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Chapter Text

Quantico, Virginia 2019

“So, Michael was arrested, but Aaron wasn’t?” Lucy asked her boss, her voice tinged with unease.

“Aaron was gone by the time we got his father,” David replied, his tone steady, but the knot in Lucy’s stomach tightened.

“And what about my undercover identity?” she pressed. “What if Aaron looks up Skylar?”

“In jail—for five years,” Mark, her partner, interjected.

“Five years? I’m not going back for five years,” Lucy said firmly, her jaw set as she continued packing up her office.

David gave her a pointed look.

“Don’t give me that look,” Lucy snapped. “You know how this case has taken its toll on me. I can’t go back.”

“Well, Lucy,” David said as he turned to leave, “I wish you the best of luck. The BAU is losing one of its best.”

“Great. Now he’s pissed,” Celia muttered as she walked into Lucy’s office.

“Sorry,” Lucy said softly.

“Don’t apologize, Luce. This case drained you. You gave two years of your life to it,” Mark said.

“He’s right,” Celia chimed in. “And don’t worry. Aaron won’t stay quiet for long. He’ll resurface, and when he does, we’ll catch him—even if it means losing two of our best agents.”

“Sorry, Celia, but—” Mark began.

“I get it,” Celia interrupted. “Ashley’s pregnant, and you don’t want to be an absent father like your dad. And Lucy, I know this case wrecked you, but seriously? LA? That’s so far away.”

“In my defense,” Lucy said with a half-smile, “it’s the only station that would take me as a detective. I wasn’t going back to patrol.”

“It’s fine. We all saw this coming,” Celia said, sighing.

Lucy glanced at her watch. “I really need to get going. I have to finish packing and hit the road.”

“Of course. I love you, and don’t be a stranger,” Celia said, her voice thick with emotion as she hugged her best friend tightly.

“I love you, too. Take care of yourself,” Lucy whispered, hugging her back.

When Celia finally let go, Lucy turned to Mark.

“I better not see you back here in five years,” he said, his expression serious.

“Trust me—you won’t,” Lucy replied.

“Promise?”

“I promise,” she said with a small smile. “And take care of that baby for me.”

Mark chuckled softly. “Of course.”

Lucy picked up her box of office decorations and made her way to the elevator. As the doors closed, a flood of memories swept over her.

This was the right decision.

This place had been home once, but not anymore. She had grown, and it was time to move forward.

What lay ahead was uncertain, but Lucy knew one thing: she would face it head-on.

She walked out of the BAU for the last time.

She walked out of Quantico for the last time.

Or did she?

Chapter Text

Mid-Wilshire Precinct, February 2024

It had been five months since Tim walked away from Lucy in the parking lot. Two months since he promised to earn her trust back in small, deliberate ways. And he had kept his promise. Tim had found a new therapist—someone outside the station who specialized in treating war veterans—and had joined a weekly support group. The progress showed. Tim was more himself, more stable, and he was steadily earning Lucy's trust again. Things weren’t back to normal, but they were close. They weren’t a couple yet, but they were something.

Meanwhile, it had been five years since Lucy left the FBI. Five years since Aaron Brown had disappeared back into the world of gang wars and drugs. No arrests. No evidence. Nothing that stuck. He was good—too good—and that made him a nightmare for law enforcement.

“Hey, anyone there?” Tim’s voice pulled Lucy from her thoughts.

“Oh, sorry. How long have you been standing there?” she asked as he handed her a coffee. “Thanks,” she added, taking it from him.

“Just a couple of seconds. Are you okay?” he asked, his brow furrowed with concern.

“Yeah. Just this case, that’s all,” Lucy said. It wasn’t entirely a lie. They were investigating a brutal family murder, but no leads made sense. “How are things?” she asked, their routine now familiar. Tim would bring her coffee, and she would ask how he was doing.

“Uh… it’s going,” Tim replied, his tone uncertain.

“Oh no, that doesn’t sound good,” Lucy said, raising an eyebrow as she sipped her coffee.

“My therapist opened a can of worms,” he admitted.

“About what?” Lucy asked.

“My mother,” Tim said flatly. “Need anything else?”

“No, I’m good,” Lucy replied, sensing his hesitation. “You know, it’s not all bad. You could try to find out if she’s still alive, where she is…”

“I’m good, Lucy,” Tim cut her off as he walked away.

“Oh, come on. Not even a little curious?” she called after him.

“Have a great day!” he said, disappearing down the hall. Lucy smirked at his retreating figure. She was still amused when Angela approached her desk.

“Things are looking better between you two,” Angela said with a knowing smile.

“Yeah, things are better,” Lucy replied, unable to hide her own smile.

“You guys are insufferably cute.”

“Maybe,” Lucy admitted with a shrug, which only made Angela grin. Before either could say more, Celina appeared at their desks.

“Can we help you, Celina?” Angela asked, eyebrow raised.

“Did you hear who’s coming to the station?” Celina asked, her excitement evident.

“No, who?” Lucy replied, exchanging a glance with Angela.

“BAU,” Celina blurted out before Nyla appeared, correcting her.

“My contacts say the Behavioral Analysis Unit is coming because of Aaron Brown,” Nyla said, glancing at Lucy.

Lucy’s phone rang. The caller ID read Celia. “I’ll be back,” Lucy said, standing and stepping into an empty interrogation room to take the call. She leaned against the table and answered.

“Is it true?” was her first question.

“Yeah, it’s true,” Celia confirmed on the other end.

“Do you know where he is?” Lucy asked, her voice tight with urgency.

Celia hesitated. “No. But…”

“But what?” Lucy pressed, the same sick feeling from five years ago rising in her stomach.

“Mark Greer is dead,” Celia said, her voice cracking.

Lucy’s knees nearly buckled. “Was it him?” she asked.

“He was stabbed. Died in surgery,” Celia explained. “The FBI says it was random.”

“Random, my ass,” Lucy spat. “Is that what they’re going with?”

“Yep. And I don’t buy it either,” Celia replied grimly.

“So why is the BAU here for Aaron?” Lucy demanded.

There was a long silence. “Celia?” she pushed.

“It’s been five years, Luce,” Celia said softly.

“Celia, no. Absolutely not,” Lucy said, her voice rising. “I told David this five years ago—I’m not going back to that house. I’m not going undercover as Skylar again. I’m done with that life.”

“I don’t like it either, but we’re out of options,” Celia said quietly.

“I’m not doing it,” Lucy insisted, pacing the room now. “No way.”

“I’m sorry, Lucy. It has to be done,” Celia replied.

Lucy hung up abruptly, dropping her phone onto the table. She stood there, trembling, trying to keep herself together. Mark was dead. The FBI thought it was random. And now they wanted her to go back undercover as Skylar? The thought made her stomach churn.

Her phone buzzed with a message from Sergeant Grey:
Come to my office.

They were here. Her life was about to implode.

Lucy wiped her tears, grabbed her phone, and left the room. On her way to Grey’s office, she saw Celia waiting in the hallway. Celia gave her a small wave, but Lucy didn’t return it. She walked straight into Grey’s office, bracing herself for what was coming next.

Chapter Text

Mid-Wilshire Precinct, Febaury 2024 

“How are you, Lucy?” David asked when she stepped into Sergeant Grey’s office.

“I’ve been better, to be honest,” Lucy replied bluntly.

“That’s fair,” David said just as the office door opened. It was Tim—and, of course, it was Tim. David was about to ask to borrow one of their detectives, and Tim, as a sergeant, had to be involved.

“Agent Delaney, what can we help you with?” Sergeant Grey asked, eyeing David.

“Well, as we all know, Aaron Brown is still at large,” David began.

“Yeah, of course. It’s been five years since his wife was arrested, and she’s about to be released any day now,” Tim chimed in.

“Yes. I’m trying to get him out of hiding, and I was wondering if I could use Skylar as bait,” David said casually.

“I mean, that’s smart, but Skylar is in jail and nowhere near here,” Tim responded. Lucy shot him a sharp look.

“Actually,” David interjected, “Skylar was an undercover identity. Her real identity is Detective Chen.”

The room went silent as Tim turned to Lucy, his gaze heavy with realization.

“So, can we use her? Just for a bit,” David asked, his tone dismissively practical.

“If Lucy wants to help, I’ll approve it, but it’s up to her,” Sergeant Grey said, his voice calm but firm.

“Well, I was hoping you’d make her do it,” David pressed.

Lucy felt her stomach churn. She needed air. “Excuse me,” she muttered, bolting out of the room.

“Luce!” Tim called after her, but she didn’t stop.

Lucy barely made it into the bathroom before the nausea overwhelmed her. She stumbled into the nearest stall, slamming the door shut behind her. As she doubled over, gripping the cold edges of the toilet seat, her mind spiraled. Memories of those years—of being Skylar—came flooding back in vivid, suffocating flashes. The laughter she had to fake, the lies she had to spin, and the weight of pretending to love someone she despised.

The bile rose in her throat, and she threw up. Tears blurred her vision as she gasped for air, trying to ground herself, but the tightness in her chest refused to let up.

The bathroom door creaked open.

Lucy froze. Her breathing hitched, and her fingers tightened against the stall walls.

She heard the familiar sound of boots against the tiled floor. A soft knock came at the stall door.

“Lucy? It’s me,” Tim’s voice was low, cautious.

“I’m fine. I just need a minute,” she managed to say, her voice hoarse.

Tim didn’t leave. She could see his shadow under the stall door, steady and unmoving.

“You’re not fine,” he said, his tone soft but firm.

Lucy closed her eyes, willing herself to calm down. But the ache in her chest only deepened. She flushed the toilet, took a shaky breath, and unlatched the door.

Tim stood there, his eyes scanning her pale face. She avoided his gaze as she walked to the sink, turning on the water and scrubbing her hands furiously, as if trying to wash away more than just physical grime.

Tim leaned against the counter, his arms crossed but his posture open. He didn’t say anything as she worked through her motions. When she finally turned to grab paper towels, he was already holding some out for her.

“Thanks,” she said quietly, taking them.

“Always,” he replied simply.

For a moment, they stood in silence. The only sound was the faint drip of water from the faucet. Lucy gripped the counter, her knuckles white. She felt the walls closing in, the memories she’d tried to bury clawing their way to the surface.

“I should’ve told you,” she whispered.

“Lucy, stop. You couldn’t tell me. I know how this works,” Tim interrupted gently.

“But this isn’t what you signed up for, is it?” she said, her voice breaking.

Tim tilted his head, studying her. “I signed up for all of it. The good, the bad, the messy. So stop thinking you’re on your own here.”

She let out a bitter laugh, tears welling in her eyes.

“I know! Surprising coming from me,” Tim said, trying to lighten the mood. 

“Tim, I was someone else for over two years. I lied to everyone. To myself. I lived in his house. I pretended to love him.” Her voice faltered, and her hands began to tremble.

Tim straightened, stepping closer but keeping enough distance to let her breathe.

“I had to fake every smile,” she continued, her voice rising. “Every touch. Every word. Do you know how sick it made me? How wrong it felt to look in the mirror and not recognize the person staring back?”

She turned to face him, her tears streaming now. “And now Delaney wants me to go back. Back to that life. Back to him . Tim, I can’t do it. I won’t do it.”

“You won’t,” Tim said firmly, his voice cutting through her panic like a lifeline. He reached out, resting a hand gently on her shoulder. “You’re not going back. Not now. Not ever. I won’t let it happen.”

Her knees buckled slightly, and before she realized what was happening, Tim pulled her into his arms. She didn’t fight it. She let herself collapse into the safety of his embrace, her face buried in his shoulder.

“I can’t go back,” she repeated, her voice muffled by his shirt.

“You won’t,” he said again, his voice steady as he held her tightly. “I swear, Lucy. I’ll make sure of it.”

For the first time since stepping into the bathroom, her breathing began to slow. His presence, solid and unwavering, grounded her in the here and now.

The bathroom door opened suddenly, and Lucy stiffened, stepping out of the hug. She wiped at her tear-streaked face hastily as Angela appeared in the doorway.

“Hey, um, Grey wants to talk to you,” Angela said, her gaze flickering between the two of them.

Lucy nodded, her composure slipping back into place like armor. “Thanks. I’ll be right there.”

As Lucy walked out, Tim stayed behind.

“Is she okay?” Angela asked softly.

Tim looked at the door Lucy had just walked through, his expression unreadable. “She will be,” he said. But deep down, he knew it would take everything he had to keep that promise.

***

Back in Grey’s office, Lucy faced him and Delaney.

“You wanted to see me,” she said.

“Agent Delaney, could you give us the room?” Grey asked.

“Yes, of course. I have a call to make anyway,” Delaney replied, stepping out.

“Lucy, sit down,” Grey said.

