Ellie + The Machine

If she went to Sergeant Grey, if she showed Nolan the files and confessed exactly who Victor Martin was to her family, the response would be immediate. They would wrap her in a bubble. Nolan would look at her with that suffocating, paternal worry, and Grey would pull her off the streets instantly. In the LAPD, when a cop becomes a personal target, they get sidelined for their own safety. She would be stuck behind a desk in the records room, completely blind and entirely vulnerable while her friends risked their lives hunting down a monster that wanted her. She couldn't let Nolan or Angela take a bullet meant for her.

Or do I handle it myself?

The thought was dangerous, reckless, and completely went against everything she had learned at the academy. But it was tempting. She could hunt him in the shadows of L.A. without a badge tying her hands or endangering the people she cared about. She could finally finish the fight Victor started years ago when he ruined her brother's life.

She caught her reflection in the wall mirror. She was wearing the LAPD physical training shirt. She had fought through a broken home, a traumatic past, chronic illness, and a grueling academy to wear that emblem. If she ran off on a rogue vendetta, she was no better than the criminals she locked up. But if she stayed silent, she was putting a target on the back of every officer in Mid-Wilshire.

The gym door clicked open, and the heavy footsteps of the morning shift began to echo down the hallway. Time was up. She had less than thirty minutes to get into uniform and make a choice.

The fluorescent lights of the roll-call room felt exceptionally harsh after the dark, solitary intensity of the basement gym. Ellie walked in just as the clock ticked toward 0555. The room was already buzzing with the familiar morning energy—the scrape of chairs, the rustle of paper, and the low murmur of cops nursing their first cups of coffee.

She took her usual seat next to Nolan, consciously forcing her shoulders to drop and her posture to look relaxed.

Nolan was already at the table, a clipboard in front of him. The moment she sat down, his T.O. radar went off. He turned his head, his brow furrowing as his eyes scanned her face.

"You look tired," Nolan murmured, his voice low enough to stay between the two of them. "Did you actually go home and sleep like Grey told us to? Because you have that look you get when you've been overthinking."

Ellie offered a quick, practiced smile, adjusting her duty belt to hide the slight tremor in her fingers. "I slept fine, John. Just a little stiff. Nothing a little caffeine won't fix."

Nolan didn't look entirely convinced, but before he could press further, the door at the front of the room swung open. Sergeant Grey walked in, his presence instantly silencing the room. The shift commander didn't look like he had slept at all; his face was a tight mask of serious concentration as he rested his hands on the podium.

"Listen up," Grey began, his deep voice commanding the room. "We are on high alert today. Following the chaos at the Vanguard Vault last night, intelligence indicates the Sureños may be mobilizing. Marcos Calderon is deep in hiding, but some of his people may be looking for payback. They want Victor Martin’s head on a spike, and they don't care if the we get caught in the crossfire."

Grey clicked a remote, flashing Victor Martin’s grainy security camera image onto the large projector screen.

Ellie's chest tightened. Staring at Victor’s silhouette on the wall, the weight of the secret she was keeping felt physically crushing. She knew his name. She knew his history. She knew exactly why he was executing these gang members. And she knew she was the final name on his list.

"Every patrol unit is to operate in pairs—no solo responses to any calls in our district" Grey continued, his eyes sweeping across the room and lingering briefly on Ellie and Nolan. "Forensics is still trying to pull something from that four-second encrypted phone call I received last night. Until we know who that computerized voice belongs to, we treat every anomaly as a potential ambush. Stay sharp, watch your six, and bring each other home."

Grey slammed his clipboard down. "Nolan, Moore, you're on case detail, but you stay attached to Detectives Lopez and Harper. Clear out."

The room erupted into the sudden noise of chairs scraping back. Ellie stood up, her mind spinning. The trap was setting itself around her. If she spoke up right now, she could give Grey the missing puzzle piece. If she stayed silent, she was letting Nolan walk blindly into a war meant entirely for her.

Nolan grabbed his duty bag, looking over at her with a sharp, determined nod. "Alright, partner. Let's go find Lopez and see if SID found anything else on those Polaroids."

Ellie swallowed the lump in her throat, her decision hanging by a thread. "Lead the way," she said quietly.

The bullpen was a hive of activity as officers scrambled to their shops, others to their desks, but Angela Lopez wasn't moving. She stood by the coffee machine; her eyes locked onto Ellie from the moment the rookie walked out of the roll-call room. Angela had been a detective long enough to read body language like an open book, and Ellie was practically vibrating with tense, suppressed energy.

As Nolan walked ahead toward the equipment desk to grab their war bags, Angela stepped directly into Ellie’s path, cutting her off from the exit.

"Moore. With me," Angela said. It wasn’t an invitation.

Angela grabbed Ellie by the arm—careful to avoid her bruised ribs—and pulled her into a vacant interrogation room, letting the heavy door click shut behind them. The room was sterile and quiet, completely cutting off the noise of the precinct.

Angela leaned back against the metal table, crossing her arms. Her expression was completely stripped of its usual warmth, replaced by the sharp, intimidating focus of a seasoned interrogator.

"Start talking," Angela commanded quietly.

Ellie tried to look confused, her blue eyes widening. "Excuse me? Ang, we need to get out to the shop. Nolan is waiting—"

"Nolan is blinded by his dad instincts, but I’m not," Angela interrupted, her voice cutting like glass. "I watched you in roll call, Ellie. When Grey put Victor Martin’s picture on the screen, you didn't look alert. You looked terrified. And not 'I almost got shot last night' terrified. It was personal."

