She was the oldest officer in the precinct, but her fire never dimmed.

Her uniform clung to her curves, a reminder that time had only sharpened her allure.

Colleagues whispered she was “hotter than trouble itself.”

On patrol, criminals froze—not from fear of the badge, but from her piercing gaze.

She knew every alley, every secret of the city.

Tonight, her heels clicked against wet pavement, echoing like a warning.

A gang thought her age made her weak—fools.

With a swift move, she disarmed the leader, pinning him with strength and grace.

Sweat glistened on her skin as sirens wailed closer.

She lit a cigarette, smirking—age is power, and she owned every year of it.