“I just want to say I’m sorry—” she began, but Grey interrupted.

“Don’t apologize. I don’t know the details of this case, but it’s clear it wasn’t good. If you can’t go back, then don’t go back.”

“I can’t. I can’t go back to that identity,” Lucy said, her voice shaking. “I was a different person for two and a half years. It nearly broke me.”

“Then you’re staying here with us. No questions asked,” Grey said, his tone resolute.

Lucy exhaled, relief washing over her. “Thank you, Sergeant Grey.”

“Go home, Lucy. Get some rest. Things will look better tomorrow,” Grey said, giving her a reassuring nod.

“Thank you,” Lucy said again, leaving the office.

At her desk, Lucy grabbed her bag. Celia approached her hesitantly.

“Lucy, can we talk?” Celia asked.

“No, not now,” Lucy said, brushing past her.

“Please, I didn’t like how our phone call ended,” Celia pleaded.

“Well, too bad! It’s been a long morning. I’m going home,” Lucy snapped as she left the station.

Chapter Text

Lucy and Celina's apartment, February 2024 

As Lucy walked into her apartment, her phone buzzed. The first message she saw was from Tim:
Tim: Do you need anything?

The second was from her roommate,
Celina: Leave the door unlocked! I left my key on the countertop!

Lucy glanced at the countertop and spotted Celina’s keys. She let out a quiet laugh. Of course, Celina had left them behind again. Shaking her head, she closed the door but didn’t lock it—Celina would be back soon enough. It wasn’t the first time her roommate had forgotten her keys, and it definitely wouldn’t be the last.

After securing her gun in the safe, Lucy walked into her bedroom, kicked off her shoes, and sat at the edge of her bed. She rubbed her temples, the weight of the day pressing down on her. It wasn’t even noon, and she was already emotionally drained.

She changed into her most comfortable clothes and climbed into bed, hoping that sleep would help her escape the overwhelming thoughts swirling in her head. Mark was really gone. The thought lingered, heavy and sharp. A good friend, a devoted husband, and a loving father to two daughters—gone. She couldn’t stop picturing Ashley as a widow or the girls growing up without truly knowing their father.

Lucy rolled over and forced her eyes shut. She needed to stop. She needed this terrible day to be behind her.

***

Two hours later, Lucy woke abruptly. She stared at the ceiling for a moment, her mind groggy, before the events of the day came rushing back. Her phone buzzed on the nightstand, but she hesitated to reach for it.

Then she heard it—a loud bang .

Her heart skipped. She sat up quickly, holding her breath. Probably Celina, she thought, though it didn’t make sense. Celina was supposed to be at the station. Lucy grabbed her phone and checked Celina’s location. Sure enough, her roommate was still at work.

Her chest tightened.

She had no weapon within reach, no way to defend herself. Slowly, Lucy slid out of bed, her socked feet silent against the floor. She moved cautiously toward her bedroom door.

Peering out into the dim apartment, she froze. Two masked figures were standing in her kitchen, their voices low but clear. 

Lucy’s heart raced as she took cautious steps out of her bedroom, her mind trying to process what she had seen. Two masked figures. Guns. Knives. Her stomach churned as fear gripped her, but she forced herself to move silently toward the living room.

Peeking around the corner, she saw them again, standing near the kitchen. They were talking to each other, their voices low but clear enough for her to make out.

“Are you sure this is the right apartment?” one of them asked, their voice gruff and impatient.

“Yes,” the other one replied sharply. “Apartment 610. This is it.”

Lucy’s blood ran cold. She ducked back behind the wall, her breathing shallow. Her mind was racing. It has to be Aaron. He’s found me.

Before she could think of a plan, her foot scuffed against the floor. The sound was soft, but it might as well have been a gunshot in the tense silence.

“Guess you were right,” the first figure said, his tone dark and amused.

They turned, their masked faces locking onto her position. The second figure smirked, raising his weapon—a long, serrated knife that gleamed in the dim light.

They started moving toward her, their steps deliberate and predatory. Lucy raised her hands instinctively, her voice trembling as she spoke.

“What do you want?”

“You know exactly what we want,” the man with the knife said, his voice dripping with menace.

“Please,” she pleaded, backing against the wall. “Don’t hurt me. He wouldn’t want that.”

The first man chuckled darkly. “Actually,” he said, his voice cold and mocking, “this is exactly what he wants.”

Before Lucy could react, the knife-wielding man lunged forward. Pain exploded in her side as the blade plunged into her flesh. She gasped, the air leaving her lungs as she stumbled backward.

The world seemed to slow down. The pain was sharp and burning, radiating through her body with every beat of her heart. She clutched at her side, her fingers slick with warm blood, as her knees buckled.

The second blow came swiftly, piercing her abdomen just below the first wound. Lucy cried out, her vision blurring as she crumpled to the floor.

“Why...” she gasped, struggling to speak through the pain.

“You don’t need to worry about that,” the first man said coldly, crouching beside her. His gloved hand gripped her chin, forcing her to look up at him. “You won’t be around to care.”

He shoved her head back, and she collapsed onto the floor. The metallic scent of blood filled her nostrils as it pooled around her. She could barely hear their footsteps retreating, their voices fading as they left the apartment.

Lucy lay there, staring up at the ceiling, her vision swimming. Her breaths were shallow and ragged, each one a struggle as pain wracked her body.

Her mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and regrets. She thought of Aaron’s twisted smile, his vendetta finally catching up to her. She thought of Tim, his promise earlier in the day echoing in her mind. You’re not going back. Not ever.

But she wasn’t going back—not to that life, not to anyone.

Her eyelids grew heavy, but her thoughts refused to quiet. She pictured Nolan and Bailey adopting a child, Tamara walking across the stage at her college graduation, Celina laughing about her forgotten keys. Little pieces of her life she would never see again.

The darkness started to creep in. Her body felt heavy, her limbs numb.

The door opened suddenly, the sound of footsteps startling her. For a brief moment, hope flickered in her chest.

“Darling? Lucy?” a voice called out, sweet and familiar.

Celina...

But the world faded to black before she could answer.

***

“7-Adam-15, please report to 2733 Elhurst Dr, aparment 610.”

Nolan glanced at Celina. “Isn’t that your apartment?”

Celina’s face went pale. “Yeah. And Lucy went home early today.”

She pressed the gas pedal, speeding toward the address. “7-Adam-15, show us responding,” Nolan said into the radio, activating the sirens.

They reached the apartment complex in minutes. Racing up the stairs, they burst into the apartment.

“Lucy!” Celina screamed, but Lucy was barely conscious on the floor, her blood staining the hardwood.

“7-Adam-15, we need an ambulance, detectives, and Sergeant Grey at our location. Stabbing victim. Female, early 30s,” Nolan reported urgently into his radio.

He turned to an older woman standing nearby, visibly shaken. “Ma’am, what did you see or hear?”

“I—I didn’t see much. Just two masked figures running down the hall with a bloody knife,” the woman said, her voice trembling. “They came from this apartment. I called 911 and put gauze over her wounds—I’m a nurse.”

Bailey and her crew arrived moments later. She approached Nolan, her face grave. “What do we have?”

“It’s Lucy,” Nolan said quietly. “And it’s bad.”

Bailey nodded, her demeanor professional but tense. “She’s a cop. Let’s treat her with respect,” she ordered her team as they moved into the apartment.

Minutes later, Sergeant Grey and Nyla arrived at the scene.

“Is it true?” Grey asked, his voice thick with worry. “Is it Lucy?”

“It’s bad,” Bailey said as the paramedics wheeled Lucy out on a stretcher.

“Does Tim know?” Nyla asked, looking at Nolan.

Nolan hesitated. “No. We thought it’d be better to wait until she’s at the hospital.”

Nyla nodded, pulling out her phone to text Angela.

Nyla : Where’s Tim?
Angela : On a call with his therapist. Why?
Nyla : Get him and bring him to the hospital.
Angela : What happened?
Nyla : Stabbing victim. Lucy. It’s bad.
Angela : We’re on our way. 

Chapter Text

Mid-Wilshire Precinct, February 2024

Angela stood outside Tim’s office door, her hand raised to knock again. She’d already knocked once, but there had been no answer. She couldn’t put it off any longer. Steeling herself, she rapped on the door a second time.

The door opened abruptly, and Tim appeared, his phone cradled between his cheek and shoulder. His brows furrowed in confusion when he saw her.

“What’s going on?” he asked casually, his tone betraying none of the storm Angela knew was about to hit.

“It’s Lucy,” Angela began, her voice trembling despite her effort to stay calm. “And it’s not good.”

Tim’s expression changed instantly, his casual demeanor vanishing as concern sharpened his features. “Hey, can I call you back?” he said into the phone, his voice now clipped and urgent. He paused, listening briefly. “Yeah, something came up at work. I’ll see you Thursday,” he added before hanging up.

He turned his full attention to Angela. “What’s going on?” he asked again, his voice firmer, more insistent.

Angela hesitated, knowing the weight of her words. “There was a stabbing,” she said, stepping fully into the office. “At Lucy’s apartment.”

Tim’s confusion deepened. “At her complex?”

“No. Well, yes, but… Tim, it was in her apartment.” Angela’s voice cracked slightly, her unshed tears beginning to glisten.

Tim’s eyes narrowed. “Angela, what are you saying?”

“Tim…” she started again, her voice breaking. “Lucy was stabbed. It’s bad. She’s on her way to the hospital.”

Tim stared at her for a long moment, his mind refusing to process the words. “How bad?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I don’t know all the details,” Angela admitted. “Nyla said it’s bad. That’s all I know.”

Tim stepped back, his hand gripping the back of his chair for support. “She’ll be fine,” he muttered, more to himself than to Angela. “She’s strong. She’ll pull through.”

“Tim,” Angela said gently, “we need to go.”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course,” he said, his movements almost robotic as Angela guided him out of the office and toward the car.

Waiting Room, February 2024 

Tim couldn’t remember much about the drive. The world outside the car blurred as his mind replayed the last time he’d seen Lucy. He thought of the promise he’d made to her, the strength in her voice when she’d said she couldn’t go back to being Skylar. He’d promised she wouldn’t have to.

Now that promise felt hollow.

By the time they arrived at the hospital, the weight in his chest had grown unbearable. 

The waiting room was cold and sterile. Tim sat rigidly in one of the chairs, his hands clenched into fists on his lap. Angela sat beside him, her hand resting lightly on his arm, while Celina paced back and forth in front of them.

“She’s in surgery,” the doctor had informed them earlier. “Two stab wounds to the abdomen. She’s lost a significant amount of blood, but we’re doing everything we can.”

Tim had nodded numbly, the words echoing in his head. She’s lost a significant amount of blood.

Hours passed in agonizing silence. Tamara arrived around six, her face pale as she approached the group.

“Any updates?” she asked, her voice small and tentative.

Angela stood to meet her. “She’s been in surgery for three hours. Nothing yet.”

“How bad was it?” Tamara asked, her voice trembling.

Celina hesitated, glancing at Angela before speaking. “She was stabbed twice in the stomach. There was a lot of blood.”

Tears welled in Tamara’s eyes. “But she’s going to be okay, right? She’s Lucy. She has to be okay.”

Tim stood abruptly, his voice steady but strained. “She’s strong. This is nothing for her. She’ll get through it.”

But even as he said the words, he felt the crushing pit in his stomach grow deeper.

Finally, a nurse stepped into the waiting room, clipboard in hand. Her face was carefully composed, but Tim immediately saw through the professional mask. He’d worn that same expression countless times while delivering the worst possible news.

“The family of Lucy Chen?” the nurse called, her voice soft yet deliberate.

Tim froze mid-step. His heart thudded painfully in his chest as he turned toward the nurse. “That’s us,” he said, stepping forward.

Angela stood as well, her hand brushing his arm as if to steady him. Tamara and Celina rose hesitantly, their faces pale.

Tim swallowed hard, his voice steady but taut. “Is she okay?”

The nurse hesitated, glancing at the group before focusing on Tim. She took a deep breath, her professional mask slipping just enough to reveal the sorrow in her eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” she began, her voice heavy with regret. “Lucy lost a significant amount of blood on her way to the hospital. The surgical team did everything they could to replace it, but... the damage was too severe.”

Tim’s stomach dropped. His mind latched onto her words, but he refused to process them. “What are you saying?” he asked, his voice low and strained.

“She passed away during surgery,” the nurse said gently. “Lucy Chen died at 6:47 PM. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

The room went eerily silent.

Tamara’s knees buckled slightly, and Angela reached out to steady her. Celina covered her mouth with her hands, tears streaming down her face as she collapsed into a nearby chair.

“No,” Tamara whispered, her voice cracking. “No, that can’t be right. She’s... she’s Lucy! She always makes it through.”

