She uncapped the water bottle and took a sip before turning her attention back to me. “Is that right? The badge protected youjust fine until you got in the way of the National Guard. What’s that about, anyway? Chief of police playing both sides?”
I swiped a hand down my face. “There are no both sides when it comes to constitutional rights. The troops had no business deploying tear gas at a peaceful memorial.”
She popped a cracker in her mouth. “Yet here we are. And your department is processing people your own officers didn’t even arrest.”
“This isn’t my operation. Federal intervention bypassed local command. I found out about Operation Red Clay the same day they deployed.”
“And what? You thought you would walk out there and stop it with your pretty face?”
My jaw tightened. “I thought I’d do my job. Protect the people in my jurisdiction.”
Dr. Price sipped her water. As she swallowed, the delicate movement of her throat reminded me we were having a serious conversation.
“That worked out well for you.”
“About as well as your academic approach to justice worked out for you.”
To my surprise, she laughed. Enough that it made heads turn in our direction.
She nodded as if I’d passed a test I didn’t know about. “Touché. So, what’s your play here? Why are you sitting here with us when you could pull rank and be out in five minutes?”
Hell, it was a fair question, one I’d asked myself for hours. “I’m exactly where I need to be right now.”
Dr. Price tilted her head. “Where’s that?”
“On the wrong side of authority. Best view in the house for a man in my position.”
Her eyes narrowed, reassessing me. “You know they’ll make an example of you. They’ll either bury you or parade you, whatever works better for their narrative.”
I nodded. “I know how they play the game, Dr. Price.”
“Nia. If we’re going to be cellmates, you might as well call me by my first name.”
“Ronan,” I offered in return, noticing a shift between us.
I realized the detainees around us had gone quiet, listening to our conversation.
“What will happen to us next?” Nia asked.
I glanced around. “Best case? They will process everyone and drop the charges for lack of evidence. They’re making a public statement about maintaining order. Worst case, they’ll throw in obstruction charges and use the whole thing to justify increased surveillance of community activism.”
“Which outcome are you hoping for?” There was a challenge in her voice.
“I’m hoping for justice, but I’ve been in this uniform long enough to know hope and reality don’t always align.”
Dr. Price studied me and nodded slightly. She handed me a cracker and smiled. “At least we’ll have front-row seats.”
I accepted the cracker, our hands touching, and neither of us pretended not to notice.
As everyone settled in for the evening, a chill crept through the holding area. I rolled my shoulders after hours of sitting on the hard bench. A sudden gasping sound caught my attention. An older woman had doubled over. Her shoulders shook with each labored breath. Nia headed her way and kneeled beside the woman.
“I need you to look at me. That’s it. Breathe with me, in through your nose . . .” Nia instructed.
She coached the woman through what looked like a panic attack, her tone gentle. Nia removed a wrap from her hair and used it to fan the woman, creating a slight breeze.
“My pastor once told me that even the darkest Saturday gives way to Sunday morning. Don’t worry, we’ll be out of here soon,” Nia promised.
The woman nodded, her breathing calming. Something in my chest twisted with admiration for Nia’s quick response to the woman’s distress. After the woman’s crisis passed, Nia headed back in my direction, taking her spot on the bench.
