Inside, the wedding was already in motion: laughter, clinking glasses, music soft enough to sound like a promise.
And there, near the entrance, stood Sheriff Claybourne—tall, broad, political smile. Next to him was Judge Miriam Kline, and beside her… the bride, a public defender Victoria had worked with on reform programs.
The bride’s eyes lit up when she saw Victoria. “You made it!”
Victoria’s throat tightened. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
The bride hugged her tightly, then pulled back and whispered, “You’re a legend for riding in here on a bike.”
Victoria gave a small smile. “It keeps me honest.”
A hush rippled through a cluster of guests as they recognized her—phones sliding into pockets, posture straightening. Respect arriving late, like it always did.
Victoria didn’t love it, but she understood it. Authority was a language people pretended not to speak until they wanted something.
She moved through the room, offering congratulations, nodding to old colleagues, smiling at friends. For a moment, she let herself enjoy the warmth of celebration.
Then the doors opened again.
Officer Johnson walked in.