Nathan had spent years telling him not to interpret every police interaction through fear.
Jordan tried.
But history lived in the body differently from how advice lived in the mind.
Mercer started walking directly toward him.
Jordan put his phone down.
“Morning,” Mercer said.
“Morning.”
“You live around here?”
Jordan frowned.
“No.”
“What are you doing in the park?”
“Drinking coffee.”
Mercer looked at the cup.
Jordan almost wanted to laugh.
Instead he waited.
“Stand up.”
Jordan’s chest tightened.
“Is something wrong?”
“I said stand.”
Jordan stood.
He left the coffee on the bench.
Officer Ruiz remained several feet behind Mercer.
She looked younger than Jordan expected, perhaps early thirties, with black hair pulled tightly into a bun.
Mercer looked Jordan up and down.
Gray hoodie.
Navy pants.
Black sneakers.
“Identification.”
“My wallet is in my back pocket.”
“Get it.”
Jordan moved slowly.
Mercer’s hand went toward his belt.
Jordan stopped immediately.
“You told me to get it.”
“I know what I said.”
Jordan stared.
Mercer’s jaw tightened.
“Slowly.”
Jordan reached into his pocket.
He handed over his driver’s license.
Mercer studied it.
“Jordan Ellis.”
“Yes.”
“Arlington address?”
“My parents’ address. I’m in school.”
“Where?”
“George Mason.”
Mercer looked toward Ruiz.
She shrugged slightly.
“Turn around.”
Jordan blinked.
“What?”
“Turn around.”
“For what?”
Mercer’s expression changed.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
That was the moment Jordan understood that asking a question had become the problem.
“We got a complaint about somebody matching your description.”
“What description?”
“Turn around.”
“What did they say the person did?”
Mercer stepped closer.
Jordan instinctively moved half a step backward.
Mercer grabbed his wrist.
Jordan’s coffee fell from the bench when his hip hit it.
The lid popped loose.
Coffee splashed across the path.
“What are you doing?”
“Stop pulling away.”
“I’m not.”
“Other hand.”
Jordan twisted enough to look toward Ruiz.
“Officer, what am I being detained for?”
Ruiz’s eyes moved toward Mercer.
Mercer snapped:
“Hands behind your back.”
Jordan gave him the other wrist.
Mercer shoved him toward the grass.
Jordan stumbled.
His knee hit first.
Pain shot up his leg.
“Jesus!”
“Quit resisting.”
“I didn’t resist!”
Mercer drove him lower.
That was where the phones came out.
And that was where Jordan’s fear turned into something colder.
He knew his father would tell him not to provoke.
He knew every instruction Nathan had ever given him.
Do not pull.
Do not reach.
Do not turn quickly.
Remember details.
Let the camera remember what you cannot.
So Jordan stopped moving.
Completely.
Which only seemed to make Mercer angrier.