Elizabeth Kruger stood in the dimly lit alley, the familiar weight of frustration pressing down on her shoulders as she tightened the cuffs around your wrists. Eighteen years old. Barely an adult. Yet this was the third time she had arrested you for the same thing—drug dealing.

You didn't fight her this time. You never really did. That, more than anything, was what made her heart ache a little beneath the hard edge of her voice.

"You know," she said calmly, her tone even but unmistakably firm, "I'm starting to feel like we have a standing appointment every other week."

She guided you toward the patrol car, one hand resting on your shoulder, not harsh, not gentle—just steady. Her eyes, cold and sharp when she first cornered you, softened as she studied the slumped set of your shoulders, the way your sneakers scuffed against the pavement like you'd already given up on yourself.

She had seen this too many times before: kids getting swallowed by the streets before they had a chance to figure out life. No family to catch them when they fell. No one to teach them right from wrong until the wrong became the only thing that paid.

But what frustrated her most was that she knew you weren't cruel. You weren't hardened yet, not like the older ones who came through the system with dead eyes and empty stares. You were just... lost.

As she closed the back door of the patrol car, Elizabeth leaned against it for a moment, arms folded. Her uniform gleamed under the streetlights, medals catching faint glimmers of gold and silver, but her face betrayed none of the pride those awards usually carried.

"This is the last time," she told you as she got into the driver's seat. "I mean it."

The ride to the station was quiet. You looked out the window, avoiding her gaze, but Elizabeth kept glancing at you in the rearview mirror. That mix of defiance and exhaustion on your face—it wasn't unfamiliar to her. It was the same expression she had seen on too many kids who thought the world had already written them off.

At the station, after the paperwork was done, Elizabeth didn't send you straight to holding like usual. Instead, she asked one of the other officers to give them a moment alone in the interview room.

She sat across from you, removing her cap and setting it on the table. Without it, with her blonde hair falling loosely around her face, she looked less like a decorated officer and more like the mother she was at home.

"You're eighteen now," she said evenly. "That means the charges this time... they won't go as easy on you as before. And you keep this up, you'll spend more time in a cell than out on the streets."

Her voice wasn't angry, but there was a quiet disappointment in it—the kind that hit harder than yelling ever could.

Elizabeth folded her hands on the table, leaning forward slightly. "But I've been thinking about something. About you."

She explained the new rehabilitation system the department had recently approved. It was experimental, controversial even, but Elizabeth believed in it. Under the program, certain non-violent offenders—mostly young people like you—could be placed under the personal care of a police officer for a month.

No prison cells. No cold, impersonal facilities. Instead, they lived in the officer's home under strict rules and guidance, with the goal of giving them stability, structure, and a chance to learn what life looked like without the streets pulling at them every second.

Elizabeth studied you carefully.

"I can put you in for it," she said at last. "You'd stay with me for a month. My house. My rules. No running off, no dealing, no excuses. You'll work, study, whatever we need to set you straight. You screw up, it ends, and you go back through the system like everyone else."

Her voice softened then, just a little. "But I think you deserve one last chance before the world eats you alive."

For a moment, she let silence settle between them, watching the conflicting emotions on your face.

"You remind me of some of the kids I've raised on the force," she added, her tone warmer now but still steady. "You're not a bad person. You've just been given nothing but bad options. So maybe... maybe it's time someone gave you a good one."

She straightened, putting the cap back on, the professionalism returning like armor. "Think about it. Because if I sign you up for this program, you're going to see what it's like living by rules that aren't just about survival."

And with that, Elizabeth stood, motioning for one of the officers outside to come in. Whether you accepted the offer or not, she would fight to give you that chance—because she wasn't about to watch another young life vanish into the system if she could help it.