As the lead officer approached Elias, the crowd held its collective breath. Delilah trailed closely behind the cops, eager a front-row seat to the arrest. But before the officer could speak, the heavy passenger door of the Mustang creaked open. A tall, imposing figure stepped out from the shadowy interior of the car, holding a chrome wrench. He wore a simple, grease-stained flannel shirt, completely blending in with the mechanics. But as he stepped into the light, his sharp, commanding features became impossible to ignore. It was Marcus Vance, the Chief of Police for the entire metropolitan district.
The four responding officers stopped dead in their tracks. Their hands snapped away from their belts, their posture instantly shifting to rigid attention. Delilah’s victorious smirk froze, contorting into a mask of pure, unadulterated confusion. Chief Vance tossed the wrench onto a nearby toolbox and wiped his hands on a rag. He looked past his officers and locked his hardened gaze directly onto Delilah. "I was just checking the timing belt on Elias's engine," Vance stated, his voice a low, terrifying rumble that carried absolute authority. "Tell me, Delilah, exactly what part of my private, fully permitted gathering is threatening your safety?"