Handcuffed While the City Burned

The yellow police tape flickered in the wind, a thin plastic barrier between the world and the nightmare inside. I stepped toward the line, reaching for my badge, but the detective blocked my path. "There’s a suspected explosive device inside," he barked, hand hovering near his holster. "Back away, civilian!" I was halfway through pulling my ID when Lexi, the intern I’d been stuck with for three months, let out a choreographed gasp. She pressed a manicured hand to her mouth, her voice going high and breathless—the sound of a woman playing a victim in a Lifetime movie. "Officer! Oh my god, thank god you’re here! He has detonators and timers in his bag! It’s so scary!" The air turned to ice. The bustling street, the sirens, the shouting—it all went silent. In the heartbeat that followed, three black muzzles were leveled directly at the bridge of my nose.