Back inside, Ava could faintly hear the noise through the walls. The crowd's rhythm like a heartbeat pulsing in the distance. It gave her strength. She stood and examined the small vent above the door, whispering as if the concrete could listen. They can lock me up, but they can't lock out the truth.
She noticed the corridor light flicker outside her cell, the camera above the door blinking twice before going dark. Another malfunction, another lie. She knew this playbook. She'd prosecuted cops for it. Disable the feed, delay the log, rewrite the report.
But they'd made one mistake. Millions were already watching. Down the hall, Travis watched the protests on a muted TV. The footage of himself was everywhere. His face, his badge number, the shove, the blood.
He felt exposed, naked in a way no vest could protect. He told himself he didn't mean for it to go that far. He just wanted control, not chaos. But the more he watched, the more he realized he'd lit a fuse that couldn't be put out. His captain walked in, jaw tight.
You've done it now. Travis, the feds are calling. You better pray she doesn't press charges. Travis's hands shook. She was reaching for something in her car.
She was reaching for her badge. The captain snapped, You cuffed a federal prosecutor on camera. God help you. By midnight, Ava still hadn't been processed or charged. The official logs listed her as unidentified female detainee.
She laughed quietly to herself, the absurdity sinking in. Unidentified, she muttered. They know exactly who I am. Her body ached, but her mind sharpened. Every detail mattered.
The timing of the arrest, the missing file, the flickering cameras, the silence from Delgado's office. This wasn't random. It was a cover-up. She closed her eyes and began replaying every face she'd seen that day. Every officer's badge, every whisper she'd overheard.
Her prosecutor's brain was already building a case from inside the cell. Outside. Kayla's drone zoomed in on the jail's front entrance, where a group of protesters linked arms to block police cruisers. One voice shouted, "She's one of us!" Another yelled, "We won't leave till she walks free!"
The chant rose like a storm. Angry, raw, unstoppable. In the roll call room. Travis took another drink and stared at the wall, his reflection trembling in the cracked TV screen. For the first time, the weight of what he'd done began to settle.
The woman he'd cuffed wasn't some random suspect. She was the law he claimed to uphold. He buried his face in his hands and whispered, "What have I done?" Ava sat up straight, hearing the crowd's roar grow louder somewhere beyond those walls. Justice was waking up.