Older.
More senior.
His uniform carried subtle distinctions—epaulets, insignia, authority that didn’t need to be announced.
He wasn’t looking at the car.
He was looking at me. Phone pressed to his ear.
Listening.
Processing.
Then his gaze sharpened.
His eyes flicked from my face to the screen in his hand.
Back to me.
Comparing. Matching.
My pulse stuttered.
Oh God.
No.
The border gate stayed down.
A small chance appeared.
I could move. I could run.
Step on the gas, smash through, and hope they didn’t react fast enough for me to get into the forest ahead.
Smash past the barrier and pray they hesitated long enough for me to disappear into the forest ahead.
But bullets would follow.
They wouldn’t hesitate if I forced their hand.
The senior officer lowered the phone.
“Please step this way, ma’am.”
“Am I being detained?” I asked, keeping my voice calm
He didn’t answer.
“Ma’am. Step this way.”
Before I could comply—a hand seized my right arm.
Rough.
Handcuffs—tight, unforgiving, cutting into my skin.
Adrenaline surged, making my heart pound in my ears.
