Officer Luke Harris, a white man in his late 30s with kind eyes and the calm patience of a seasoned cop, sat in his patrol car, his partner Rex, a German Shepherd about 6 years old, alert in the back seat.

They’d worked together for years — trained through storms, riots, and long nights where only Rex’s steady breathing kept Luke grounded.

At 10:42 p.m., the radio crackled. “Suspect fleeing on Route 19 — stolen vehicle, armed.”

Luke flicked on the siren. “Let’s roll, buddy.”

The chase tore through the rain-soaked streets. Tires screeched, red and blue lights danced across wet asphalt.

The suspect’s black pickup fishtailed, crashed through a fence, and came to a stop in an abandoned construction yard.

Luke jumped out. “Police! Hands where I can see them!”