Ellie swallowed hard, her heart was hammering so hard she was certain Angela could hear it. "I’m just stressed about the case, Angela."

"Don't lie to me," Angela said, stepping closer, her gaze drilling into Ellie. "I called the records clerk this morning to pull some cross-references on the Sureños. Know what he told me? He said someone used a secure terminal in the basement records room at two o'clock this the morning. A terminal logged under your ID."

Ellie froze. Shit. She hadn’t thought about the files being restricted or tracked.

"You didn't go home last night, Ellie. You stayed here, bruised and exhausted, digging through restricted databases," Angela said, her tone shifting from accusatory to fiercely protective. "And then I see you marching into roll call looking like you’ve got some big secret. If you are compromised, or if you know something about Victor Martin that wasn’t in that briefing, you need to tell me right now. Because if you keep a secret like that on the streets today, you are going to get yourself, or Nolan, killed."

The heavy silence stretched between them. Ellie looked at Angela’s hard, determined face, realizing her wall of isolation had just been completely dismantled. She was faced with a choice: trust one of her closest friends on the force or continue down a dark path entirely alone.

Before Ellie could form a response, the heavy metal door handle rattled, and the door swung open. Nolan stood in the threshold, holding two tactical war bags over his shoulders and a clipboard under his arm.

"Hey, there you two are," Nolan said, his brow furrowing as he took in the thick, suffocating tension in the small room. He looked between Angela’s rigid stance and Ellie’s pale face. "Am I interrupting something? We need to get down to the motor pool. Nyla just called from the field; she wants us to meet her down near the industrial district."

Angela didn't break eye contact with Ellie for a long, agonizing second. The silent threat in the detective's eyes was perfectly clear:

This isn't over.

Slowly, Angela turned her head toward Nolan, her sharp interrogator persona melting back into her usual confident demeanor. "No interruption, Nolan. Just giving your rookie, a piece of advice."

Nolan nodded, a soft aloof smile, "let's go see what Harper’s found.”

"Go ahead, Nolan. I'll catch up with Nyla in a minute," Angela said, her voice dropping to a low, serious register. She kept her back to Nolan as he walked away, ensuring only Ellie could hear her next words. "We are going to finish this conversation, boot. Today. Either you tell Nolan what you're hiding, or I will."

Ellie gave a tight, barely visible nod. She gripped the strap of her duty belt, turned on her heel, and followed Nolan down the bustling hallway toward the garage. The clock was ticking louder than ever, and she knew she was running out of time before her secrets blew up in her face.

The morning sun was just starting to bake the concrete of the industrial district as Nolan and Ellie pulled up to the curb. The neighborhood was a bleak stretch of faded brick warehouses, rusted chain-link fences, and overgrown weeds pushing through the cracked asphalt. Nyla’s unmarked black SUV was already parked near the entrance of a seemingly abandoned textile mill.

Nolan cut the engine, and he and Ellie stepped out into the dry heat. Angela’s vehicle pulled in right behind them, the detective slamming her door with a little more force than necessary—a silent, lingering reminder to Ellie that their interrupted conversation was still hanging over her head.

Nyla met them near the rusted gate, holding a digital tablet. "SID finished a deep-dive enhancement on the Polaroids we pulled from the silver sedan's glovebox," she explained without preamble, gesturing for the group to gather around. "They mapped the background details of the photos. The bricks, the specific pattern of the corrugated steel roofing, and the vintage loading dock doors—they all match this exact facility."

Ellie forced herself to focus, her blue eyes narrowing as she looked past Nyla toward the massive, silent building. "So, this isn't just where Victor ditched the getaway vehicle. This facility is likely his hidden planning area, before he started executing the Sureños."

"Exactly," Angela said, her voice sharp as she kept her gaze fixed squarely on Ellie. "Which means whatever clues he left behind in those photos are somewhere inside these walls. We proceed with extreme caution. Weapons down but ready."

The four officers moved toward the side entrance of the warehouse in a tight, synchronized tactical stack. Nolan took the point, his larger frame providing a shield as he slowly pushed open a heavy, unbolted metal door. It let out a long, agonizing screech that echoed into the cavernous interior.

"LAPD,” Nolan called out into the dark space. Only silence answered. The air inside was thick with the smell of old engine oil, stagnant dust, and rotting timber. Shafts of morning light pierced through cracked, grime-covered windows high above, illuminating millions of dust motes dancing in the air.

They moved deeper into the warehouse, clearing the old assembly lines and rusted machinery step by step. There was no sign of Victor Martin—no fresh footprints in the thick dust, no humming generators. The warehouse was entirely empty, a hollow monument to L.A.'s industrial past.

"Over here," Nyla called out from the back corner of the main floor, near an old supervisor's office that had been walled off with plywood.

Ellie and Nolan hurried over, keeping their eyes on the dark corners. Inside the small office, a metal folding table sat under a single dangling lightbulb. Scattered across the surface were a few empty water bottles, a discarded box of ammunition casings, and a map of Los Angeles pinned to the wall with a heavy hunting knife. It was exactly the setup from the background of the first Polaroid.

"This is it," Nolan said quietly, shining his tactical light across the table. "He’s been here. He planned the Ruiz hit right out of this room."

Ellie stepped closer to the table, her heart rate ticking upward as she stared at the map. Victor had been sitting right where she was standing, plotting his executions. They were standing in the heart of the killer's lair, surrounded by the remnants of his planning, and she knew the next clue to his ultimate endgame was hiding somewhere in this very room.

Angela stepped around the metal folding table, her tactical flashlight slicing through the shadows of the cramped office. While Nyla focused on the map pinned to the wall, she kept her eyes low, scanning the floorboards and the trash left behind. Her light caught on something wedged between the back of the metal desk and the rotting baseboard.