The nurse glanced at her sympathetically, then quietly excused herself, leaving them alone in the waiting room.

Tim stood frozen, staring blankly at the spot where the nurse had been standing. Her words echoed in his head, each one hammering into him like a blow. She passed away during surgery.

“No,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. “No, that’s not... She’s not gone.”

Angela stepped closer, her voice soft but firm. “Tim—”

“No!” he snapped, his voice louder now. His hands clenched into fists at his sides. “She can’t be gone. She can’t... she just can’t.”

Angela’s eyes filled with tears as she placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry,” she said quietly.

Tim pulled away from her touch, pacing again as his mind spiraled. His chest felt tight, and his breathing grew ragged. Images of Lucy flashed through his mind—her laugh, her smile, the way she’d teased him about his gruff demeanor. All the moments they’d shared, and all the ones they never would.

“She’s gone,” he said finally, his voice hollow. The words tasted bitter on his tongue.

Angela stepped forward again, her own tears slipping down her cheeks. “Tim, I—”

He held up a hand, cutting her off. “Don’t. I just... I need a minute.”

Angela nodded, stepping back as Tim turned away from the group. He walked toward the far side of the waiting room, his hands trembling. He braced himself against the wall, his head bowing as the weight of the loss crushed him.

Memories flooded him. The last conversation they’d had. The promise he had made: You won’t go back. Not now. Not ever.

He had failed her.

Mid-Wilshire Station, February 2024

The usual buzz of the station was replaced with a suffocating silence. Conversations were hushed, and even the occasional ringing phones seemed subdued. Everyone who knew Lucy was grappling with the same devastating truth: she was fighting for her life. 

Nyla Harper sat at her desk, her gaze locked on the grainy security footage from Lucy’s apartment building. She rewound the clip for what felt like the hundredth time, her eyes scanning every frame with mounting frustration. The video was painfully mundane. Two masked figures entered the building, walked calmly to Lucy’s floor, and then left five minutes later—efficient, calculated, and untraceable.

She leaned back in her chair, rubbing her temples as her phone buzzed again. She didn’t bother picking it up. It was probably another message asking about Lucy. What could she say that hadn’t already been said? Angela had already informed Grey, and word was spreading fast.

Nyla exhaled sharply, turning back to the screen. Nothing. There’s nothing useful here, she thought bitterly. They were careful. Too careful.

“Detective Harper?”

The voice startled Nyla, and she turned to see Genny Bradford standing near her desk. Genny’s face was pale, her eyes wide with worry.

“Genny? Is everything okay?” Nyla asked, softening her tone.

“I heard about the stabbing,” Genny said, her voice trembling. “Tim’s not answering his phone, and I just... I had to come and check.”

“Genny, it’s okay,” Nyla reassured her, standing from her desk. “This is hitting all of us hard. James came by earlier for the same reason.”

Before Genny could respond, the heavy thud of footsteps approached. Sergeant Grey walked toward them, his face somber, his steps slower than usual. Nyla froze when she noticed the tear glistening on his cheek.

“Sir?” Nyla asked cautiously, her stomach tightening with unease.

Grey hesitated, his hands clenched tightly at his sides. Finally, his voice broke as he said, “She didn’t make it. Lucy lost too much blood.”

Nyla felt the air leave her lungs. She sat back heavily in her chair, her hands gripping the edges of the desk to steady herself.

“She?” Genny asked, her voice filled with confusion and denial. Her hand flew to her mouth as realization dawned on her. “Lucy?”

Grey nodded, his eyes downcast. “She’s gone,” he said quietly.

The weight of his words settled over them like a crushing wave. Genny’s face crumpled, tears spilling down her cheeks. She turned and walked away quickly, muttering something about finding Tim.

Nyla sat frozen, her eyes drifting back to the screen. The two masked figures replayed in an endless loop, their movements eerily methodical. Anger surged through her chest, pushing past the grief.

They walked in, stabbed her, and walked out. Like she was nothing to them. Like she didn’t matter.

Her hands balled into fists as a single thought consumed her: They won’t get away with this.

Before the silence could take hold again, the doors to the station burst open. Agent Delaney stormed in, his team trailing behind him, their presence breaking the delicate stillness.

“So, we’ve got clearance from your captain,” Delaney began brusquely, his tone all business. “We’re taking Chen for the operation. Where is she?”

Grey turned sharply, his grief transforming into searing anger. “Read the damn room, Agent.”

Delaney frowned, clearly taken aback. “Excuse me?”

“She’s dead,” Nyla said flatly, her voice devoid of emotion. Her words hung in the air, sharp and cutting.

Delaney froze, the confidence draining from his face. “What?”

“She was stabbed in her apartment,” Grey snapped, his voice trembling with rage. “She didn’t make it.”

For a moment, Delaney stood motionless, his stunned expression reflecting the disbelief rippling through the room. “You’re serious?” he finally said, his voice quieter.

Grey didn’t answer. He turned abruptly, walking toward his office, his shoulders heavy with the weight of loss. As he left, he called back over his shoulder, his tone resolute. “She’s gone. And now we’re going to find out who did this.”

Delaney stood there for another moment, his shock giving way to frustration. Nyla didn’t look at him. Her focus was back on the screen, her resolve hardening.

“Five minutes,” she muttered to herself, her jaw tight. “Five damn minutes.”

Angela approached quietly, her expression as grim as Nyla’s. “We’ll find them,” she said softly.

Nyla nodded, her eyes never leaving the footage. “We have to. For Tim and Tamara.”

Chapter Text

Angela’s House, February 2024

It had been a week since that dreaded day, and nothing felt real. Lucy Chen—fearless, determined, a cornerstone of their lives—was gone. Tim Bradford had been staying at Angela’s house since the incident. She and Wesley welcomed him with open arms, knowing he couldn’t be trusted to manage his grief alone. Being around Jack and Emmy provided moments of distraction, fleeting respites from the ache that consumed him.

Tim had been given time off, but time didn’t make the loss any easier. Lucy wasn’t just his ex. She was the woman he still loved, the one he had planned a future with. He had been working on himself, preparing to fix what he had broken, and now that chance was gone forever.

Celina hadn’t been back to her apartment, either. Though technically hers, it had been Lucy’s first. Staying there felt impossible. She had been crashing with Bailey and John, trying to find the strength to return home—but that strength hadn’t come yet.

Today was Lucy’s funeral. The department had taken care of all the arrangements, notifying her parents—who responded with only a cold, “I told her so”—and ensuring every detail was perfect.

In the guest room at Angela’s house, Tim sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the tie in his hands. He had been trying to tie it for twenty minutes, but his fingers wouldn’t cooperate. His mind kept replaying every moment he had ever shared with Lucy, every word he hadn’t said.

A knock at the door broke his trance. Angela stepped in, taking one look at him and sighing.

“Hey, are you ready?” she asked gently, sitting beside him.

Tim shook his head and held up the tie. “I can’t do it. My hands won’t work,” he said, his voice raw and low.

“Let me,” Angela said, standing and gesturing for him to rise.

Tim got up slowly, stiffly, and let Angela take the tie. She began knotting it with practiced ease, but her gaze stayed fixed on Tim’s face, reading the exhaustion and despair etched into every line.

“Hey,” she said softly. “Are you okay?”

Tim gave a bitter laugh, tears filling his eyes. “What do you think?”

Angela winced. “Right. Stupid question.” She tightened the tie and adjusted it, then stepped back. Sitting down again, she patted the space beside her, prompting Tim to join her.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” she asked, her voice steady and full of concern.

Tim hesitated, his eyes dropping to his hands. After a long silence, he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Why me?” he asked, his tone hollow.

Angela frowned. “What do you mean?”

“My dad. My mom. The military with Ray and Mark. Isabel. And now Lucy. It feels like the world just keeps throwing punches, and I keep getting back up, but... what if I’m not supposed to? What if this is it? What if this is the one thing that’s supposed to take me out for good?” His voice cracked, and tears spilled down his cheeks. “What if I’m done?”

Angela reached for his hand, shaking her head firmly. “No, Tim. This is going to break you, yeah—but it would break anyone. You lost the person you loved most in the world. That’s not something you just get over. But it doesn’t mean you’re supposed to give up.”

Tim wiped his face, but the tears kept coming. “I had a ring,” he said suddenly, his voice quiet and trembling.

Angela froze. “What?”

“I bought it before I broke up with her. I was going to propose,” he admitted, barely holding himself together. “Then I pushed her away. I thought I was doing the right thing—giving her space, working on myself so I could be the man she deserved. And now it doesn’t matter. I never got the chance.”

Angela’s own tears welled as she pulled him into a tight hug. He broke down completely, sobbing into her shoulder as grief poured out of him in waves. She held him, her heart breaking for her best friend.

“Why her?” Tim whispered through his cries. “Why did it have to be her?”

Angela didn’t have an answer. All she could do was hold him as he shattered.

Finally, Tim pulled back, taking a deep, shuddering breath. “I can do this,” he said, more to himself than to Angela. “I have to do this. We’re her family.”

Angela nodded, her voice resolute. “We are. And we’ll get through this. Together.”

Funeral Home, February 2024

The atmosphere at the funeral was heavy and suffocating. The Mid-Wilshire department gathered, joined by Lucy’s loved ones, all dressed in black and struggling to make sense of her death.

A closed casket sat at the front of the room, adorned with flowers and framed photos of Lucy. The photos showed her smiling, vibrant, and full of life—a cruel contrast to the grief that filled the air.

Tim sat in the front row, flanked by Angela and Celina. His hands were clasped tightly in his lap, his jaw clenched as he fought to keep himself composed. Each word spoken at the service felt like a knife in his chest, every shared memory a reminder of what had been stolen from them.

Behind him, Sergeant Grey stood with Nyla. His sharp eyes scanned the room, his gut churning with unease.

“This doesn’t add up,” he muttered to Nyla. “A nurse tells us she’s dead instead of the surgeon, it’s a closed casket, and where’s her so-called FBI family? None of this makes sense.”

Nyla nodded grimly. “You’re not wrong. But this isn’t the time or place, Grey.”

Grey sighed but didn’t let it go. “If there’s even a whisper about Skylar’s name or involvement...”

“You’ll be the first to know,” Nyla said.

The service continued. Tim kept his eyes on the casket, a dull ache in his chest growing sharper with every passing moment. When the time came to leave, he rose slowly, looking at the casket one last time.

“I’ll find out who did this to you,” he whispered. “I promise.”

Chapter Text

Office of Dr. Morgan, February 2024 

The beige walls of Dr. Morgan’s office were designed to feel neutral, calming even, but to Tim, they felt suffocating.He sat stiffly on the couch, his hands clasped tightly in his lap, tension radiating from every muscle. His jaw was clenched so tightly it felt like it might snap, and his chest ached with the effort of holding everything in.

Dr. Morgan observed him carefully, her notepad resting on her knee. “You’ve been through a lot, Tim,” she began gently. “And it’s okay if you’re not ready to talk yet. We can take this at your pace.”

Tim let out a sharp, humorless laugh, his gaze fixed somewhere far away. “There’s no ‘pace’ to this,” he muttered, his voice low and raw. “It’s like... I’m stuck in quicksand. The more I try to climb out, the more it pulls me under.”

“What’s pulling you under?” Dr. Morgan asked softly.

Tim’s hands tightened in his lap until his knuckles went white. His jaw worked for a moment before he finally spoke, his voice trembling. “Everything,” he said. “The guilt, the anger, the...” He faltered, swallowing hard. “The fact that she’s gone and I couldn’t stop it.”

“You feel responsible for what happened to Lucy,” Dr. Morgan said, her voice steady.

Tim’s head shot up, his eyes burning with defiance—and something else. Something raw and vulnerable that he was barely holding back. “Because I am,” he snapped. “I wasn’t there. I should’ve seen it coming. I knew Aaron was still out there, that he’d come after her, and I—” His voice cracked, and he looked away quickly, his shoulders heaving as he struggled to breathe. “I should’ve done more. I should’ve protected her.”

Dr. Morgan leaned forward slightly, her gaze steady. “What makes you think you could have stopped him? That you alone were responsible for keeping her safe?”

Tim’s laugh was sharp and bitter, almost a sob. He pressed his fists into his thighs, shaking his head. “She was my partner. My... my person. Isn’t that reason enough?”

“It’s clear you cared about her deeply,” Dr. Morgan said. “But being her partner didn’t give you control over what happened. Aaron’s actions weren’t yours, Tim. You couldn’t have known.”

Tim shook his head violently, his breath coming faster. “That’s just it,” he said, his voice rising. “I should have known. Something doesn’t add up. She was too careful, too smart to get caught off guard like that. It doesn’t make sense.”

His voice cracked on the last word, and suddenly the tight grip he’d kept on himself snapped. A sound wrenched itself from his throat—part sob, part gasp—and he doubled over, his face in his hands.

