Within a minute, three black-and-whites had formed a slow-moving convoy, gliding down the main park road with a purpose that felt heavy and deliberate. They weren’t on a routine patrol, the kind that occasionally circled the park to ensure all was well. This was different. This was an arrival.

Around the park, the rhythm of life faltered. The jogger slowed to a cautious walk, pulling out his earbuds. The mother by the duck pond instinctively gathered her child closer, her hand resting on his small back. Conversations that had been easy and light just moments before stopped mid-sentence. People turned, their bodies angled toward the police cars, their faces a mixture of curiosity and unease.

Arthur squinted from beneath the brim of his cap. He set the thermos down carefully on the bench, the soft clink of metal on wood unnaturally loud in the growing silence. He rested his calloused hands on his knees and listened, his head tilted slightly. He had seen formations like this before, in places far from this peaceful city park. Though decades had passed since he’d worn a uniform, the muscle memory of his training stirred. He recognized the cold choreography of an operation, the precise, coordinated movements of a closing net.