"Hold on," Angela said, crouching down. Using a gloved hand, she pulled out a crumpled, stained manila folder. It had been intentionally hidden, tucked away from plain sight. Angela brought it up to the light of the dangling bulb, smoothing out the wrinkled paper.

Nolan and Nyla crowded around her, but Angela’s eyes instantly shot to Ellie.

"What is it, Lopez?" Nolan asked, leaning in.

Angela didn't answer him. Instead, she flipped the folder open. Inside was a comprehensive dossier detailing a familiar name and history—one that the team had already discovered earlier in Ellie's journey. It was a complete profile on Riley Ryan; the identity Ellie had left behind before changing her name. But it wasn't just old public records. The folder contained surveillance photos of Ellie taken over the last few weeks in Los Angeles. There were images of her leaving her apartment, walking into the Mid-Wilshire station, and sitting in the shop with Nolan. Stapled to the very last page was a printed prison roster from the London Correctional Facility in Ohio, with her brother's name heavily circled in black ink, and also a photo of a much younger Ellie. Next to it, Victor had scrawled a single, bone-chilling sentence:

You can't hide behind a new name.

The room went dead silent. The low hum of the distant L.A. traffic outside seemed to fade entirely, leaving only the sound of Ellie’s ragged breathing. Nolan looked from the dossier to Ellie, his face washing over with immediate, protective dread. "Ellie... he knows. We knew about your past as Riley, but Victor has been tracking you ever since he got to L.A. He has photos of your routines."

Nyla stepped back toward the door, her expression hardening as she connected the dots. "This wasn't a standard gang vendetta. The Sureños were just a distraction to clear the board. He's hunting you down for what happened with your brother back in Ohio. For when you put them away.”

Angela closed the folder with a sharp snap, her eyes drilling into Ellie with an intense mix of urgency and frustration. "I knew you were hiding something in roll call. Victor isn't just a threat to the city anymore, Moore. You need to tell us everything about his patterns right now, because your number just got called."

Ellie stood frozen beneath the single lightbulb, her blue eyes wide as the true scope of Victor's trap was laid bare. He had known who she was the entire time. She looked at Nolan, seeing the fierce, paternal terror in his eyes, and realized she could no longer hold anything back.

The weight of the surveillance photos, the circled prison roster, and the realization that Victor had been watching her every move became entirely too much in that moment. The cramped plywood office felt like it was physically shrinking, suffocating her.

Without a word, Ellie turned on her heel and walked out.

"Ellie, wait!" Nolan called out, moving to follow her.

Angela caught Nolan by the arm, her grip tight and unyielding. "Let her go for a second, Nolan. You need to hear this first."

Nolan pulled against her grip; his brow furrowed with confusion and protective instinct.

"Lopez, she’s falling apart. I need to get out there."

"She lied to you, John," Angela said, her voice dropping to a harsh, serious register. "She didn't go home last night after the precinct phone call. I checked the logs this morning. She stayed in the basement records room until two in the morning, pulling restricted files on her brother and Victor Martin. She knew exactly how dangerous this was, she knew he was targeting her, and she marched into roll call this morning and let you ride in a shop with her anyway."

Nolan went completely rigid, the words hitting him like a physical blow. The paternal warmth in his expression vanished, replaced by a sudden, sharp wave of hurt and anger. He pulled his arm free from Angela's grip and marched out of the warehouse. Outside, the mid-morning heat was brutal, radiating off the cracked asphalt.

Ellie was standing by the passenger side door of the shop, her hands gripped tightly onto the roof frame, her head hung low as she tried to force her breathing to level out. Her ribs ached, her head pounded, and she could feel resolve starting to waver under the intense stress.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Nolan's voice boomed across the empty industrial lot, completely stripped of his usual gentle demeanor.

Ellie flinched but didn't turn around. "John, please. Not right now."

"No, right now!" Nolan yelled, stepping into her space and forcing her to look at him. His face was flushed, his eyes flashing with a mix of fury and genuine terror. "Angela just told me you were here until two o'clock in the morning digging through files. You found out Victor was tracking you; you found out you were his ultimate target, and you hid it from me. We sat in that car for hours today, Ellie! We walked into this building together!"

Ellie finally snapped, turning on him with tears of anger and frustration bright in her blue eyes. "I did it to protect you!"

"Protect me?" Nolan countered, throwing his hands up. "By letting me walk blindly into what could’ve been an ambush? By keeping a target on your back while I'm supposed to be your Training Officer? That is not how this works!"

"If I told you, Sergeant Grey would have yanked my badge and put me in a safe house!" Ellie screamed back, her voice cracking as years of isolation and fear came pouring out. "I would be sitting in a dark room, completely blind, waiting for a monster from my past to hunt me down! And you—you would have been out on the streets trying to play the hero! Victor ruined my brother's life. He destroyed my family. I refuse to let him destroy yours too!"

Nolan stopped, the sheer desperation in her voice cutting through his anger. He stared at his rookie, seeing past the uniform to the terrified, defensive twenty-nine-year-old who had spent her entire life learning that she could only rely on herself. The heavy silence stretched between them in the heat of the parking lot, both breathing heavily, the rift between T.O. and rookie wider than it had ever been.

Authors Note: Okay, so this chapter is now the longest. I dunno, I just keep having more and more to write, and I never want to stop.