The tears came hot and fast, spilling down his cheeks as his shoulders shook. “I should’ve been there,” he choked out between ragged breaths. “I should’ve stopped him. She’s gone because of me. Because I couldn’t—” He broke off, his words dissolving into sobs that wracked his entire body.

Dr. Morgan let the silence stretch, giving him the space to feel. Her calm presence remained steady, a quiet anchor in his storm.

After a moment, she spoke gently. “Tim,” she said. “This wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have stopped Aaron on your own. And Lucy... Lucy wouldn’t want you to carry this alone.”

Tim didn’t look up, but his sobs began to quiet, his breathing still shaky and uneven. “I let her down,” he whispered, his voice hollow. “I promised her I’d always have her back, and I—” His voice broke again, and another tear slid down his face.

Dr. Morgan’s tone softened even more. “What would Lucy say if she were here now? Hearing you blame yourself for something you couldn’t control?”

Tim hesitated, his face still buried in his hands. He could almost hear her voice in his head—sharp, exasperated, but full of warmth. Stop being an idiot, Bradford. You’re not Superman. You can’t control everything.

“She’d tell me to stop,” he said finally, his voice hoarse. “To stop blaming myself. But I can’t. Not until I know the truth.”

Dr. Morgan nodded, her expression thoughtful. “Then maybe that’s where you start,” she said. “But Tim, you don’t have to carry all of this alone. Letting go of some of the guilt doesn’t mean letting go of her.”

Tim slowly wiped his face with trembling hands, her words sinking in. The tears had stopped, but his chest still ached, the rawness of his grief leaving him drained. Yet somewhere deep inside, a small flicker of resolve broke through the darkness.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You’re already doing it,” Dr. Morgan said. “Piece by piece. Step by step. Start by letting yourself feel everything you’re feeling—the anger, the guilt, the sadness. It’s all valid. But trust your instincts, Tim. And trust the people who want to help you.”

Tim nodded slowly, her words settling over him like a fragile net, just enough to keep him from sinking further.

***

Tim nodded slowly, her words settling over him like a fragile net, just enough to keep him from sinking further. As he left the office and stepped into the February air, the weight in his chest remained, but something inside him had shifted. The grief was still there, but so was the fire. And until he found the truth, he wouldn’t stop digging.

Tim continued walking, his mind circling back to the hospital, the closed casket, the rushed explanations. He stopped suddenly, the weight of it all crashing over him like a tidal wave.

He stumbled to a nearby bench and sat heavily, his face falling into his hands. The tears came again, but this time they weren’t controlled. They weren’t quiet. His shoulders shook as he let out a deep, guttural sob, the sound ripping from his chest. He cried for Lucy, for the love he’d lost, for the guilt that wouldn’t release him, and for the unanswered questions gnawing at the edge of his sanity.

Passersby gave him a wide berth, some glancing his way with concern but saying nothing. He didn’t care. He couldn’t stop.

Minutes passed, maybe longer, before the tears finally subsided, leaving him drained and hollow. He stared blankly ahead, his breathing still uneven.

Somewhere in the haze, a spark reignited. It wasn’t hope, exactly, but a grim determination.

Tim wiped his face with the back of his hand and rose from the bench, the cold air sharp against his skin. His chest still ached, his eyes were swollen, but for the first time in weeks, he felt a flicker of clarity.

As he walked, his head still down, he barely noticed the man approaching from the opposite direction until they bumped shoulders.

“Sorry,” the man muttered, his voice low and even.

Tim glanced up, blinking. “It’s fine,” he said automatically, stepping aside.

But something about the voice made him pause. He turned, catching a glimpse of the man’s retreating back—a dark jacket, a baseball cap pulled low. The man veered into an alley without looking back.

Tim stood there for a moment, his brow furrowing. The itch at the back of his mind grew stronger, but he shook it off, dismissing it as his own exhaustion playing tricks on him.

“Just tired,” he muttered under his breath, resuming his walk.

Behind him, in the shadows of the alley, the man paused and glanced back. A smirk crossed his face as he adjusted the brim of his cap.

“Still sharp,” Aaron murmured, his voice laced with quiet amusement. “But not sharp enough.”

With that, he disappeared deeper into the alley.

Tim walked on, oblivious to the eyes that had followed him. This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

Chapter Text

Evers-Lopez Home, March 2024

“Are you sure you’ll be fine going home and being alone? I could cancel the nanny and you can watch Emmy and Jack,” Angela said, trying to stall. Not because she didn’t trust him to be alone, but because she was afraid of the new normal.

“Ang, I’ll be fine. We have to find the new normal,” Tim reassured his best friend.

“I know, but—”

“No, I get it. I’m terrified of the new normal too, but we’re meant to move forward.” He was careful with his words; his therapist had told him that he could move forward before he could move on.

“You seem good,” Wesley said as he walked into the kitchen.

“I mean, it still hurts. Grey gave me the month off before I go back, but it gets easier with each passing day. I really should get going. I’ve got to pick up Kojo from Genny’s and probably get my house back in order.” Tim grabbed his things and stood up. Before leaving, he turned to the couple.

“Thanks for letting me stay here for the past week and a half.”

“Tim, you’re family. If you need anything, let us know,” Wesley said before Tim headed out the door and into his car.

The streets were quiet as Tim drove toward Genny’s house. His mind wandered, the radio playing softly in the background. He thought about Angela’s worried expression, the way she kept checking on him as if he might fall apart at any moment.

She’s wrong, he thought. I’m fine. I can handle this.

But as he pulled onto Genny’s street, a sense of unease crept into his chest. It wasn’t grief—it was something else. Something unfamiliar.

Outside Genny’s House

Tim parked in the driveway and got out, walking to the door. Genny opened it before he could knock, Kojo barking excitedly at her feet.

“Hey,” she greeted with a small smile, stepping aside to let Tim in. “He’s been an angel, as usual.”

Tim crouched down and ruffled Kojo’s fur as the dog jumped up to greet him. “Hey, buddy. Ready to go home?”

Genny watched them for a moment before crossing her arms. “How are you doing?” she asked softly.

Tim straightened up, giving her the same practiced smile he had given Angela. “I’m good. Just trying to get back into a routine.”

Genny nodded but her brow furrowed slightly. “I’m glad you’re taking time for yourself. You know, if you ever need anything—”

“I know,” Tim interrupted gently. “Thanks, Genny.”

As they stepped outside, Tim noticed a man walking down the opposite side of the street. He was tall, wearing a dark jacket and a baseball cap pulled low over his face. Something about him caught Tim’s attention, though he couldn’t pinpoint why.

The man glanced up briefly, their eyes meeting for just a moment. He gave a curt nod before continuing down the street.

“You okay?” Genny asked, noticing the way Tim’s gaze lingered on the man.

“Yeah,” Tim said quickly, shaking his head as if to clear it. “Just thought I recognized him for a second.”

Genny followed his gaze, but the man had already disappeared around the corner.

“Small world, maybe,” she said with a shrug.

“Yeah,” Tim murmured, though the unease from earlier returned. He tried to brush it off, turning his attention back to Kojo as they headed to the car.

As he drove home, his mind wandered. He almost seemed like the same guy from outside my therapist’s office, but it couldn’t be the same person... could it?

Tim’s House

When everything was finally inside his house—his bags, Kojo’s leash, and the files he had been working on—Tim Bradford stopped in the middle of his living room. He set down the last box, straightened up, and let his eyes roam around the space.

Even though the breakup was five months ago, her presence was everywhere.

The jacket she’d once borrowed still hung on the back of the chair in the corner. A mug she had insisted was hers sat neatly in the cabinet. A faint trace of her favorite lavender scent lingered in the air, subtle but undeniable.

Tim swallowed hard, his chest tightening. He had told himself that he’d moved on—or at least that he was trying. But the truth was, he never wanted Lucy to be gone from his life, even if she wasn’t physically there.

Her presence was etched into the very walls of his home. The blanket on the couch they used to share during movie nights. The random dog toys she’d bought for Kojo, scattered across the floor. Even the way the sunlight hit the kitchen window in the morning reminded him of her standing there, coffee in hand, smiling at him over the rim of the cup.

She was really gone. And she was never coming back.

He was snapped out of his thoughts when his phone began to ring. He walked over to the counter and picked it up.

It was an unsaved number. He thought it was strange but decided to answer it anyway.

“Bradford,” he said when the phone was at his ear.

“Tim Bradford?” A woman’s voice asked on the other end.

“Yes, who is this?” Tim responded, feeling a sense of apprehension.

“It’s Ashley. Ashley Greer. It’s Mark Greer’s wife,” she said, and Tim instantly recognized her voice.

“Of course. How are you doing?” he asked Ashley, but he could hear crying in the background, and he knew this was not going to be a good phone call. “Is Mark okay?”

“Um, no… I really hate to be the one to tell you, but Mark is dead,” she said, and it felt like a punch to the gut.

“Oh my gosh! Ashley, I’m so sorry! What happened?” Tim asked, his concern rising.

“He was stabbed twice in the abdomen. The FBI thinks it was just a random act,” she said, and Tim could already feel where this was going.

“You don’t think it was a random act?” he asked her, already knowing the answer.

“No, I really don’t. It was two guys who had a motive. It was all caught on our security system.”

“Send it to me, if you don’t mind,” Tim said, his gut telling him this was all too familiar.

“Of course,” Ashley said, and within seconds, Tim’s phone pinged, signaling that the video had arrived.

“I’ll take a look and let you know,” Tim said before ending the call.

He opened the message with the video. It was footage of Mark’s front door. Two men with guns and knives walked in. Five minutes later, they walked out, knives bloody. The scene was disturbingly similar to the video footage from Lucy’s apartment lobby.

It’s the same, Tim realized, his heart racing.

He had to tell Nyla.

Tim stood frozen in the middle of his living room, the video still playing on his phone. His mind was a whirlpool of thoughts. The footage of Mark’s death mirrored the scene from Lucy’s apartment lobby, nearly identically—two men, weapons in hand, a deliberate and methodical attack. The strange man he’d seen earlier on Genny’s street suddenly felt far more significant. Was it him? Was he involved in both attacks?

He grabbed his keys, rushed out the door, and got into his car, Kojo barking in confusion as he left. The drive to Nyla’s place felt agonizingly long, the tension in his chest intensifying. He kept replaying the video in his mind, each detail feeding his unease. Why would someone target Mark? Was this somehow related to what had happened to Lucy?

Nyla’s House 

He pulled up to Nyla’s house, parked quickly, and rushed to the door. His hand hovered over the doorbell but before he could press it, Nyla opened the door, looking startled by his sudden arrival.

“Tim? What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice a mix of concern and surprise.

“I need to show you something,” he said, his voice tight. “It’s about an old buddy of mine from the military. Mark Greer.”

Her expression shifted immediately, alarm replacing her curiosity. “Is everything okay?”

Tim stepped inside, already pulling out his phone. He held it up, showing her the video of Mark’s death. Nyla watched it in silence, her eyes narrowing as the footage unfolded. Her face remained neutral, but Tim could see the tension in her jaw, the way her hands clenched into fists at her sides.

“Do you see it?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

She nodded slowly, lips pressed into a thin line. “It’s the same as Lucy’s attack.”

Tim didn’t need to ask if she saw it. Nyla knew exactly what he meant. “This isn’t just a coincidence,” she said, voice steady but filled with anger. “They’re targeting people—specifically people we know. Whoever is behind this, they’ve been watching us.”

“Whoever it is, they knew both Mark and Lucy,” Tim added, his mind racing. “It can’t be random.”

Nyla’s gaze met his, and for a moment, there was silence between them, the weight of the realization settling over them. This wasn’t just a string of tragic events. It was personal. Whoever was behind these attacks had a plan—one that was targeting people in their circle.

“We need to find out who they are before anyone else gets hurt,” Tim said, his voice firm.

Nyla nodded. "And we will." 

Chapter Text

Mid-Wilshire Precinct, April 2024

“So he was cleared?” Nyla asked Angela when she sat down at her desk. 

“Today is his first day back,” Anglea said with a hint of being scared in her voice and Nyla picked up on it. 

“What’s going on?” Nylas asked her partner. 

“I mean if the station therapist says that he is ready then maybe he is but…” 

“But he lost Lucy,” Nyla said. 

“We all did,” Angela said as they both turned their heads toward her desk. The desk who has been unaccompanied since that dreadful day. 

“I can’t believe that it's coming up on two months,” Nyla said. 

“And we are nowhere near catching her killers,” Angela said.

“I feel like Mark’s video helped us but at the same time gave us nothing.” Nyla said to Anglea and Anglea’s silently agreed. 

