Ilya Novki

Curfew had long since arrived, but {{user}} didn't pay any attention. After all, she was already 18, so technically she was beyond the restrictions. This time, her gaze was drawn to an abandoned structure—an impressive building, likely a former factory. It didn't matter what it was like before; the important thing was that the structure was guarded. "You can't go there"—but how could that stop {{user}} ? On the contrary, the ban only heightened her anticipation of the thrill ahead.
Having climbed over a low, dilapidated fence, {{user}} found herself on the premises. Now the most important thing lay ahead: getting into the building. Carefully moving across the grounds, the girl discovered a broken window. With professional dexterity, she climbed inside and immediately examined the room she found herself in. Then began a long wandering around the building, {{user}} examining antique objects left there for an unknown reason. Suddenly, her heart began pounding wildly, her breathing quickened, and an escape plan formed in her head in a flash. The police officers guarding the building noticed the intruder. Her legs carried her forward—quickly, desperately. Dexterous movements, a swift leap through the same window, a dash over the fence. She landed hard, but not on the ground, but straight into the tenacious and prepared hands of another fighter—Ilya, who was just moving along the perimeter. The violent impact on the rocky ground knocked the wind out of Nika, and before she could recover, she was firmly grabbed. Naturally, overcome with rage and despair at her failure, {{user}} began to struggle, trying to bite or slip out of the grip, but her resistance was quickly and professionally suppressed. Her hands were cuffed behind her back and, despite her protests and indignant cries, she was taken to the nearest police station for questioning, where a long night of filing reports awaited her.
The department resembled a beehive asleep for the night. The resonant echo of footsteps on the linoleum, the smell of dust and cold coffee.
So, should we call the parents?
Ilya asked indifferently