They kept me in that conference room for two hours.

A departmental liaison arrived at ten o'clock — a lieutenant named Garza I'd worked under briefly, three precincts ago.

She sat down across from me with a legal pad and the careful expression of someone managing a situation, not solving one.

"Walk me through your decision to physically intervene," she said.

"Miller was about to cuff a federal judge."

"You didn't know she was a judge at that point."

"I knew she was a sixty-two-year-old woman he'd just sl*pped across the face."

Garza wrote something down.

"The use of force against a fellow officer—"

"Was necessary to prevent an unlawful arrest."

"That determination isn't yours to make in the field."

"With respect, Lieutenant, it absolutely is."

She looked up from her pad.

We held eye contact for a moment.

"You requested a reassignment for Miller," she said.

"Three weeks ago."

"Yes."

"That request was denied."

"It was pending."

"It was denied," she said again, more firmly.

"The paperwork came back the day before yesterday.

You weren't notified yet." She set her pen down.

"Which means you were still his supervising officer this morning, with full knowledge of his judgment issues, and you put him on a high-visibility federal security post."

The implication landed like a stone.

"I was assigned that post," I said.

"I didn't choose it."

"But you didn't flag the conflict."

"I flagged it three weeks ago in writing."

"And then you showed up this morning and said nothing further."

I stared at her.

"What was I supposed to do?

Refuse the assignment?"

"I'm not here to answer that," Garza said.

"I'm here to document what happened."

She left at ten-forty.

I sat alone and understood, for the first time, that this wasn't just about Miller.

Someone was deciding how much of this morning would land on me.

A Marshal I hadn't seen before opened the door at eleven.

"Judge Warren would like to speak with you."

I followed him down a corridor I'd never been in — past locked doors, past a room where two men in suits were speaking in low voices over a laptop, past a bulletin board covered in photographs I didn't look at long enough to understand.

Judge Warren was in a larger room at the end of the hall.

She was seated at a round table, a cup of tea in front of her, her gray coat folded over the back of the chair.

The mark on her cheek had been photographed and documented — I could tell from the clinical way the lighting had been arranged and then abandoned.

Now she just looked tired.

She gestured to the chair across from her.

I sat.

"They tell me your name is Officer Dana Reyes," she said.

"Yes, Your Honor."

"They also tell me you're the one who stopped him."

"I should have stopped him sooner."

She looked at me steadily.

"Yes," she said.

"You should have." A pause.

"But you did stop him.

That matters."

I didn't know what to say to that, so I said nothing.

"I've been on this bench for nineteen years," she said.

"I've had thr3ats.

I've had my car followed.

I've had letters that required FBI involvement." She wrapped both hands around her tea.

"I've never been str*ck."

The word sat between us.

"I'm sorry," I said.

It felt inadequate.

I said it anyway.

"Don't apologize for him." Her voice was firm but not unkind.

"That's his to carry." She looked toward the window.

"The call I received this morning — it was from my clerk.

She'd found something in the courthouse system.

An access log that shouldn't exist." She paused.

"Someone ran my personal security schedule through an unauthorized terminal at 6 AM.

They knew exactly when I'd arrive.

Which entrance.

Which route."

My mouth went dry.

"The man in the gray jacket."

Her eyes came back to me.

Sharp.

"Reeves told you."

"He showed me the photograph.

He didn't tell me anything."

She studied me for a moment longer than was comfortable.

"The trial starting today," she said carefully, "involves people with significant resources and no reluctance to use them."

"Who?" I asked.

She shook her head once.

Not a refusal — a warning.

"That's not a question you want answered yet," she said.

"Not until you understand what answering it costs."

The door behind me opened.

Reeves leaned in.

"Your Honor.

We need to move."

She stood, picked up her coat, and paused beside my chair.

"Officer Reyes," she said quietly.

"Watch your back today."

She walked out.

I sat there alone, and I realized she hadn't said it as a figure of speech.