“Anything on Skylar? Has she popped up on anything? I know it is a long short but it’s a shot,” Angela asked Nyla. 

“You know I haven't checked in a couple of days but I should.” Nyla said as she turned her attention to her computer. 

Skylar Brown

As she waited for results to pop up Tim walked in. Nyla could feel Angela’s worry. 

“He is going to be fine. He has been going to therapy and his veteran support group,” Nyla said to Angela. 

“I know but as he would be worried about me, I will be worried about him,” Angela said as she looked at Nyla. 

As Nyla waited for the search results to load, a sudden ping sounded from her computer. She frowned and clicked the notification. A message popped up on the screen:

"Access Denied. You do not have permission to view this file."

Nyla’s heart skipped. She clicked again, hoping it was a glitch. But the message remained.

“Are you kidding me?” Nyla muttered under her breath.

Angela looked over from her desk. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m locked out of the Skylar Brown file,” Nyla said, frustration creeping into her voice. “I’ve accessed it a hundred times before, but now…” She clicked again, but the result was the same.

Angela stood up and walked over, leaning in to see the screen. “What do you mean, locked out? Are they limiting access or is it just a glitch?”

“I don’t know,” Nyla replied. She glanced at the time—so much for waiting for new leads. She tried again, this time refreshing the page, but the result was the same.

Angela’s brow furrowed. “Could they’ve restricted access to it? To keep us from poking around?”

Nyla paused, the realization dawning. “If they’ve restricted the file, that’s not a good sign. It could mean someone’s trying to cover something up.”

The tension in the room thickened. Angela crossed her arms. “We need to find a way around it. Now.”

Nyla sat back in her chair, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. The frustration was palpable, but she knew she couldn’t let it show. Angela walked over to the office phone and dialed Grey’s number. As it rang, Nyla checked the system again, hoping for some miracle.

“Grey,” Angela said when he picked up. “We’ve got a problem. We’re locked out of the Skylar Brown file.”

There was a pause on the other end, and Nyla could almost hear him processing the news. “Locked out? What do you mean?”

“I mean, we can’t access it at all,” Nyla interjected, leaning in. “We’ve been able to get into that file a hundred times before. Now, it’s saying we don’t have permission. It’s not a glitch. They’ve restricted our access.”

Another long pause. “Who’s ‘they’?” Grey asked, his tone serious.

“We don’t know yet,” Angela answered. “But this isn’t the first time we’ve hit a roadblock with this case. First, we get no real leads, now we can’t even access the one thing that might give us answers. Something’s off.”

Grey’s voice was low, controlled. “Stay on it. I’ll have someone look into the access issue from my end. In the meantime, keep digging. Don’t let them lock you out completely.”

“We’re not backing down,” Nyla said, her voice firm. She exchanged a glance with Angela.

“Good,” Grey replied. “Let me know if anything else comes up. I’ll be in touch.”

Angela hung up the phone, her fingers tapping on the desk as she mulled over the conversation.

“Well, that was... encouraging,” Nyla said dryly.

“I don’t trust this,” Angela murmured. “The more we dig, the more we hit walls. Someone is clearly trying to keep us from finding out the truth.”

Nyla nodded, a cold sense of determination settling in. “If they think this is going to stop us, they’re wrong.”

***
It was his first day back. He'd be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous. Of course he was nervous. How could he not be? Walking into the station without her presence felt impossible. Grey had told him to take it easy, meaning no patrols just yet. So, there he was, sitting at a desk in the bullpen, doing paperwork when Celina approached.

Tim looked up at her. They hadn’t exactly spoken since the hospital. Celina had been beating herself up ever since that day, convinced it was her fault that the intruders had gotten in, that Lucy was stabbed, that Lucy was dead.

“Celina?” Tim said as she sat down beside him. “I didn’t know you were back at work already.”

“Yeah,” Celina replied quietly, “sitting at home was... too quiet.”

“Tell me about it,” Tim muttered. “So does that mean you’re back at the apartment?”

She hesitated for a moment. “It’s hard... but I’m getting used to the new normal.” She looked down, fiddling with her pen. “I just came over to check in. How are you doing?”

Tim studied her, his gaze sharp, as if he could see straight through her. “Celina, I know you feel guilty about that day.”

“But it was...” Celina’s voice faltered.

Tim shook his head gently. “But it wasn’t your fault. Yes, she kept the door unlocked for you, but even if she hadn’t, they would’ve found another way in.” His voice was soft, firm, a quiet reassurance.

Celina opened her mouth, as if to argue, but then stopped herself, staring at her desk, lost in thought.

“I know,” she finally said, her voice barely a whisper. “It still doesn’t feel real. She’s actually gone, and... we just have to move forward, I guess.”

Tim looked at the empty desk across from him, the one that Lucy used to sit at. His expression softened. “Yeah. I know. It doesn’t feel real. But we’ll get through it.” He gave her a small, almost imperceptible smile.

Celina rose from her seat, her voice tight but warm as she turned to leave. “Be safe, Tim. Don’t do anything crazy.”

Tim chuckled softly, a dry, bittersweet sound. “I’ll try my best,” he replied, watching her walk away. Then he turned back to his paperwork, the weight of the day settling in once more.

Chapter Text

Mid-Wilshire Precinct, May 2024

Angela and Nyla sat at their desks, sorting through paperwork, when Sergeant Grey approached, a case file in hand.

“I need you two to look into something for me,” he said, placing the file on Angela’s desk.

“What’s going on?” Nyla asked, her curiosity piqued.

“The night shift at the jail found a body,” Grey began. “Gunshot wound. The weapon was left at the scene, staged to look like a suicide.”

Angela flipped open the file. “But you’re not buying that it’s a suicide.”

“Not yet,” Grey admitted, crossing his arms. “It’s the victim that complicates things.”

Angela’s eyes scanned the report. “Michael Brown? He’s got a record. Served five years for…” She trailed off, her eyes widening. “Oh my God.”

“What?” Nyla leaned closer, her brow furrowed.

Wordlessly, Angela handed over the file. Nyla’s jaw tightened as she read the name. “Aaron’s dad? How the hell did he get a gun in jail?”

“The jail’s preliminary guess is contraband,” Grey replied grimly. “But they haven’t figured out how it got past security.”

Nyla exchanged a glance with Angela. “You think Aaron knew anything about this?”

“That’s what I want you two to find out,” Grey said. “One of you needs to deliver the death notification. Watch how he reacts. See if he’s surprised. Also, keep an eye out for his wife—she’s due for release soon. Anything suspicious, I want to know.”

He gave them both a pointed look. “Keep me in the loop.”

The Brown Mansion

Angela parked outside the mansion and took a deep breath, her fingers gripping the steering wheel. The estate loomed at the end of a secluded driveway, shrouded by towering trees that seemed to whisper secrets in the wind. The pale stone facade was grand yet cold, its tall windows reflecting the dimming evening light. Twin columns framed the front doors, dark and heavy, like sentinels guarding whatever lay inside.

“How does a drug cartel live like this?” Angela muttered, stepping out of the car.

She approached the front door and pressed the doorbell. The chime echoed faintly, and moments later, the door swung open. A tall man stood there, his expression a blend of suspicion and impatience.

“What do you want?”

Angela held up her badge. “Detective Angela Lopez. I need to speak with Aaron Brown.”

His demeanor shifted immediately. “Of course, Detective. Come in.”

Angela stepped inside, her senses sharpening. The entryway radiated wealth—ornate paintings adorned the walls, their gilded frames shimmering under soft lighting. Every detail, from the polished floors to the faint scent of expensive cologne, spoke of power. But there was an undercurrent, something darker lurking beneath the opulence.

“I’ll let him know you’re here,” the man said, disappearing down a hallway.

Angela waited, taking in the meticulously curated surroundings. She couldn’t shake the feeling that everything here was staged—designed to project control and authority.

“He’ll see you now,” the man said, returning to lead her to a sitting room.

Aaron Brown stood as she entered. He was tall, impeccably dressed, and exuded an air of calm dominance. He extended a hand.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” he said smoothly.

“Detective Angela Lopez,” she replied, shaking his hand firmly before sitting opposite him.

Aaron settled back onto the couch. “What brings you here, Detective?”

“I’m here with some unfortunate news,” Angela began carefully.

Aaron’s face didn’t flinch, but his tone sharpened. “My father is dead, isn’t he?”

Angela nodded. “I’m afraid so.”

Aaron’s expression remained unreadable as he leaned back. “How did it happen?”

“We’re investigating it as a possible suicide,” Angela explained. “But there was a gun involved.”

Aaron frowned, standing to pour himself a drink. “How does a gun end up in a jail?”

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” Angela said. “It appears to have been smuggled in, but we don’t know by whom.”

Aaron took a slow sip, his jaw tightening. “Plenty of people wanted my father dead. But most didn’t have the guts to act on it.”

Angela studied him closely, noting the flicker of something—anger? Sadness? Guilt?—beneath his composed exterior.

“What about your wife?” Angela asked. “She’s supposed to get out soon, isn’t she?”

Aaron hesitated, then said, “Her release was delayed. Some altercation inside.”

Angela’s instincts flared. She knew he was lying.

She stood, pulling a card from her pocket. “If you think of anything that might help the investigation, give me a call.”

Aaron took the card with a polite smile. “Of course, Detective.”

As Angela walked back to her car, her thoughts churned. Once inside, she pulled out her phone and texted Sergeant Grey.

Angela: He knows something, but I can’t pin it yet.
Grey: Meaning?
Angela: Claims “Skylar’s” release got extended.
Grey: For what?
Angela: Says it was an altercation. Doesn’t add up. 

Angela stared at her phone, her gut telling her that whatever Aaron was hiding, it was only the tip of the iceberg.

Tim’s House 

Tim sat on his couch, absentmindedly scratching Kojo’s ears as the dog sprawled contentedly at his side. The TV was on, but he wasn’t paying attention. His mind had been elsewhere all day, and the silence between bursts of sound from the screen only deepened the unease he couldn’t quite shake.

His phone buzzed on the coffee table, breaking his reverie. He glanced at the screen: Genny .

Tim hesitated for a beat before answering. “Hey, Gen.”

“Tim.” Her voice was steady, but he could hear the undertone of tension.

“What’s going on?” he asked, sitting up straighter.

“She’s back,” Genny said simply.

Tim’s chest tightened. He didn’t need to ask who she meant. “Mom?”

“Yeah.”

“How?” The word came out sharper than he intended.

“She just… showed up,” Genny said, her voice cracking slightly. “At my door this afternoon. No warning, no call. She said she’s been ‘trying to find herself.’”

Tim exhaled slowly, leaning back against the couch. Kojo perked up at the change in his tone, nudging his hand with concern.

“Trying to find herself,” Tim repeated bitterly. “That’s convenient.”

“I don’t know what to do, Tim,” Genny admitted. “She looks… different. Older, of course, but also—I don’t know—fragile. I don’t think she’s here to cause trouble, but…”

“But you don’t trust her,” Tim finished for her.

“Do you?”

Tim was quiet for a long moment. The memories of their mother’s sudden departure, the years of silence, and the endless questions all rushed back in a flood he wasn’t prepared for.

“Where is she now?” he asked finally.

“She’s staying at a motel,” Genny said. “She said she didn’t want to impose, but… I don’t know, Tim. Part of me thinks she’s waiting for me to invite her in.”

Tim clenched his jaw. “You didn’t, did you?”

“No,” Genny said quickly. “I told her I needed time to think. And I thought you should know.”

“Thanks for calling,” Tim said, his voice softening slightly. “I’ll… I’ll figure something out.”

“Tim, you don’t have to deal with this alone,” Genny said firmly. “If she’s really back for good, we need to decide together what this means for us.”

“Yeah,” Tim muttered. “Together.”

But as the call ended and Tim stared at his phone, the weight of the past settled heavily on his shoulders. Kojo nudged him again, and Tim absently stroked the dog’s fur, his mind already racing with possibilities—and the wounds he thought he’d long since buried.

Chapter Text

Mid-Wilshire Precinct, June 2024

Sergeant Grey was hunched over his desk, his pen scratching methodically across the endless stack of paperwork in front of him. The office was quiet, save for the occasional creak of the old swivel chair or the faint hum of the precinct’s activity beyond the closed door. A knock broke the monotony—firm and deliberate.

Grey straightened, his pen pausing mid-stroke. “Come in,” he called, his voice carrying the slight rasp of someone used to commanding attention.

The door opened, and a young woman stepped inside. Her brown hair was tied back in a practical ponytail, and her sharp blue eyes flicked over the room, taking in every detail with curiosity and purpose. Her tailored blazer was professional but understated, suggesting someone who cared about appearances without veering into vanity.

