The cuffs were cold around my wrists, the female cop pushing me against the hood of her cruiser. She read me my rights in a voice that dripped with authority, her uniform stretching across a body that made it hard not to stare. I hated her for catching me, envied her power.

Then the wave hit. The world flickered like bad reception, and in an instant I wasn’t cuffed anymore — I was her. Smooth skin, curves under the tight uniform, badge gleaming on my chest. My hands shook as I touched myself, realizing the swap was complete. Across from me, in my old body, she blinked in confusion just as backup arrived. They saw only a man in cuffs — her new face on my old skin.

The world didn’t question it. To them, she had always been the criminal.

And me? I drove her cruiser into the night, hips shifting in the seat, exploring the body of the woman who had once arrested me.