The constable gritted his teeth, and shoved himself up to stand with his baton. Looked at the kid for a long, heavy-breathing moment as he genuinely considered braining him even in this state.

It … could have gone worse. Not that Fanny’d ever admit that.

“Right, I was arresting you,” the constable grumbled, grasping for the handcuffs at his waistband.

But they … weren’t on his waistband, because he’d dropped them when a fucking cart hit him.

“Pick those up,” he grunted, nodding to them.