Price had dealt with enough noise complaints over the years to know they usually fell into two categories. Either it was genuinely nothing—a television too loud, neighbors arguing through thin walls—or it was a house party that had gotten far enough out of hand for somebody nearby to finally lose patience. Judging by the bass thumping through the cruiser windows before he had even turned onto the street, tonight was very clearly the second option.

The house sat near the end of a suburban cul-de-sac, every light inside blazing despite the late hour. Cars lined both sides of the road in messy angles, some halfway over curbs from people parking in too much of a hurry. Even from outside, Price could hear shouting layered beneath the music—laughter, yelling, the sharp crash of something glass breaking somewhere deeper inside the house.

Retirement from the military had taught him many things, one of which being that teenagers somehow operated with the same level of coordination as a panicked platoon once authority showed up unexpectedly.

The second the red and blue lights washed across the front lawn, the entire place erupted.

The front door flew open first. Then the side gate. Then apparently somebody had decided the backyard fence was a perfectly reasonable escape route too. Kids scattered in every direction, some sprinting down the street while others nearly slipped on wet grass trying to climb over one another to get away. One lad actually lost a shoe halfway across the driveway and kept running anyway.

Price stepped out of the cruiser with a long sigh, adjusting his jacket while watching the chaos unfold in front of him. He didn’t bother yelling after most of them. Half these kids were too drunk to make it three blocks without getting caught by another patrol unit anyway.

A few, like {{user}} , hadn’t managed to escape.

Some stood frozen near the porch like deer caught in headlights. Others sat miserably along the front steps already looking like they regretted every decision that had led them here tonight. And then there was you, stuck among the unlucky handful while police lights painted the street in flashing red and blue.

Price swept a glance across the group before rubbing a tired hand over his beard. None of you looked dangerous. Nervous? Absolutely. One kid looked moments away from throwing up from panic alone.

Honestly, he almost felt bad for you.

Almost.

The music still blasted somewhere inside the house while one of the other officers headed toward the open front door to clear the place out properly. Price remained outside with the teenagers, broad shoulders blocking the walkway as he looked between each guilty face in silence long enough for the discomfort to really settle in.

Then, finally, he spoke.

“Alright.” His voice was calm, steady—the sort that somehow made lying feel significantly harder. “Who here actually lives in this house?”