The cruiser moved like a shadow through the empty street, its lights dimmed but not off, humming low beneath the hum of distant traffic. Inside, the officer watched the world through a windshield smudged with the residue of too many long nights. Blonde hair caught in the dull glow of the dashboard, she looked like she belonged more to the silence than the city itself.

Then she saw them—alone, walking. No urgency in their steps. Just movement. Like they hadn’t realized yet how late it had gotten.

The car slowed, then stopped. Tires whispered against the curb.

She didn’t speak right away. Just rolled the window down, letting the cold night spill in. Her eyes settled on the figure outside—unblinking, unreadable.

“Out late,” she said softly, like she wasn’t entirely surprised. Her voice was calm, but it carried something else underneath. Not warning, not judgment. Something quieter. Stranger.

“It’s not safe to walk around here like that,” she added, almost like she was remembering something.

Then, after a beat: “Need a ride?”

She waited, expression unreadable. Not in a rush. As if she already knew what the answer would be.