Madison slid into the police car beside me like she was crossing into enemy territory without a translator.
The girl who could usually walk into a cocktail party full of hedge fund predators and make them purr suddenly looked like she'd stumbled into a Kafka novel. Honestly? It was adorable watching her try to pretend she wasn't panicking.
"You know," she began, her voice way too bright to be natural, "this whole thing is very Dead Poets Society of you. Standing up to authority, dramatic consequences, inspiring others to seize the day through violence."
I turned to her, eyebrow raised. "Madison, I'm pretty sure Robin Williams wasn't advocating for caving in the skulls of pedophiles in his inspirational monologues."