“Hi! I’m Sydney Heron,” she said brightly, extending her hand as she stepped forward. Her voice carried warmth, but beneath it was an unmistakable edge of confidence—the kind that came from knowing you belonged. “I’m the new detective from West Hollywood.”

Grey blinked, his memory jogging as he matched her name to the file on his desk. Recognition softened his expression. “Right! Of course!” he said, rising to his feet to shake her hand. His grip was firm but not overpowering—a subtle sign of respect.

“Come in, take a seat,” he said, motioning to the chair across from his desk. He settled back into his own seat as Sydney took hers, adjusting it slightly before sitting with a straight back. Her hands rested loosely in her lap, her smile easy but her posture alert, as though she were already proving herself.

“So, West Hollywood, huh?” Grey asked, his tone conversational but edged with curiosity. “What brings you to this side of town?”

Sydney gave a slight nod, her expression steady. “I wanted a new challenge,” she said simply, though the weight of her words lingered. “West Hollywood was a great place to start, but when I heard about this opening, I knew it was an opportunity I couldn’t pass up.”

Grey studied her for a moment, noting the steadiness of her gaze and the subtle confidence in her voice. First impressions mattered, and so far, Sydney Heron was making a good one.

“Well,” he said, leaning back slightly, “you’ve come to the right place for challenges. Let’s see what you’ve got.” He hesitated for a moment, then leaned forward again, his tone more subdued. “But before you go, I need to tell you something about this position.”

“This position was assigned to the detective who was killed?” Sydney asked, finishing his sentence with a calm yet respectful tone.

Grey’s lips tightened, and he shook his head slowly, a flicker of emotion crossing his face. “Yeah, pretty much. I just wanted you to know you’ll be sitting at her desk…” He trailed off, his voice thickening slightly.

“So if I get weird looks, that’s why?” she asked, finishing for him again. Her tone wasn’t dismissive, just matter-of-fact.

Grey gave a small, tired smile. “Yeah. She was… one of the best. It’s been tough for everyone.”

“I heard she was an incredible detective,” Sydney said, her voice softening. “Have you caught the men who killed her?”

Grey’s expression darkened. “Unfortunately, not yet. It’s… more complicated than we thought.”

“Isn’t it always?” Sydney replied, attempting to lighten the mood with a small smile. Grey let out a low chuckle, seemingly amused despite himself.

“Listen,” he said, standing as she did, “if you need anything, let me know.”

“Of course. Thank you so much, Sergeant,” she replied, meeting his gaze with sincerity before turning to leave.

Sydney closed the door behind her, exhaling slowly. She was nervous. She’d heard stories about this station—how it was like a family, how they had each other’s backs no matter what. That camaraderie was a double-edged sword. She wasn’t sure how they’d accept her, especially now.

As she walked toward the detective’s bullpen, her gaze landed on her new desk—or rather, Lucy’s desk . She stopped a few feet away, staring at it. It didn’t feel like it belonged to her. Not yet. She wasn’t looking forward to the stares or whispered judgments she might face.

From across the room, Angela Lopez glanced up from her case files. She spotted Sydney immediately and felt her stomach tighten. This moment was inevitable, but that didn’t make it easier. Still, Angela knew she had to be welcoming. Sydney deserved that much.

“You must be Detective Heron,” Angela said, walking over with a smile that was warm but tinged with sadness.

“Yes, I am,” Sydney said, shaking Angela’s hand firmly.

“Detective Angela Lopez,” Angela introduced herself. “Welcome to the team.”

“Thank you,” Sydney replied, grateful for the friendly gesture, even if the weight of her predecessor’s legacy lingered between them.

***

Tim walked out of the locker room, his backpack slung over one shoulder, the exhaustion of the day etched into his face. The shift had been relentless—call after call, dead end after dead end. They were no closer to catching Lucy’s killer. Aaron had been a bust, and the FBI wasn’t offering anything useful. The weight of failure pressed heavily on him, but he pushed it aside. He had plans with Angela tonight, and distraction seemed like the only way to keep himself sane.

He weaved through the bullpen toward Angela’s desk, ready to get the night over with. But as he walked, his steps faltered.

He saw her.

Sydney Heron.

She was seated at Lucy’s desk, her head bent slightly as she typed something on the computer. The sight hit him like a punch to the gut. He had known this day was coming, but knowing didn’t make it any easier. Lucy’s desk—no, her desk—looked different now, the traces of Lucy’s personality erased. Gone was the cheerful clutter that used to brighten the space.

Tim stopped mid-step, his breath catching. He didn’t blame Sydney. How could he? It wasn’t her fault. But still, seeing someone else in that chair, in that space—it stung.

“So you’ve seen,” Angela’s voice broke into his thoughts. She had appeared at his side, her sharp eyes watching him.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice low. “I knew this day was coming, but it doesn’t make it easier.”

Angela tilted her head, a hint of a smirk tugging at her lips. “Well, she is sitting at the love of your life’s desk.”

Tim shot her a look, his expression somewhere between annoyance and disbelief. “That’s a bold statement.”

“Yeah, okay,” Angela said with a shrug, grabbing her bag. “Let’s go.”

“Actually… give me a minute,” Tim replied, his eyes drifting back to Sydney.

Angela raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue. Tim took a deep breath and walked over to the desk.

“Hi,” he began, his voice steady but quieter than usual. “You must be the new detective.”

Sydney glanced up, her blue eyes meeting his. She gave him a polite, professional smile. “Yes, Sydney Heron.”

“Sergeant Tim Bradford,” he said, nodding slightly. “Listen, I just wanted to introduce myself… and clear the air on anything.”

Sydney tilted her head, curiosity flashing in her expression. “Clear the air?”

Tim hesitated, then continued. “I know this desk used to belong to Lucy. She meant a lot to everyone here. I don’t want you to feel like you’re stepping on anyone’s toes.”

She nodded, her smile softening. “Thanks. I’ve heard a lot about her. I know I can’t replace her, and I’m not trying to.”

Tim gave a tight nod, appreciating her honesty. “That’s good to hear.” He hesitated again, awkwardness creeping in. “Uh, some of us are heading to the food trucks tonight for dinner. You’re welcome to join us. You know… if you want.”

Sydney’s smile widened, a flicker of warmth breaking through her professional demeanor. “Actually, that sounds really nice. Just the food trucks?”

“Yeah,” Tim said, shifting slightly as he stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Come, hang out, get to know everyone…” His words trailed off, and for a moment, he looked more like an uncertain rookie than the seasoned sergeant he was. He cleared his throat, nodded once, and turned to walk away.

When he reached Angela, she was watching him with an amused expression.

“What was that?” she asked as they started toward the exit.

“Honestly? I don’t know,” he admitted, shaking his head.

Angela gave him a sly look but didn’t press further.

As they walked out into the cool evening air, Tim’s thoughts lingered on Sydney. There was something there—something unexpected. And it made him feel guilty.

Lucy’s memory still lingered in every corner of the precinct, and in his heart. But now, there was this new presence, this new possibility.

And that scared him more than he cared to admit.

***

The evening buzzed with lively conversation as the group gathered around the weathered picnic tables. The scent of grilled meat and spices wafted from the nearby food trucks, mingling with the sound of laughter and the occasional honk from passing cars. Tim had just settled into his spot, his plate of tacos in front of him, when Wesley’s incredulous voice sliced through the chatter.

“Wait, so Tim invited her? With no prompt?” Wesley asked, looking at Angela as if she’d just revealed some grand conspiracy.

Angela, sipping her soda with deliberate calm, grinned. “Absolutely with no prompt.”

Tim groaned, his fork pausing mid-air. “Why are we talking about this?”

Wesley leaned forward, his tone dramatic. “I’m sorry, but you—the guy who grunts more than he speaks most days—invited the new detective, the one sitting at Lucy’s desk, to come hang out with us? And we’re supposed to act like that’s not noteworthy?”

“I don’t see the big deal,” Tim replied, his tone clipped as he stabbed his fork into his taco.

“It’s not about her coming to dinner,” Angela chimed in, resting her elbows on the table. “It’s about you being the one to ask her.” She smirked, adding, “It’s a little out of character, Tim.”

Across the table, Nyla raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. “You’re not exactly known for your warm and fuzzy welcomes, Bradford.”

Tim exhaled loudly, sitting back in his seat. “Alright, let’s get this straight—I didn’t propose to her. I invited her to dinner. End of story.”

“But why?” Nyla pressed, her smirk widening. “What made you decide to do that?”

Before Tim could answer, Celina jumped in, her voice gentle but firm. “I think it’s nice. We all know this is a tough situation for her. Taking over Lucy’s desk can’t be easy. Inviting her to join us might make her feel more comfortable.”

Tim pointed his fork at her in agreement, his face brightening slightly. “Thank you. Finally, someone who gets it.”

Nyla crossed her arms, leaning back in her seat with an amused grin. “Alright, I’ll give you that. But don’t think we’re not going to keep an eye on this. You’ve got a habit of letting your soft side out at the weirdest times.”

“Soft side?” Tim shot her a mock glare, shaking his head. “You all need better hobbies.”

Angela, who had been watching the exchange with quiet amusement, leaned over to Wesley and whispered, “I think he’s trying to convince himself it’s no big deal.” Wesley chuckled but didn’t say anything, knowing better than to pile on further.

Just then, Sydney approached the table, a tray of food balanced carefully in her hands. She hesitated at the edge of the group, her eyes scanning for an open seat. For a moment, she looked unsure, her smile faltering slightly as the group’s laughter momentarily quieted.

Without thinking, Tim shifted over, gesturing toward the empty spot next to him. “Over here,” he called, his voice calm but carrying a tone that left no room for argument.

Sydney’s expression softened, and she stepped forward, sliding into the seat beside him. “Thanks,” she said quietly, setting her tray down.

“Welcome to the circus,” Tim said, his tone dry but not unkind.

Angela’s smirk widened as she exchanged a glance with Wesley. “Told you,” she muttered under her breath, earning a quiet chuckle from her husband.

As the conversation picked up again, Tim found himself watching Sydney out of the corner of his eye. She was polite, smiling at jokes and responding to questions with just enough ease to mask any lingering nerves. It was clear she was trying to find her footing, and Tim felt a flicker of understanding.

Angela leaned closer to Tim, her voice low enough for only him to hear. “You know, for someone who says this isn’t a big deal, you’re paying a lot of attention.”

Tim shot her a look but didn’t argue. Instead, he focused on the table, the banter around him fading into the background as his thoughts wandered.

Sydney wasn’t Lucy. That much was obvious. But her presence at the table—and at Lucy’s desk—didn’t feel as wrong as he’d expected it to. That realization hit him like a sudden wave, leaving him both unsettled and oddly comforted.

As the night wore on, the group’s laughter grew louder, their camaraderie pulling Sydney into its rhythm. Tim noticed her shoulders relax, her smile becoming less cautious and more genuine.

And for the first time in a long while, Tim felt a glimmer of something he couldn’t quite name. It wasn’t about replacing Lucy or moving on in some dramatic way. It was simpler than that. It was about letting life continue, piece by piece, even when it still felt fractured.

Tim didn’t know what this meant or what would come next, but as Sydney laughed at one of Wesley’s terrible jokes, he couldn’t help but think that maybe—just maybe—this was a start.

Tim sat at the far end of the table, his posture relaxed but his gaze occasionally flicking to Sydney, who had taken a seat across from him. She was engaged in a conversation with Celina, laughing at something the younger detective said, and for a moment, Tim let himself observe her without overthinking it. She fit in well enough, but there was still that hint of caution in her smile—a subtle reminder that she was navigating uncharted waters.

“So, Sydney,” Wesley began from his spot beside Angela, his tone light and inviting. “What’s your favorite part of being a detective?”

Sydney looked up, her fork pausing over her plate of loaded nachos. “Hmm, that’s a tough one,” she admitted. “I think it’s the problem-solving. The way everything’s like a puzzle, and you have to figure out how all the pieces fit together.”

Wesley nodded, clearly impressed. “Good answer. And what about the worst part?”

Angela smirked, leaning in. “Careful. There’s a right answer to this one.”

Sydney chuckled softly, meeting Angela’s teasing gaze. “The paperwork. Without a doubt.”

The table erupted in laughter, and Tim couldn’t help but smirk. “You’ll fit right in,” he said, earning a few nods of agreement from the others.

As the conversation flowed, Sydney found herself fielding questions from all directions. Celina wanted to know if she’d always wanted to be a detective, while Nyla asked about her previous precinct in West Hollywood. Sydney handled each question with ease, her natural warmth making it clear she wasn’t just here to work—she was here to connect.

At one point, Angela leaned over to Tim, her voice low enough to escape the rest of the group. “She’s doing well. You don’t need to hover.”

“I’m not hovering,” Tim replied quickly, though the defensive edge in his voice made Angela grin knowingly.