There's no difference between you and I

We share the same sunshine from the same sky

When it rains, it rains on both you and I

Gotta sink or swim, now it's do or die

It goes "hashtag, body bag"

Toe tag

Shot in the chest

"Hashtag, body bag"

Even when I'm on my last breath

The concrete parking garage of the Vanguard Vault was as expected. Full, damp and too silent. They were like ghosts, hiding, waiting. Hunting.

“It’s getting close. How are you doing?” Nolan asked, sensing something in his rookie.

“Good. I’m ready to get this over. He’s been a threat for way too long.”

“Keep your focus. Throw everything personal about this whole case out the window. Do not let it cloud you.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. It’s almost showtime.”

There's no difference between you and I

Same space and time that we occupy

We all just looking for a piece of the pie

We went blind, gone eye for an eye

An unmarked armored van pulled into open.

“Calderon,” Ellie spoke into her earpiece mic. “I recognize the driver; it’s one of his bodyguards.”

One by one the bodyguards exited the van, each with a large cash bag. Then came Marcos.

“He’s exiting.”

Marcos and his bodyguards headed towards the bank building, each on high alert, waiting for something to happen.

Ellie looked down at her watch. 1700 hours. She straightened up, ready for the ambush.

“Martin is heading your way now guys,” Lucy’s voice came in their ears.

She was right, tires screeching, engine revving came Victor’s dark SUV. Calderon’s bodyguards turned and took a defensive stance, protecting their client.

Victor and his men jumped out, guns at the ready. A shot was fired and one of his men went down.

“Now!” Harper’s voice boomed through, and everyone acted.

Throwing open the van door, Ellie yelled out, “LAPD, Drop your weapons!”

Both sides’ attentions were drawn to her, before shots rang out. The air was thick with the acrid smell of burnt gunpowder and tire smoke.

Yesterday, I turned on the TV

I saw another man down

He was screaming

He can't breathe no more

He held his hands high

But then he got struck down

Oh, he got struck down

I saw the body drop

On the 6 o'clock

I saw the body drop

On the 6 o'clock

Struck down, struck down

Martin shot Calderon, wounding him in his arm. Calderon's bodyguards lay motionless on the oil-stained concrete. Victor, wearing a tactical vest over his dark hoodie, was advancing on a wounded, crawling Calderon, his weapon raised to deliver the killing blow. The others were advancing on Victor’s team, while Ellie focused her sights on her target.

“Victor Martin, drop your weapon, now!” She yelled out.

Victor looked over at her. Taking advantage of the chaotic scene, a bloodied Marcos Calderon scrambled to his feet, threw himself into a secondary vehicle, and slammed on the gas, roaring out a side exit.

“Not yet, Moore,” he called back, raising his gun towards her, “see you soon, kiddo,” Victor grinned before pulling the trigger.

Ellie went to dive to avoid Victor’s bullet, but it was futile. As she moved, she felt the sudden sharp impact of the bullet hitting its target, her chest. She watched as Victor ran to his vehicle and peel out of the parking garage.

Cause

"#bodybag"

Toe tag

Shot in the chest

"#bodybag"

Even when I'm on my last breath

“Officer down!” came Nolan’s sudden yell. He hurried over to his downed rookie. “Ellie, come on, talk to me.”

She gasped, her hands flying to her tactical vest as a dull, blooming ache radiated through her ribs. “My vest, it’s in my vest.” Ellie choked out, taking a ragged, painful breath. "It caught it. I'm okay. Just...ow."

Nolan was undoing Ellie’s uniform shirt, leaving her in her tactical vest and undershirt. Undoing the vest, he pulled it from her, inspecting it. Sure enough, Victor’s bullet caught in her vest.

In her earpiece, she could hear Lucy announce that they and the other backup team were going to go after Victor, with air support as ordered.

“Paramedics are already en route for a couple of Calderon’s bodyguards that are left, they’re checking you out first, boot,” Angela said, also inspecting the vest, “no arguments.”

“None here,” Ellie breathed. “Son of a bitch that hurt.”

“Do you feel like you could sit up?” Nolan asked, wanting to get her sitting up if possible.

“Yeah, help me over to the van, I’ll sit against it.”

Nolan and Angela helped Ellie over to the van for her to sit on the concrete leaning against the tire well.

“Your numbers are holding.”

“Huh?”

“Your monitor. Your numbers are holding.” Nolan explained.

Ellie gave a light chuckle, “probably the only thing to go right this whole day.”

He smiled back.

Hearing the sirens of the ambulance sound closer, everyone regrouped near her.

“Just got word from the air ship. They lost Martin,” Harper announced.

“How the fuck did that happen?” Ellie ground out, her tone filled with anger.

“Hey, calm down,” Nolan put his hand on her shoulder, “at least until we get you checked out.”

“They said he just went off radar. Maybe underground. Tim and Lucy confirm as well.”

Ellie let her head fall back against the van in frustration.

T

At that moment, the paramedics arrived, the first team making their way over to her.

“Hey, Ellie. I’m Adam, how are you holding up?”

“I’m alive, I guess,” she chuckled.

“I’ll take that. Do you think we could check you out in the ambulance?”

Ellie nodded, letting Adam and Nolan help her up and over to the other medics.

“So, she was shot, close range, bullet lodged in her vest,” Nolan explained, “She’s a diabetic.”

“Oh hey, so am I,” Adam looked at Ellie, “What type?”

“Two. Semi-controlled.”

“One, also semi-controlled,” he lifted the side of his shirt, showing his insulin pump.

“Ouch.”

“Eh, it’s not so bad. Alright let’s remove your shirt if you’re able to. We’ll take a look; get you hooked up and make sure everything else is good.”

She nodded, then looked at her T.O.

