"Let me hand him over myself. My hands are itchy," said the operator who still had her boot planted on the man's back, halting the approaching detectives and officers.
She reached down, grabbed the man by the waistband of his shorts, and yanked them up along with his body. Then, without hesitation, she seized a fistful of his hair and pulled hard.
"Hiss—" the man groaned in pain.
"Hiss? Where was that hiss when you were hitting that woman?" Her tone was cold, devoid of mercy. She didn't even spare him a glance of pity.
Some younger officers nearby flinched, their idealism and textbook protocol nudging them to intervene. But the veterans stopped them with a glance and a subtle shake of the head.
Technically, yes—cases like this should be handled strictly by the police. But when Spirit Fox insisted on taking part, no one dared oppose.
And this wasn't formal procedure anymore—it was a message. A lesson.