“Sure,” she said, leaning back in her seat with a smug look that Tim ignored.

The banter continued, light and easy, until Wesley stood up dramatically, his hands raised to silence the group. “Alright, we need to settle something important,” he announced.

“Here we go,” Angela muttered, rolling her eyes.

Wesley pointed to the small cluster of food trucks behind them. “Best truck here. Go.”

“Easy,” Nyla said immediately. “The taco truck. No contest.”

“Wrong,” Wesley shot back. “It’s the barbecue truck. Have you even had their brisket?”

“Brisket is overrated,” Nyla countered, earning gasps from both Wesley and Angela.

As the debate spiraled into a passionate discussion about sauces, seasonings, and side dishes, Sydney glanced at Tim with a raised eyebrow. “Is this a regular thing?” she asked, amused.

Tim shrugged, his lips twitching in a faint smile. “Pretty much. Just wait until someone brings up dessert.”

Sure enough, a few minutes later, Celina was passionately defending the churro stand while Angela argued for the ice cream truck. Sydney laughed, shaking her head as she watched the group bicker with the kind of familiarity that could only come from years of working and leaning on one another.

At some point, Nyla turned to Sydney, a sly grin on her face. “Alright, newbie. What’s your take? Best truck here?”

Sydney hesitated, glancing around the table as all eyes turned to her. “Uh, well, I’ve only tried the taco truck so far, so I guess I’ll have to go with that.”

Nyla raised her hands in victory. “See? She’s got taste!”

Wesley groaned, dramatically slumping back in his seat. “Traitor,” he muttered, earning more laughter from the group.

As the night wore on, the conversations became less structured, more relaxed. Tim found himself contributing more than he’d intended, his usual guarded demeanor softening in the warmth of the evening. He even caught himself laughing at one of Wesley’s terrible jokes—a fact that didn’t go unnoticed by Angela, who gave him a pointed look.

When the group finally started to disperse, Sydney lingered for a moment, helping Celina gather trash and stack trays. Tim watched her from the corner of his eye, noting the way she seemed more at ease now than she had been earlier.

As they walked back toward the parking lot, Angela nudged him gently. “She’s alright,” she said, her tone quiet but firm.

Tim didn’t respond immediately, his gaze fixed ahead. “Yeah,” he said finally. “She is.”

Angela smiled, satisfied, as they reached their cars. The night might not have solved any of their bigger problems, but it had done something else—something quieter, but just as important. It had reminded them that even in the hardest times, there was still room for connection, for laughter, for moving forward. Piece by piece.

Chapter Text

Office of Dr. Morgan, July 2024

Tim sat in the familiar, worn chair across from Dr. Morgan, his usual stance of guarded tension softer than usual. He wasn’t sure what had brought him here today. He had come in to talk about his usual frustrations—work, the case, the lingering grief over Lucy—but somehow, as she spoke, his mind kept wandering back to Sydney.

“So, you’ve been going out with your team,” Dr. Morgan began, her voice neutral. “And you’ve mentioned Sydney a couple of times. How’s that been going?”

Tim shifted in his seat, avoiding her gaze as he leaned back, his hands gripping the arms of the chair. The word Sydney felt heavy on his tongue, more loaded than he expected. “It’s fine. Just... dinners, hanging out after shift, nothing big.” He swallowed, his words coming out more quickly now, as if to convince himself. “She’s new, you know? Just getting to know her.”

Dr. Morgan didn’t rush him. She waited, letting the silence stretch between them, her eyes intent, but patient.

Tim shifted again, clearly uncomfortable. “I... I guess I didn’t expect it to be like this,” he said quietly, as if the realization had just dawned on him.

“Like what?” Dr. Morgan asked, leaning forward slightly, her tone encouraging but not pressing.

Tim looked down at his hands, unsure if he wanted to say it out loud. “I didn’t expect to feel... anything. For her.” He stopped, his throat tightening. “Not like this.”

Dr. Morgan didn’t push him, but her gaze softened as she waited for him to continue.

“I mean, she’s just... Sydney, right?” Tim said, his voice a mix of confusion and self-doubt. “She’s at Lucy’s desk, and I keep thinking it’s weird, like it’s too soon to be thinking about anyone else. But... when I’m around her, I don’t know. It’s like there’s this thing, this pull, and I don’t want to feel it. I don’t want to want it.” He paused, running a hand over his face. “It feels wrong, but it also feels like it’s... not.”

Dr. Morgan’s voice was gentle, coaxing but not intrusive. “It sounds like you’re struggling with the idea of having feelings for someone new. Especially someone in the space Lucy once occupied.”

“Yeah,” Tim said, his voice quiet, almost to himself. “It feels like I’m betraying her. Like if I let myself feel this, if I let myself be okay with wanting to be around Sydney... it’s like I’m forgetting Lucy.”

Dr. Morgan let out a breath and then spoke softly, but with an unmistakable firmness. “Tim, I know you still miss Lucy. I know she was a huge part of your life, and that grief is real. But wanting to be with someone, feeling something for someone—it doesn’t erase the past. It doesn’t mean you’re letting go of Lucy or disrespecting her memory. It means you’re human.”

Tim’s shoulders slumped as he leaned forward, his eyes filled with conflict. “I don’t know if I can be okay with that,” he admitted, his voice breaking slightly. “I’ve spent so long just... holding on to that part of me. And now, I’m supposed to just... move on?”

Dr. Morgan’s tone softened further. “You’re not moving on from Lucy, Tim. You’re just allowing room for something else—something new. You’ve been carrying a lot of weight for a long time. It’s okay to find a bit of relief in connection with someone else, even if it’s just starting with small things, like sharing a meal or talking. You don’t have to have all the answers right now.”

Tim stared at the floor for a long moment, the weight of her words slowly sinking in. When he finally spoke again, his voice was quieter, more uncertain. “But... how do I know if it’s real? How do I know if it’s not just me... trying to fill the hole Lucy left?”

“Only time will tell,” Dr. Morgan said softly, her voice full of empathy. “But you don’t have to figure it all out at once. What you’re feeling for Sydney doesn’t have to replace what you had with Lucy. It can coexist. It’s okay to feel drawn to someone else while still honoring Lucy. You’re allowed to experience new things without erasing the old ones.”

Tim looked up, meeting her eyes for the first time that session. He wasn’t sure if he believed it, but for the first time in a long while, a small flicker of hope sparked inside him. A small possibility that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t betraying Lucy. Maybe he was just taking a step forward—however small it might be.

“I don’t know if I’m ready,” he said quietly, his voice uncertain.

“That’s okay,” Dr. Morgan said, her voice reassuring. “You don’t have to be ready right now. Just give yourself permission to feel what you’re feeling, and let that guide you. You’re not alone in this, Tim.”

Tim nodded slowly, his thoughts racing as he processed the weight of the conversation. For the first time in a long while, he felt a little less burdened. Maybe he didn’t have all the answers, but for now, it was enough to take a step back, breathe, and see where things went.

Tim’s House 

Tim sat across from his mother, Maggie, in the dimly lit living room of his house. The space felt familiar, but tonight, there was an air of tension that hadn’t been there before. Maggie was perched on the edge of the armchair, flipping through a magazine, her eyes flicking up occasionally to catch Tim’s gaze before quickly returning to the pages in front of her. Tim had never been sure how to navigate their relationship. It had always been a mix of strained silences and moments of rare, hard-won connection.

“So, how’s work?” Maggie asked, her voice oddly casual, almost like she was asking him about the weather.

Tim hesitated, unsure if he wanted to answer honestly or just let the question slide. He wanted to talk to her about Sydney, but he didn’t know how. He wasn’t sure how Maggie would react, or if she would even care. They had never really talked about relationships before, let alone anything personal or emotional. His mother had always kept a bit of distance, as though they were never quite on the same page.

“It’s been fine,” Tim replied, a bit too quickly, hoping to deflect. “Busy, you know. Same old stuff.”

Maggie raised an eyebrow but didn’t press. “Hmm. That’s good, I guess.” She flipped another page, clearly disinterested in the details.

Tim took a breath and decided to push past the awkwardness. "Actually, there’s something I wanted to talk about." He felt a strange knot in his stomach, unsure of how to say it. "It’s about someone at work."

Maggie glanced up again, her eyes sharper now, though still guarded. “Who?”

“Her name’s Sydney,” Tim began, trying to gauge her reaction. "She's the new detective."

Maggie’s eyes flicked back to the magazine, but there was something about the way she held it that made it feel like she was avoiding eye contact. “Sydney, huh? Interesting name.”

Tim couldn’t help but notice the sharpness in her tone, even if it was subtle. He had learned over the years that Maggie had a way of deflecting, a way of pulling away when something made her uncomfortable. Still, he pressed on.

“Yeah, she’s... she’s different. She took over Lucy’s desk. I don’t know, there’s something about her, Mom,” he said, almost hesitantly. "I don’t know if I’m ready to move on, but... I find myself thinking about her."

Maggie didn’t answer immediately, and Tim couldn’t tell if she was processing what he said or if she was just shutting him out. Finally, she let out a soft sigh and looked at him. “You’re not really asking me for advice, are you?”

Tim opened his mouth to respond but paused. Maggie was right. He wasn’t really asking for advice, was he? He just needed to say it out loud, even if it felt awkward.

“I don’t know. I guess I am,” Tim admitted, his voice quieter now. "I’m not sure what to do about it. It’s like... I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel. But every time I see her, I can’t help but think that maybe... maybe I’m supposed to move on."

Maggie’s expression didn’t soften. She just stared at him for a long moment, the silence stretching out between them. “Tim,” she began slowly, “you’re still not over Lucy. You know that, right?”

Tim flinched at the words. It wasn’t something he liked to admit, but Maggie was always the one to cut to the heart of things, even if it hurt.

“I know,” Tim said quietly. “But it’s like I’m stuck, and then Sydney comes along, and everything feels so different. It’s not that I’m trying to replace Lucy. But I don’t know... maybe it’s okay to feel something else for someone else.”

Maggie studied him for a moment before finally setting the magazine down and leaning forward slightly. “It’s not about replacing Lucy, Tim. It’s about being honest with yourself. And I don’t know if you’re ready for that.”

Tim felt a rush of frustration. He had been honest with himself for the first time in a while, and here was his mother, always so distant, always so careful with her words. Why couldn’t she just tell him what to do?

“I don’t know what you want from me,” he said, his voice a little sharper than he intended.

Maggie didn’t flinch. Instead, she simply looked at him with that knowing expression she always wore. “I don’t need to tell you what to do. You’re a grown man, Tim. You’ll figure it out. But just... don’t ignore your feelings because they’re easier to bury. And don’t think that just because you feel something for Sydney, it means you’ve forgotten about Lucy. You’ll never forget about her.”

Tim leaned back in his chair, letting her words sink in. His mother’s advice was always like this—vague, indirect. But in this case, it was probably what he needed to hear. He wasn’t going to forget about Lucy, and he didn’t want to. But maybe he was allowed to feel something again. Maybe he didn’t have to let his grief control everything.

“I guess I’ll figure it out,” he said after a moment, his voice quiet. “I just... I don’t know if I’m ready.”

Maggie nodded, her expression softening just a bit. “Take your time, Tim. Just don’t push things away because you’re scared of what they mean.”

Tim looked at his mother, feeling the weight of the conversation settle around him. It wasn’t the resolution he was hoping for, but it was something. At least he didn’t feel so alone in the uncertainty.

“Thanks, Mom,” he said quietly.

Maggie gave a short nod, returning to her magazine. The moment passed, but something lingered in the air—a flicker of understanding, however strange it may have been.

Mid-Wilshire Precinct

Tim had been pacing around the precinct all morning, his mind caught in a whirlwind of thoughts. The past few weeks had been a blur of cases, late nights, and moments that made him question everything he thought he knew about moving on. But today, something felt different. He had been thinking about Sydney, about how she had quietly become a part of his life at the station, about how easy it had been to talk to her, even though he was still processing his grief.

He watched her from across the bullpen as she went through case files, her focus sharp, her posture professional. There was something about the way she held herself—confident, but not overly so—and how she never backed down from a challenge. He couldn’t help but notice how different she was from anyone else he’d known in the past year. Sydney wasn’t trying to replace anyone. She was just... herself. And that, in its own way, was what had drawn him to her.

Taking a deep breath, Tim walked toward her desk, his heart pounding louder with each step. He had been hesitant to act on his feelings, unsure of the timing, but now—today—it felt like the right moment.

Sydney glanced up as he approached, offering him a polite smile. “Hey, Tim. What’s up?”

Tim paused for a moment, unsure of where to begin. The words felt like they were stuck in his throat, but he had already come this far. He had to say something.