“I’m going to go check things out with the others. I’ll be right over there if you need me,” Nolan said, making sure she could see the others before making his way over to the team.

I saw the body drop

On the 6 o'clock

I saw the body drop

On the 6 o'clock

Struck down, struck down

“So you pissed someone off, eh?” Adam asked, with slight humor as he examined her.

“I guess so. Kinda happens when you put a badge on, I think.”

“I’d say,” he agreed, looking over her cardiac readings. “Alright, so, EKG is decent, slightly elevated, but I think given that you just went through a shootout it’s expected. Your chest is going to be bruised. You also might experience some swelling in your chest and ribcage. Close range shots like that, you tend to feel it in more than one area.”

“Figures,” she snorted.

“Surprisingly your numbers aren’t looking too bad. Slightly elevated, but again, a shootout will cause that stress and raise it. You know what to do if it gets too high, I’m sure.”

Ellie nodded.

“Alright, I don’t see any other issues. Well, except for one.”

“Oh?”

“I don’t have your number.”

She laughed, thinking it was rather cute. “Here, let me see your phone.”

Adam gladly handed over his cell phone to her, letting her put her contact information in.

Ellie Moore (Type 2 girl) 323-555-8735

He laughed when he saw what she put in.

“Okay, I’m officially clearing you and releasing you into your T.O.’s custody. Expect a call, type two girl.”

“I will. Take care, hopefully I don’t see you again like this, but something tells me I will,” she joked on her way over to her team.

“All clear?” Sargeant Grey asked as he looked up at his officer.

“All clear. Bruising and adrenaline.”

“Good. Let’s all meet back at the precinct, debrief and go home.”

A bunch of ‘sounds good’, ‘aye, sirs’ came from the others as Nolan and Ellie headed back to their respective vehicle.

“You sure you’re good?”

“I am. Nothing a hot shower and some Chinese takeout won’t fix tonight.”

“Sounds like a plan. Let’s go.”

The atmosphere within the Mid-Wilshire precinct was suffocatingly tense by the time the team returned from the parking garage. The clock on the wall of Sergeant Grey’s office clicked past eight, casting a sterile, fluorescent glow over the exhausted group. Everyone was covered in a thin layer of dust and dried sweat, their uniforms rumpled from the sudden violence of the ambush.

Ellie sat stiffly in one of the metal chairs, the massive bruise beneath her ballistic vest throbbing with every breath she took. Nolan stood just behind her, a protective, grounding presence, while Angela and Nyla leaned against the edge of Grey's heavy oak desk.

Grey didn't ask them to sit. He stood with his hands braced on his desk, his face set grim. "We lost them," he said, his deep voice cutting through the hum of the precinct's air conditioning. "Calderon is in the wind, which means the Sureños are going to lock down their entire operation, and Victor Martin is still out there, armed and frustrated.”

Before anyone could musser up a response, the desk phone shattered the silence with a sharp, piercing ring. Grey didn't hesitate. He snapped up the receiver and hit the speaker button. "Sergeant Grey."

For a long, agonizing second, there was nothing but the hollow hiss of open static. The silence in the room stretched so tight it felt ready to snap. Then, a flat, chillingly mechanical voice vibrated through the small speaker. The computerized modulation stripped away any trace of human inflection, leaving only a cold, electronic drone:

"You shouldn't have done that."

The line went completely dead with a sharp click.

The team stood there looking at the phone in shock.

“We won’t be able to trace that, not without a lot of work,” Ellie said, her voice barely above a whisper, “that call wasn’t long enough.”

“We’ll still send it up for tracing, they might be able to pull something from it.” Lopez said, already messaging the SID team.

Grey stared at the dead phone for a long moment, then looked over at his battered team. "It’s late," Grey ordered, his tone softening just a fraction with genuine exhaustion. "Go get out of your gear, go home, and get some sleep. We reset and hit this fresh next shift. Dismissed."

The precinct emptied quickly as the day shift officers retreated to the locker rooms, anxious to shed the weight of their duty belts and head home. Ellie walked out with Nolan, nodding quietly as he gave her a tight, paternal hug by the exit, repeatedly making her promise to put ice on her ribs and monitor her sugar levels before going to bed.

She smiled, promising she would, and watched him walk out the glass doors into the dark L.A. night. But Ellie didn't go to her car. As soon as the lobby went quiet, she quietly slipped down the rear hallway and bypassed the locker rooms, heading straight for the secure, dimly lit corner of the records room.

Her chest throbbed with a dull, burning ache where the Kevlar had saved her life, and the lingering adrenaline kept her heart hammering. She wasn't tired. She was wired, hyper-focused, and fueled by a sickening gut instinct she couldn't shake.

“Not yet, Moore,”

“See you soon, kiddo,”

Victor’s words rang through her head.

She sat at a secluded terminal, the stark white glare of the monitor reflecting in her wide, blue eyes as she logged into the encrypted database. She bypassed the standard patrol logs and went straight into the federal gang intelligence archives. She pulled up the Sureño 13 manifests first, scanning the names of local enforcers, before opening a separate, more restricted file. It was a file she had looked at a thousand times in private, but never with this much dread.

The digital folder opened to display a standard inmate profile and a stark, unsmiling mugshot. It was her brother. The text beneath the photo confirmed his status: Inmate active. Serving a twenty-five-year sentence at the London Correctional Facility in Ohio.

Ellie stared at her brother's face, a heavy lump forming in her throat. He had been young, desperate, and easily manipulated when he fell into Victor Martin's orbit years ago. Victor had been the older, calculating leader of their crew—a man who recognized weakness and exploited it perfectly. When the federal authorities had finally closed in on their operation, Victor hadn't panicked. He had meticulously altered financials, planted evidence, and manipulated the narrative until her brother took the fall for the vast majority of Victor's crimes.

