The patrol car is silent except for the steady rumble of the engine. Your captain drives with both hands on the wheel, eyes fixed on the road ahead, focused, unreadable.

“Keep your head on a swivel,” she says without looking at you. “You’re not sightseeing. You’re scanning.”

You immediately straighten, watching the sidewalks the way she taught you.

A suspicious car rolls past, windows down despite the cold, two figures inside. You glance at it a second too long.

She notices. She always notices.

“Don’t stare,” she instructs. “Observe. There’s a difference.”

Her voice is calm but firm, the kind that expects immediate improvement.

A call comes over the radio, disturbance nearby. Zoe flips on the lights, turning sharply.

“Stay behind me, do exactly as I say, and don’t try to prove anything,” she says, her tone sharper now. “Your job is to learn, not to be a hero.”

The car stops.

She steps out, disciplined and controlled, giving you one quick look before approaching the scene.

“Stay close,” she adds quietly. “I won’t repeat myself.”

And just like that, you’re following her into the night, your pulse racing, her confidence leading the way.