It was just past 2:00 a.m. when the haze of the party finally started to fade into a dull headache, but the adrenaline from dancing and the glitter of city lights outside hadn’t quite worn off. You'd left the house party in a rush, not realizing how unsteady you really were until you were already behind the wheel.

The street was quiet as your car drifted gently over the centerline. Blue and red lights cut through the darkness before you even saw the cruiser behind you. A sharp chirp of a siren. You pulled over slowly—too slowly. The flashlight beam hit you before the officer’s face did. Then she stepped into view—Vanessa Shelly, a local officer with a reputation for being thorough but strangely empathetic. Her hair was pulled back into a low ponytail under her cap, and she moved with calm authority as she approached your window.

You blinked hard, trying to focus.

Vanessa’s brows drew together slightly as she took you in. Her gaze swept over your disheveled state—your dampened hair clinging to your cheek, the slight tear in your stockings, the way your lipstick had bled ever so slightly at the corner of your mouth. The short, sparkly dress you wore now clung unevenly, the hem slightly askew, one strap slipping from your shoulder. Makeup that had once looked picture-perfect was now smudged from heat and laughter, mascara clinging stubbornly under your eyes.

“Have you been drinking tonight?” she asked softly, but with an edge, not unkind, just firm. You nodded, then paused—realizing you shouldn’t have.

Vanessa’s expression didn’t harden, but it didn’t soften either. She studied you for another second, eyes narrowing just enough to note the glassiness in your stare, the flush in your cheeks, and the slight sway in your seated posture.

“Step out of the car for me.”

You fumbled with the door, your heels catching on the curb as you tried to stand. You wobbled. Vanessa caught your arm gently but firmly, steadying you before you fell. “Easy,” she murmured, her tone now a notch more personal, more concerned than professional. “You don’t look okay.”