The system had locked her brother away, while Victor walked away into the shadows, entirely free to build a deadlier empire. Ellie leaned closer to the monitor, her fingers flying across the keyboard as she began cross-referencing Victor’s recent inter-state movements with the targeted executions of the Sureño 13 members in Ohio through to Los Angeles. The rest of the LAPD, including Angela and Nyla, believed Victor was operating as a highly efficient, chaotic contract killer executing a standard gang vendetta against his former crew. It made sense on paper.

But as Ellie mapped out the timeline of the bodies, the locations, and the specific message left in blood at the Ruiz house, a cold, suffocating terror pooled deep in her stomach. Victor hadn't just come to Los Angeles to wipe out the Sureño 13 drug tier. He was clearing the board of anyone who could connect him to his past. He was eliminating his old business partners and rivals, ensuring no loose ends remained. And as Ellie stared at the final, unresolved branch of Victor's digital footprint, the pieces of the puzzle slammed into place with horrific clarity. The cartel members along the way weren't the endgame. They were just the warmup. Once the streets were clear, Victor's ultimate, final target wasn't a gang member at all.

He was coming for her.

Faced with this reality she had decisions to make. Does she tell the team her revelation, or does she take matters in her own hands and risk her career and life?

Regardless, this was something she was going to have to end herself.

With a determined resolve, Ellie logged out of the system and headed for the precinct’s gym.

I won't give no fucks

I won't take no shit

Try to burn me down

Get this whole place lit

I won't give no fucks

I won't take no shit

They said they want war; this is it

Let the body drop

Then let the body drop

Then let the body drop

Then let the body drop

Authors Note: So, I believe this is my longest chapter in the series at 3008 words.

Look, I’m flawed. Is my story turning into a “hurt oc”? I guess, yeah. I mean, I have reasons for it. Anyways.

I went in and edited chapter 7’s ending, instead of 1700 hours, I used 1800 hours for 6:00pm as the time of the shootout for a reason. This chapter was inspired by Grandson’s “6:00” from his album “a modern tragedy vol. 1”. You can find this song as well as others from him on my Spotify playlist The Rookie: Echoes of the Past.

As always, I love feedback! Thinking of cross posting this to A03 and ff.net.

He noticed the tone in her voice.

“What’s going through that head of yours?”

Ellie shook her head, “nothing concrete. The evidence will hold clues, I’m sure of it.”

“Let’s get inside and check it out.”

Ellie and Nolan headed straight for Sargent Gray’s office, after offloading their bags, weapons and bodycams. Angela and Nyla were already sitting down.

“Moore, Nolan,” Grey greeted.

“Sarge,” Nolan returned.

“SID has already sent digital evidence over. You’re going to want to see this,” Grey turned his monitor around to present to the others. “The polaroids. Some are pictures of brick walls, there’s one of Anton’s house, and the scene,” he said, going through the photos until one landed on one in particular.

“What the hell is that?” Ellie spoke up, curious.

“This,” Grey paused, “is another scene.”

Nolan furrowed his brows, “one of ours? Dispatch hasn’t logged any 187’s today.”

“Not one we’ve received yet. My guess is, he hit and it hasn’t been called in yet,” the sergeant stated.

Ellie leaned in to get a better look, “that’s Hector Ruiz. Third in command. Anton was fourth. He’s counting down. Hitting, photographing, and counting.”

“You’re familiar with Ruiz?” Grey asked, eyebrow arched. Nolan, Lopez and Harper all looked at Ellie.

“Unfortunately.  Back when I worked with CPD on taking the original gang down back in Ohio,” she paused for a moment, thinking. “If he’s counting down, starting with Anton, and now presumably Ruiz…he’s going to go after Calderon next. Marcos Calderon. Marcos oversaw financials.”

Ellie looked over at the detectives sitting in their seats, “do you guys have any sort of a timeline set up between each of the murders?”

“Unfortunately, Victor isn’t providing a specific timeline. At least not one that we have running right now. Depending on Ruiz’s time of death, that might give us something,” Angela provided.

“The only thing we have right now, is Victor’s prints in the sedan at the mini-mart, polaroids of random buildings that SID is trying to track down their locations, the messages “GiVe Me MoRe” are each written in their victim’s blood.” Harper explained.

“Any specific cause of death? I can’t imagine they’re all bleeding out from their hands being nailed to these makeshift crosses,” Ellie asked.

“Headshot from the side. He lets them suffer from being nailed before he puts the poor bastards out of their misery.”

The team became silent, going over all the details in their minds.

Sargeant Grey’s door opening tore them from their thoughts. Tim, Lucy and Aaron entered.

“Heard about everything from earlier. What do we got?” Bradford inquired.

Nolan stood up,  ushering Ellie to do the same, “we have some evidence. I think Moore and I are going to go check out Ruiz’s place, try to confirm if we have something there.”

“Harper and I are going to go dig into Marcos, I’m sure he’s got a record here.”

Sargeant Grey nodded, “Bradford, Chen and Thorsen, take a seat and I’ll fill you in on what SID gave us. Nolan, you guys run into any trouble, you call for backup.”

“Yes, sir.”

Nolan, Ellie and the two detectives left Grey to fill in the others.

“Hey, seriously, Grey’s right,” Nyla started, “if you guys run into anything, call. In fact, call us when you find out if he’s there or not.”

“Will do, thanks Harper.”

Nolan nudged his rookie, “let’s go check out Ruiz.”

