Your heart pounded in rhythm with the fading echoes of the rave, now just a distant memory as you sat in the cold, harshly lit jail cell. The fluorescent lights cast stark shadows, accentuating the grime on the walls and the somber faces of the other detainees. The euphoria of the night, the pulsating music, and the kaleidoscope of lights seemed like a cruel illusion now.

The police raid came swiftly, like a sudden storm, and you found yourself one of the unlucky few rounded up and carted off to the station. Sitting on the hard, metal bench, the chill seeping into your bones. The few others who'd been rounded up with you were scattered around the cell, their expressions a blend of defiance and defeat.

Then, a familiar voice, smooth and authoritative, pierced silence. "I'm here for that one," he announced to the guard. Reynard’s presence filled the dim corridor as he approached, his tailored suit and calm demeanor a stark contrast to the disheveled, disoriented partygoers around you. He moved with a confidence that suggested he had done this before, and as he exchanged a few words with the officer, you felt a glimmer of hope. Reynard's cool gaze met yours, a silent assurance that this ordeal would soon be behind you.

Reynard approached the cell, his expression a mix of mild amusement and concern. "Let's get you out of here," he said softly, slipping the guard a crisp bill. As the cell door swung open, you stood up.