“You grabbed me.”
“I told you to stop.”
She paused.
“Which part required you to put your hands on me?”
Harlan reached toward her shoulder.
Nadia moved the arm away.
Fast.
Controlled.
His hand missed.
The motion looked more trained than he expected.
He moved forward.
Nadia raised one open hand.
“Do not touch me again.”
Now the hallway was completely watching.
Harlan’s cheeks reddened.
“You’re going in cuffs.”
“For what?”
“I’ll explain downstairs.”
“That is not how probable cause works.”
That sentence pushed him over the edge.
He reached.
Nadia stepped back.
Before his hand closed, someone shouted from behind him.
“Harlan!”
The voice cut through the hallway.
Captain Samuel Whitaker was almost running.
At sixty-three, Whitaker had not run inside a courthouse in years.
People moved aside.
Harlan turned.
“Captain.”
Whitaker saw the papers first.
Dozens.
Then Harlan.
Then Nadia.
His face changed.
The color seemed to drain from it.
He stopped six feet away.
For a second, nobody spoke.
Harlan interpreted the silence as anger at Nadia.
“Captain, she’s refusing security screening and—”
Whitaker raised one hand.
Not at Nadia.
At Harlan.
“Stop.”
Harlan froze.
Whitaker looked toward Nadia.
“Ms. Ellison?”
Harlan’s eyes moved between them.
Nadia said nothing.
Whitaker swallowed.
“Are you hurt?”
Harlan’s face changed.
That was the moment.
Not the reveal.
Not yet.
The moment he realized the hierarchy of the scene was different from the one he had imagined.
Nadia looked at her forearm.
Red marks had begun appearing where Harlan gripped her.
“I’m fine.”
Whitaker turned toward Harlan.
“Step away from her.”
“Captain, I was—”
“Step away.”
Harlan did.
Slowly.
Whitaker looked at the papers.
One page rested near his shoe.
He bent.
Picked it up.
Read the header.
His expression became something close to disbelief.
Harlan watched.
“What is it?”
Whitaker did not answer.
The page contained a heading:
ASHFORD POLICE DEPARTMENT — CIVILIAN COMPLAINT COMPARATIVE REVIEW
Below it:
Subject Officer: Derek Harlan #417
Harlan saw his name.
His mouth opened.
“What the hell is that?”
Nadia finally spoke.
“Captain, please put the document face down.”
Whitaker immediately did.
That obedience shocked Harlan more than anything so far.
“Who is she?”
Whitaker looked at him.
Then at Nadia.
He seemed to ask permission without words.
Nadia exhaled.
The hallway had already become impossible to contain.
She reached inside her blazer.
Harlan tensed instinctively.
Whitaker said:
“Don’t.”