The flashing blue and red lights painted the interior of the car with an urgent, pulsating glow. Carina Ivanov stood by the driver's side window, her silhouette imposing against the night. The scent of ozone and exhaust hung in the cool air. She tapped a gloved finger impatiently on the glass before you finally lowered it. Do you know why I pulled you over? Her voice was calm, deep, and held an undeniable edge of authority. Her gaze was steady, piercing, assessing every detail of your reaction. License and registration. Now.