I had already lost count of how many times I’d sighed during the slow crawl toward the police station. The officer behind the wheel kept stealing glances at me through the rearview mirror, and it wasn’t because I was afraid of him. No, it was something else entirely — the way he eyed me made my skin crawl, the kind of look that said he was assessing, judging, or worse. My dress was short, tight, and cut low enough to invite those kinds of looks. Perfect for making a first impression, right?

I couldn’t stop wondering if they’d offer me something to cover up before I spent the night locked away. There was no way I was enduring jail in this outfit. Maybe I could call papãi, but my phone had been silent, and every call went straight to voicemail.

When the car finally pulled up in front of the station, the officer led me inside without a word, leaving me alone by the reception desk. I stood there, heart pounding, waiting for someone to come for me.

Then an officer appeared, sliding into the chair opposite me with a worn file clutched in his hand. "Miss Los Santos Azevedo," he said, his voice calm, professional.

“Yes, officer,” I replied, already weary of this routine. I was no stranger to these cold rooms, the endless questions and judgment.

“This is your first offense with five days of jail time, correct?” He watched me with what seemed like genuine understanding.

“And this is my second,” I muttered, wanting the whole ordeal to just be over.

He nodded solemnly. “With this being your next offense, you’re looking at ten days behind bars and a two-year suspension period.”

Just then, heels clicked sharply down the hall, interrupting our conversation. The officer’s gaze lifted to a woman striding toward us — dark hair, sharp eyes, and an air of cold authority.

“Hello, Rivera, long time no see,” she said, barely acknowledging me, her hazel eyes locking onto Rivera with a piercing stare.

Rivera swallowed hard, his nervousness apparent. Then he turned to me, voice tight, “Give me five minutes.” Without waiting for a response, he disappeared with the woman.

What now? I thought, already bored and frustrated.

Ten minutes later, they returned. Miss Jonathan’s lips were swollen, her shirt buttoned up crookedly, and she looked anything but composed.

“Deus,” I muttered under my breath, guessing what had just happened behind those closed doors.

Rivera called for another officer to escort me to my cell. We took a sharp left, then walked down a narrow hallway. The cop unlocked a heavy door with a massive key and led me to the last cell on the right — my new home for the next ten days.

One of the officers gripped my hand tightly as we entered. When he let go, the door slammed shut, and the cold metal lock clicked into place behind him.

I immediately tried to call papãi again — no answer. My calls went straight to voicemail, and my chest tightened with frustration and loneliness.

The cell was barren, save for a small desk positioned at its center, a bleak island in this claustrophobic space. I slid off my heels, rubbing my bare legs, wishing I could disappear into the cold, unfeeling cement walls.

The cells were nothing like the grimy, neglected cages I’d imagined; here, cleanliness was enforced, but it wasn’t comforting — just another layer of sterile coldness that screamed ‘law and order’ without compassion.

After two glasses of water were handed over, I felt a bit more grounded, even as the absence of windows made the air heavy and stale. No breeze, no sunlight — just the echo of my breathing and the mechanical hum of the building.

I glanced at the clock; it had to be around six in the evening. What had I done? This mess would stain my record, complicate my hopes of graduating and advancing toward becoming a detective. Ten whole days stuck here, away from everything, felt like a punishment tailor-made for me.

I thought about Brazil — home, sunshine, the future Seth and I had dreamed about. We’d been friends since we were nine, introduced by our fathers at a charity event. A year ago, that friendship deepened into something real, a relationship I clung to despite the chaos around me. Seth was steady, respectful, the perfect contrast to the wildness inside me — a mama’s boy, yes, but also someone I trusted with my fragile heart.

How was I supposed to spend ten days in a place like this? No fun, no escape. But maybe, just maybe, I’d get a break from college work. A reprieve from the endless pressure. I needed that. Still, it wasn’t how I imagined my break.

If mamãe were here, she’d be lecturing me nonstop — telling me to be “wise,” “mature,” teaching me to learn from my mistakes. "Você deve aprender com seus erros do passado," she’d say, her voice sharp but caring.

I knew I’d screwed up. But sometimes, the thrill of running, of pushing boundaries, of getting under an old cop’s skin, was irresistible. Maybe I was toxic that way — addicted to the chaos I caused.

Exhaustion tugged at me, but the hard wooden desk offered no comfort. Sleep felt distant and impossible, until a loud creak at the door startled me awake.

Two shadows slid into view, their slow steps echoing ominously. One was a young guard, barely out of his teens, keeping a cautious distance from the other — a towering figure whose face was swallowed by darkness due to the sudden blackout.

The power flickered off, plunging the station into shadow. Sweat beaded on the smaller guard's forehead as he fumbled with a lighter, trying to pick the lock.

Keys clattered to the floor, and the taller man sneered, his voice low and mocking: "Want me to open it for you?"

“N-no sir, I’m done here,” the younger guard stammered, clearly terrified.

The door locked behind them with a final clang, and the power snapped back on. The harsh fluorescent light revealed the face I dreaded to see — Salvatore, his expression a twisted mask of fear and menace.

Our eyes met, and my stomach clenched. What the hell was he doing here? The cruel irony was that his cell was directly opposite mine.

My mind raced with questions and warnings. I wasn’t safe here — not with him so close. The shadows had shifted, and a new darkness settled over the holding cell.

As the corridor grew silent again, the heavy weight of the night pressed down on me. Ten days in this cage would test everything — my resolve, my secrets, and my loyalty. And with Salvatore so near, the danger was far from over.