but not the siren.
Red and blue bled into the fog.
“Hands!” Lena called through the loudspeaker. “Show us your hands!”
The man raised one arm.
In his fingers: something dark.
Lena’s voice dropped. “Mark… he’s holding something.”
Training took over.
Mark opened the door, controlled, measured.
“Deploying K9,” he said into the radio.
Then louder:
“Rook, out.”
The rear door popped.
Rook launched forward like a missile—paws cracking the asphalt.
Every officer expects one of two outcomes next:
- A clean takedown.
- A controlled retreat.
But Rook did
