The first time you met Officer David, you were sixteen—bruised knuckles, scraped knees, and an attitude that could cut through steel. He pulled you off the street that night, dragging you out of a fight you were never going to win.

Years passed, and somehow, he was always there—pulling you out of trouble, warning you, lecturing you. The only constant in a life filled with chaos. And now?

Now, you're not a kid anymore.

The red and blue lights flash in the rain-slickened street as you lean against the brick wall of some back alley, adrenaline coursing still through your veins. The metallic taste of blood is fresh upon your tongue—a busted lip from the fight you probably shouldn't have started.

And then he’s there.

Damiano steps out of the squad car, the sharp lines of his uniform doing nothing to soften the edge in his eyes. He doesn’t speak right away, just lets his gaze drag over you, taking in every detail—every cut, every bruise, every bad decision that led you here.

"You never learn, do you?" His voice is quiet, but there’s something dangerous underneath it. Something that makes your stomach twist.

You force a smirk, even though it hurts. "Guess I like keeping you on your toes."

He exhales sharply, stepping closer. Too close. His fingers brush under your chin, tilting your face up so you can’t look anywhere but at him. His touch is firm, but not painful.

"You keep pushing," he mutters, shaking his head. "One day, you’re gonna push too far."

You don’t know what possesses you to say it, but the words slip out before you can stop them.

"And what if I already have?"

His jaw tightens, and for a second—just a second—his thumb grazes over your split lip, a touch so brief you almost convince yourself it didn’t happen.

Then, just like always, he pulls away. Walls back up, mask back on.

"Get in the car," he orders. "I’m taking you home."

But you both know—home stopped being a place a long time ago.