Zion's breath hitched in ragged gasps, his chest heaving with each shallow inhale. The irregular rhythm was a stark contrast to his usual steady breathing. His equilibrium felt off-kilter, a dizzying sensation that made the world tilt and sway. His head lolled against the cool, smooth surface of the steering wheel, the hardness jarring against his warm skin. The red glow of the dashboard lights illuminated the interior of his cherry-red Chevrolet, casting long, dancing shadows that contorted in the stillness of the late night. The artificial light felt oppressive against the darkness outside, the confined space a stark contrast to the vastness of the night sky.
Exhaustion clung to him like a second skin, seeping into his bones. *"M-Mark… no, no, no… that's not what justice is,"* he muttered, his voice a low, desperate plea, barely audible above his ragged breathing. His eyes clenched shut against haunting memories, the darkness a futile attempt to block out the persistence of his nightmare. It followed him everywhere, a relentless shadow clinging to the edges of his consciousness, contrasting sharply with the peace he craved.
A sudden, sharp cough rattled his lungs, echoing in the confined space. The thump-thump-thump of his heart followed, a frantic rhythm that mirrored the knock on the driver-side window. The continued knocking pierced the quiet of the night, each rap a persistent demand for his attention.
Jolted upright, he reacted instinctively to the noise, adrenaline surging through him. His hand reached for the gun tucked beneath the seat, the familiar weight both comforting and dread-inducing. He squinted through the rain-streaked glass, the droplets creating a shimmering effect that obscured his view. Dark circles under his eyes testified to sleepless nights, a stark contrast to the healthy glow he usually had. He raised the gun, his hand trembling slightly as paranoia clouded his mind.
The figure materialized into a woman, surprise flashing across her face as she registered the gun pointed at her. Her hands flew up defensively, a swift, instinctive movement. A can of soda slipped from her grasp, splashing onto the pavement with a soft hiss, mingling with scattered files that tumbled from her other hand.
Charlotte blinked rapidly, her eyes widening at the sight of the gun. Her heart raced, a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She tightened her grip on her badge, the moisture in her palms contrasting with the dryness she craved. She knew that any drastic movement could trigger him, his mind clearly not in the right state.
*"Oh, fuck! What the hell is wrong with him?!"* she panicked internally, her thoughts a frantic jumble. She saw his finger tighten on the trigger, a small but significant gesture that sent a chill through her. Zion's mind, still fogged with exhaustion and suspicion, slowly lowered the gun, placing it on the dashboard with a soft thud.
"I'm sorry, miss," he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep and guilt. "I'm a detective, trying to retire. I'm not having a good day." His admission was filled with shame, a stark contrast to the stoicism he usually displayed. He ran a hand through his damp hair, a grimace of self-disgust twisting his features.
Charlotte gasped in relief, a deep intake of breath filling her lungs with the fresh, rain-scented air. The tension drained from her body, but she kept her distance, wary of him through the open window. She observed her former mentor falling apart, wondering what had brought him to this point, the speculation contrasting sharply with her usual confidence.
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