Pulling in front of Hector’s house, Ellie looked around. Everything was quiet. Almost too quiet.

“What’re you thinking?”

“I’m thinking it’s too quiet here. I don’t have a good feeling about it,” she paused, “honestly, I feel like we already know what’s going on, and we’re delaying the inevitable.”

“I feel it too, but we can’t assume anything right now, not when it’s not safe to.”

“Oh, I know,” Ellie nodded, “alright so, you take left, I take right, find any evidence that Victor’s been here?”

“Sounds like a plan to me. Be careful, keep your radio near,” Nolan commanded, following Ellie’s lead. The very thought of her knowing who Ruiz was as well as Calderon made him question even more about his rookie’s involvent back in Ohio. Shaking his thoughts out, he approached the left side of the house looking for any clues.

The home was very well kept, surprisingly for a member of a gang. Bushes neatly hedged, decorative brick, flower beds done, and grass neatly cut. Did Ruiz do the upkeep or did he have a landscaper?

“Nolan, no sign of Victor or that he was even here. Everything’s pristine,” came Ellie’s voice over the radio.

“Same here. Anything around back?”

“Negative.”

“Alright, meet back around the front. We can treat it as a reasonable cause, due to the photo and circumstances.”

“Copy that.”

As Nolan approached the front of the house, Ellie met him by the front door.

“So, given everything, I say we try the door, announce ourselves, if no answer we canvas inside,” she suggested.

“Agreed.”

Nolan knocked on the door, “LAPD, we’d like to speak with you,” he announced.

No answer.

“Should we try the doorknob yet? What if there’s prints?”

“Good thinking,” he nodded and tossed her the keys to the shop, “glove up and give me a pair. If we’re right about this whole deal, I imagine SID will want to try and get some.”

Ellie took the keys and headed for the shop. Getting into her gear bag, she grabbed a couple pairs of gloves before shutting the hatch and returning, passing a pair to Nolan.

As soon as he was gloved, he took hold of his service weapon and opened the door.

“LAPD, anybody home?” He shouted.

No answer. Only the low, steady hum of an air conditioning unit inside.

They crossed the threshold in a tactical stack, each clearing the living room and kitchen. The house was entirely void of anyone, but a heavy, metallic scent began to fill the hallway as they approached the upstairs hallway of the home.

Ellie pushed the master bedroom door open, and the breath left her lungs. The bedroom was a horror show, unlike the previous scene. Blood covering every inch of the room. Stretched out in the center of the space, Hector Ruiz was dead, his body horrifyingly mangled, and "crucified" onto a makeshift wooden cross constructed from heavy construction timber. Dropping her gaze from the gruesome sight, Ellie's eyes locked onto the wall directly above the headboard. Written in thick, dark smears of Ruiz's own blood was a chilling message: GiVe Me MoRe.

Ellie could feel her vision tunneling, a suffocating wave of nausea hitting her like a physical blow.

“Oh god,” she gasped, putting her hand over her mouth as she started running down the stairs and out the door, ignoring her T.O.’s calls. Reaching the front yard, she collapsed to her knees becoming violently ill, her body shaking and heaving as she threw up anything she’d consumed that day. She barely missed the hand on her back, rubbing it.

“It’s okay, Ellie. I got you, you’re okay,” Nolan soothed his rookie, guiding her to sit. Pulling out her glucose monitor from her pocket, he could see her numbers start to dive. “Ellie, your numbers are plummeting. I’m going to call Lopez and Harper for backup and have them to bring you something to get you stable.”

Ellie nodded, putting her head between her knees. She watched Nolan walk a few feet away to call the detectives. Hearing the words “hypoglycemia, puking and bloodbath” made her want to crawl into a hole of embarrassment.

What a partner she was.

Within minutes, Ellie could see an unmarked car and another police cruiser pull up. She assumed one of them were Angela and Harper, but she was too lightheaded to tell who was in the cruiser.

“Hey, Boot. Boss man here told me about your crash. I brought you some juice and a cookie from lunch,” Angela offered, bringing a bottle of Orange Juice and a chocolate chip cookie to the rescue.

Ellie blushed, embarrassed.

Lopez and Nolan motioned to Harper that they were heading back into the house.

“Hey, you can’t help it. Nolan filled us in on your type 2. You’re good here, girl,” Nyla sat next to her, offering support. “There’s absolutely nothing to be embarrassed of.”

“Thanks,” she spoke quietly, drinking the juice slowly while taking bites here and there of the offered cookie. “It’s bad in there. The smell of everything...” she trailed off.

“Been there, done that. I get it,” Nyla said, “you’ll eventually get used to it. I don’t think you’ve really had any cases like that before.”

Ellie shook her head.

“Hey, Grey got us up to speed on everything,” Lucy and Tim started heading in their direction, “woah, are you okay?”

Nyla stood up, walking over to Lucy, “upstairs is gruesome, a ‘bloodbath’ as Nolan mentioned. Moore here decided she was gonna keep the scene uncompromised by running out here to empty herself and plummet her blood sugar,” she gave a soft smile to Ellie.

“Where’s Nolan now?” Bradford asked, looking around.

“Upstairs with Angela. I think SID is on their way now,” Ellie offered.

“I’ll head up there. Harper?”

Nyla looked down at Ellie.

“I’ll stay with her. We dispatched ourselves here, once we heard the call, you guys go up,” Lucy said, sitting next to her friend. She wrapped her arm around the other woman, watching Tim and Nyla head into the scene.

Upstairs Nolan, Lopez, Bradford and Harper stood, looking around. The metallic tang of blood hung heavy in the stagnant air, competing with the hum of the overhead ceiling fan.

