I rose, heat burning behind my ribs. “Take her to the break room. Get her water and something to eat. Don’t book her unless I say.”
The rookie nodded immediately. Erin didn’t move.
I faced her, calm as I could manage. “Your discretion is officially under review, Sergeant.”
Her jaw flexed. “Is that a threat?”
“No,” I said. “It’s a proper warning.”
I left her standing there, walked back to my office, and shut the door harder than I needed to. The blinds rattled in the frame.
My hands shook as I reached for the locked drawer, pulled out a hidden file markedInternal Review,and slid in a fresh report.
Then I leaned back, staring at the precinct map on the wall. The citylines. The case clusters. The fault lines that were already starting to fracture.
I had to tread carefully.
Because the fire was already lit.
And someone was feeding it from inside the house.
CHAPTER 28
AVA - PART OF THE PROBLEM
Remi had called frantically.
She was on the road, headed to speak at an event she didn’t want to go to but had agreed to anyway because it would keep the lights on for a solid year. So, she accepted.
She had almost turned back around when someone she had befriended at the precinct called her with a heads up that one of her patients had been picked up…again.
I knew the case. I was familiar with it. It had been sitting heavily with Remi for the past few weeks.
It wasn’t the worst case we’d ever seen.
Not the deepest bruises. Not the most broken bones. Not the most violent file.
But it was the one that cracked something in Remi. That hit a little too close to home.
Because she’d come to us, because she had nowhere else to go.
She’d asked for our help.
And we gave her everything we were supposed to: a safety plan, a shelter contact, transportation, and more.
And the system still ate her alive.
I walked through the precinct doors like I belonged there, like I hadn’t fought tooth and nail for every scrap of credibility, for every inch of space in a world that still thought I should sit down and be quiet.
The air inside was wrong.
Stiff. Tense.
It smelled of stale coffee and copy paper, the hum of fluorescentslouder than any conversation. That’s how you knew, the way voices died the second you stepped close. The way posture stiffened.
I was tired of it.
Tired of being told I was too loud. Tired of being told I didn’t handle things the right way. Tired of being told to wait for the “big boys” to figure shit out.
