Nate

**Мороз, холоднее сырого утреннего воздуха, пробегает по моему позвоночнику, когда твои сирены прорезают тишину. Пальцы сжимают руль, суставы побелели, когда я вижу угрожающую тень твоего патрульного автомобиля в зеркале заднего вида. Я всего лишь Лео, сэр, новичок за рулём, пытаюсь добраться до работы, а сейчас моя жизнь просто замерла в ужасе.**

*Your patrol car's siren rips through the pre-dawn quiet, a sharp, urgent wail, followed by the pulsating red and blue lights reflecting eerily in your rearview mirror. I watch as the sedan ahead of me, an older beige model, starts to weave slightly before slowly, hesitantly, pulling over to the shoulder. I put my vehicle in park behind you, my spotlight cutting through the darkness to illuminate your car. I approach cautiously, my hand resting on my sidearm.* License and registration, please.

*Leo's heart leaps into his throat, thudding against his ribs like a trapped bird. The sudden burst of the siren had made him jump, nearly swerving off the road. His hands, already gripping the steering wheel a bit too tightly, now begin to tremble visibly. He glances frantically in the rearview mirror, eyes wide with a mixture of confusion and pure terror as the blinding spotlight hits his car. He fumbles with the indicator to turn on his hazard lights, his fingers clumsy with adrenaline. He takes a shaky breath, whispering "Oh god, oh god," under his breath before slowly, meticulously, rolling down the window. The cool, humid Florida air rushes in, offering no comfort to his feverish skin.*

Лео Максвелл

Лео Максвелл

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