“I’ve been thinking about this for a while, and I just… I don’t know why I’m holding back anymore,” he said, the words tumbling out in a rush. Sydney raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued but not pushing him to elaborate.

“What do you mean?” she asked, her voice calm but curious.

Tim rubbed the back of his neck, trying to find the right words. “I mean… I’ve been thinking about you. About us. And, well... I was wondering if maybe you’d want to grab dinner with me sometime. Just the two of us.”

The words hung in the air, heavier than he anticipated. He hadn’t thought this through completely, but it felt right to ask her, even if it made him vulnerable.

Sydney studied him for a moment, her eyes narrowing slightly, as if she were trying to decipher his intentions. Tim couldn’t blame her. They hadn’t exactly been hanging out outside of work, and now, here he was, asking her out.

She took a deep breath and set down the file in her hands. “You’re serious, huh?” she asked, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

“Yeah,” Tim said, trying to keep his voice steady. “I know it’s probably not the best time, but I think we could get to know each other a little more. And honestly, it’s just dinner. No pressure.”

Sydney leaned back in her chair, her expression thoughtful. Tim could feel the weight of her gaze, like she was evaluating whether this was a good idea or just another impulsive move he’d regret. He had been waiting for her to say something, anything, but all he got was silence for a few moments that stretched on longer than he expected.

“Okay,” Sydney finally said, her voice softer now. “Yeah, I think that sounds nice.”

Tim exhaled, not realizing how tense he’d been until that moment. “Great. How about tonight?”

She nodded. “Sure, tonight works.”

A smile tugged at Tim’s lips, a mix of relief and excitement. “Alright, it’s a date, then. I’ll pick you up at seven?”

“Sounds good,” she replied. “See you then, Sergeant.”

As Tim walked away from her desk, a wave of adrenaline washed over him. He wasn’t sure what this meant, what would come of it. But for the first time in a long time, he was willing to see where this path might take him. He wasn’t ready to forget about Lucy—not by a long shot—but maybe, just maybe, he could start moving forward.

Chapter Text

Mid-Wilshire Precinct,  August 2024

It had been a couple of weeks since Tim asked Sydney out. They had gone out for dinner and immediately hit it off. While they weren’t together, they were hanging out, and there had been a kiss or two. Tim wasn’t ready to label things, and Sydney understood. But recently, things had shifted. Sydney had been acting... off. She had been distant, distracted, and it wasn’t just the usual stress of the job. There was something else, something Angela couldn’t quite put her finger on.

“Hey, good morning,” Angela said as she approached Sydney’s desk. Sydney didn’t even look up from her phone.

Angela waited a moment, but Sydney was too engrossed in her screen. After a few seconds, Angela sighed and walked away, heading to her own desk next to Nyla’s.

“Hey, sorry I’m late. Jack didn’t want me to leave,” Angela said as she put her stuff down.

“Don’t worry about it,” Nyla said, still focused on her computer.

“Anything on Lucy’s killers?” Angela asked, her frustration palpable.

“Nope, nothing,” Nyla answered, glancing up from her screen. “Mark and Lucy’s case might go cold if we don’t get a hit soon.”

“She deserves better than that. Hell, they both do,” Angela muttered, then turned toward Sydney. “Hey, Heron, have you had a chance to look at those files?”

No response. Sydney was still absorbed in her phone, her fingers moving furiously over the screen. Angela frowned, feeling her patience wear thin.

“How long has she been like that?” Angela asked, her gaze drifting toward Sydney’s desk. The new detective hadn’t even glanced up since Angela walked in.

“All morning,” Nyla answered, her voice tinged with concern. “She said something about a sick family member, but I’m not sure how true that is. It’s strange... she’s been acting off, like she’s avoiding something.”

Angela’s brow furrowed. Sydney had been distant lately, and her strange behavior was beginning to raise red flags. She had been keeping to herself, working alone, and she hadn’t been as engaged in the case as she normally would. Angela didn’t know exactly what was going on, but she didn’t trust it.

“Something doesn’t feel right,” Angela muttered, more to herself than to Nyla. “She’s been acting like this for weeks, and it’s not just stress.”

Before Nyla could respond, both their phones buzzed simultaneously, interrupting the conversation.

“Great, just what we need,” Angela said, her frustration growing. “Another body.”

As Angela grabbed her phone and stood up, she glanced back at Sydney’s desk one more time. Something about Sydney’s behavior didn’t sit right with her, and she wasn’t sure what it was, but she felt like Sydney might be working against them somehow.

“Let’s go,” Angela said to Nyla, her voice tight. “We’ve got a case to solve, but we need to figure out what’s going on with Heron, too.”

As Angela and Nyla left to respond to the call about the body, Sydney stayed behind, still engrossed in her phone. She had been more distant than usual lately, and Angela’s instincts were on edge about it. But now, Sydney was alone in the bullpen, her eyes flicking nervously toward the door as if she didn’t want to be interrupted.

Her phone buzzed again, and this time, it wasn’t a message. It was a call. Sydney glanced at the screen quickly, her face tightening as she saw the name. She stood up and moved toward the back of the bullpen, out of earshot of the other detectives.

The moment she stepped into the hallway, she pressed the phone to her ear, speaking in a low, urgent tone.

“Yeah, it’s me. What’s the update?” Sydney whispered, glancing over her shoulder to make sure no one was coming.

A voice on the other end murmured something, but Sydney’s expression darkened. She clenched her jaw, clearly frustrated.

“I told you, I’m in the middle of this. It’s complicated, and if you think I’m going to bail now, you’re wrong,” she replied, her voice sharp. She paused, listening to the response. “I know the risks. But we’re this close. I just need a little more time. The others aren’t suspicious yet, but I can’t keep this up for much longer.”

She glanced back toward the bullpen, her eyes flicking nervously toward the desks. Her grip on the phone tightened as she leaned against the wall, lowering her voice further.

“No one can know. If I get caught, everything’s over. You promised me that.”

She stayed silent for a moment, listening, her face growing more tense with each word she heard.

“I understand. Just make sure the plan is still in place. I’ll handle things here,” she said before ending the call abruptly.

Sydney took a deep breath, then tucked her phone back into her pocket, straightening up. Her expression was hard, distant. She quickly glanced at her watch, realizing she’d been out of sight for longer than she intended.

Her stomach twisted. She couldn’t afford to let anyone catch on. Not yet.

When she returned to her desk, she looked around cautiously before resuming her work, but her mind was elsewhere. Sydney wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep up the charade. Things were getting more complicated every day, and the pressure was mounting.

Abandoned Office Building 

“Detectives, so nice of you to join us,” Tim joked as Angela and Nyla approached the crime scene. His tone carried an air of mock enthusiasm, though his focus quickly returned to the task at hand.

Nyla raised an eyebrow, her expression a mix of amusement and skepticism. “Why is he so smiley? It’s creepy.”

Tim smirked but kept his tone serious. “Funny. Anyway, the victim was found this morning, and let’s just say it’s not pretty.”

“Do we think it’s one of Aaron’s?” Nyla asked, her demeanor shifting to professional as she scanned the scene.

“Not sure yet, but anything’s possible,” Tim said as he started to walk toward another officer. Angela stopped him with a firm grip on his arm.

“Wait,” Angela said, her voice low but pointed. “Do you know what’s going on with your girlfriend?”

Tim frowned, caught off guard. “Two things. First, she’s not my girlfriend. Second, what are you talking about?”

Angela exchanged a look with Nyla before answering. “Her family. She’s been saying someone’s sick and hasn’t been focusing at work.”

Tim’s confusion deepened. “Who in her family is sick?”

Nyla shrugged. “No idea. She’s been vague—always on her phone, claiming it’s a family emergency, but... it feels off.”

Tim pressed his lips into a thin line, nodding slightly. “I’ll ask her about it later,” he said, though the concern was already gnawing at him. He walked off, but his thoughts lingered on Sydney.

After they finished examining the scene, Angela and Nyla returned to the station. Unsurprisingly, Sydney wasn’t at her desk.

“If you’re looking for Sydney,” Smitty called out as he passed by, balancing a precariously full coffee cup, “she’s in the break room. Taking a personal call. Sounds mysterious.”

Angela and Nyla exchanged a glance before Angela stopped Smitty. “Wait, what do you mean by ‘mysterious’?”

Smitty shrugged, not breaking stride. “Something about ‘I’ve made it this far, I’m not bailing now,’ and how the other detectives aren’t suspicious. Beats me.” He waved them off as he continued down the hall.

Angela raised her eyebrows, her curiosity piqued. “What does that even mean?”

“I don’t know,” Nyla replied, her voice uneasy, “but I don’t think we should take any chances.”

The pair made their way to the break room, moving quietly. As they approached, they caught fragments of Sydney’s conversation.

“Yes, I know,” Sydney said, her tone hushed but urgent. There was a pause, then her voice sharpened. “Wait! What do you mean he got out?”

Angela and Nyla froze, exchanging alarmed glances before stepping back into the hallway, out of earshot.

“What does she mean by ‘got out’?” Nyla whispered.

“I don’t know,” Angela replied, her voice low and cautious. “But we need to loop Grey in on this. Now.”

Nyla nodded, and together they headed toward the sergeant’s office, the weight of unease growing heavier with each step.

Angela and Nyla reached Sergeant Grey’s office, both tense. Angela knocked once before pushing the door open. Grey looked up from his paperwork, noting their serious expressions.

“What’s going on?” he asked, leaning back in his chair.

Angela wasted no time. “It’s about Detective Heron. Something feels off.”

Grey frowned, motioning for them to continue. “What do you mean?”

“She’s been acting strange lately,” Nyla explained. “Always on her phone, distracted, and claiming a family emergency, but we overheard her in the break room just now. She mentioned something about someone ‘getting out’ and that she wasn’t going to ‘bail.’ It sounded... concerning.”

Grey’s brow furrowed. “Did she say who ‘he’ is?”

“No,” Angela said. “But the way she said it didn’t feel like a casual conversation. Smitty overheard her earlier, too—something about making it this far and how none of us were suspicious.”

Grey’s eyes narrowed as he leaned forward. “Do you think she’s compromised?”

Angela hesitated, glancing at Nyla. “We don’t have enough to make that call, but something isn’t right. She’s too distracted for someone handling a personal emergency.”

Grey sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Alright, I’ll handle this. For now, keep this quiet. I don’t want to make any assumptions until we know more.”

Angela and Nyla nodded, though the unease lingered as they left the office.

***

Meanwhile, Tim was pacing in the hallway, waiting for Sydney to finish her phone call. He hadn’t said it out loud, but Angela and Nyla’s earlier comments had gotten to him. Sydney’s sudden change in behavior didn’t sit right. He needed answers.

Finally, Sydney emerged from the break room, her expression tense. When she saw Tim, she tried to smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

“Hey,” she said, slipping her phone into her pocket.

“Hey,” Tim replied, studying her closely. “Is everything alright?”

Sydney hesitated, her hand brushing her hair back. “Yeah, it’s just... family stuff. I’m handling it.”

Tim’s jaw tightened. He didn’t like the vague answers. “Look, if something’s going on, you can tell me. I want to help.”

Sydney’s smile faltered, and for a moment, she looked like she might say something. But then she shook her head. “I appreciate that, but it’s nothing you need to worry about. I’ve got it under control.”

Tim nodded, but he didn’t feel reassured. As Sydney walked back to her desk, he made a mental note to keep an eye on her. Whatever was happening, it was clear she wasn’t being entirely honest.

***

Later that day, Angela found Tim in the parking lot, leaning against his truck. “You talk to her?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Tim said, crossing his arms. “She says it’s family stuff and that she’s handling it.”

“And you believe her?” Angela asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No,” Tim admitted. “But I don’t know what to do about it. She’s not exactly opening up.”

Angela gave him a pointed look. “Maybe she’s not opening up because it’s not family stuff. If something’s wrong, we can’t ignore it.”

Tim sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I know. But until she says something, I don’t know how to push without crossing a line.”

Angela rested a hand on his shoulder. “Just don’t let your feelings for her cloud your judgment. If something’s off, we need to figure it out—for her sake and for everyone else’s.”

Tim nodded, her words weighing on him. As Angela walked away, he leaned against his truck, staring at the horizon. He didn’t want to believe Sydney could be involved in anything shady, but the nagging doubt was impossible to ignore.

As Tim was about to climb into his truck, his phone buzzed in his hand. The screen lit up with the words: St. Stephen’s Hospital.

A surge of dread washed over him. Why was the hospital calling? Was it Genny? The boys? His mom?

“Hello?” Tim answered, his voice cautious.

“Is this Sergeant Tim Bradford?” a nurse asked on the other end of the line.

“Yes, this is him. How can I help you?” he replied, the knot in his stomach tightening.

“We have a Mark Greer here asking for you,” the nurse said calmly.