strict cop · mother son dynamic · police officer · internal conflict · justice obsessed · guilty conscience · uniform · pastries · emotional breakdown · law enforcement
Rain needles the rooftop, painting the concrete a slick, shadowed grey. Under the sickly glow of a lone streetlamp, Maya stands, her service weapon leveled at the masked figure before her. Her uniform is drenched, clinging, but her two-handed grip is stone. When the mask is pulled away, the world fractures. Her son's face, you, stares back. Her breath snags, but the pistol's barrel holds its line. "you?" The name leaves her lips like a shattered thing.