“Poor girl, this is bad.”

“The other scene was not like this, why is this one so much more…” Nolan trailed off.

“Bloodier?” Harper filled in the blank, “vendetta? Did Ruiz piss him off?”

“Definitely looks that way, but the question is ‘why?’” Tim asked.

"He didn't just rush in here," Nyla murmured, walking into the room, snapping on a pair of latex gloves and crouching near the nightstand. "He had time. He knew Ruiz's schedule, and he knew exactly how much noise he could make without alerting the neighbors."

Angela didn't answer immediately. Her eyes were fixed on a small, dark wooden dresser tucked away in the corner of the room. One of the top drawers was pulled out about an inch, resting crookedly on its tracks.

"Look at this," Angela said, gesturing to Nyla. "Ruiz was a high-ranking enforcer for the Sureños. The file says that he kept his stash and his burner phones in a lockbox. The lockbox is gone, but it looks like Victor left something else behind."

Using the tip of a pen, Angela gently slid the crooked drawer out further. Tucked beneath a stack of folded bandanas was a neatly folded piece of paper—stark white and completely out of place in the messy room.

She pulled it out with tweezers and unfolded it on top of the dresser. It wasn't a note written in blood this time. It was a printed map of Los Angeles, with a heavy red circle drawn around a very specific, high-end commercial address in downtown LA: The Vanguard Vault & Safety Co.

Beneath the circled building, written in Victor's chaotic, jagged handwriting, were a single name and a timestamp:

MARCOS CALDERON — 1800 HRS.

Authors Note: Annnnnd I leave chapter seven here. Don’t worry, I’m already halfway through chapter 8 as I post this.

It helps when I’m on a Rookie binge and can’t sleep. Please send all the caffeine.

By the time Ellie and Nolan arrived at the Mini-Mart, Angela and Nyla’s SUV was already parked nearby. Nolan cut the engine, and both he and Ellie stepped out of the vehicle in unison, hands instinctively resting on their holsters as they scanned the car. The silver sedan was parked right out front, but as they drew closer, she realized something was wrong. The engine wasn't running. The tinted windows were completely dark. Lopez and Harper were already starting to clear the driver and passenger sides.

"Clear!" Nyla called out from the passenger side, her hand dropping from her weapon as she looked through the glass. "It's empty."

Angela stepped up to the hood, placing a hand on the metal. "Engine is dead cold. It’s been sitting here for a while."

Ellie let out a frustrated sigh, her blue eyes scanning the empty interior. "So, Martin ditched it. Our best lead, just sitting in a convenience store parking lot."

"Hey, we cannot assume it’s Martin,” Nolan paused, “but it is still a small win," he said gently, pointing to the roof of the car. "It’s a physical piece of evidence we didn't have twenty minutes ago. Come on, let's talk to the clerk."

They headed for the store while the two others held back.

The bell above the door chimed as the officers walked into the air-conditioned store. The clerk behind the counter, a middle-aged man with a faded nametag that read Sam, looked up nervously at the sudden influx of badges.

"Afternoon," Nolan said, flashing his best friendly-cop smile to put the man at ease. "LAPD. We’re interested in the silver sedan parked right out front. Do you know who owns it?"

Sam shook his head quickly. "No, sir. It’s been sitting there since last night. I was about to call a tow truck. It's blocking a prime spot."

"Did you see who left it there?" Ellie asked.

"Nah," Sam said. "I was in the back stocking the cooler when I heard a car door slam. By the time I came out, nobody was around."

Ellie stepped forward, her voice soft and professional. "Do you have security cameras covering the parking lot?"

Sam pointed a thumb over his shoulder toward a small, flickering monitor mounted on the wall. "Yeah. Shoots right at the front spaces. It records to a digital drive in the manager’s office."

"Can we take a look at the footage from last night?" Ellie asked.

"Manager’s got the key to the office, and he won't be back until tomorrow morning," Sam said apologetically. "I don't have access to the system."

Ellie sighed, "Well, Sam, this vehicle is connected to a homicide investigation. We can either wait for a warrant and seize your whole system, or you can call your manager right now and tell him to get down here with that key."

Sam swallowed hard and immediately grabbed the store phone. "I'll call him."

Nolan gave Ellie a quick, proud look, then glanced back toward the parking lot where Special Investigation Division (SID) would soon be processing the car.

"While we wait for the footage, let's have SID process the vehicle for prints too," Ellie said, pulling out her phone. "If we're lucky, Victor left some prints on the steering wheel." She felt the heavy weight from earlier fully lift. They didn't have Victor in cuffs yet, but the case was back on fire.

SID techs gathered around the abandoned sedan, searching inside and out for evidence. Nolan had walked over to talk with Lopez and Harper, leaving Ellie to her thoughts as they watched the scene in front of them.

The sun beat down, the afternoon heating up in true L.A. fashion. What she wouldn’t give to be in a pool right now, drink in hand.

“Got something!” One of the technicians called out, a gloved hand holding a small stack of polaroid photos.

Nolan made his way over, Ellie in tow.

The technician held them out for the officers to see. The other polaroids didn’t make sense, they were just photos of a brick wall, and other unrecognizable landmarks, however one photo stood out.

“That one,” Ellie said, pointing. “Nolan, it’s from the crime scene at Anton’s, he took a photo. He left it for us, why? Is he taunting us?”

Another technician’s voice rang out before Nolan could answer her. “Got prints here on the dash.”

“Run them as soon as you get back to the precinct,” Lopez instructed, “run them against others but also run them against a Victor Martin.”

“Yes ma’am.”

The manager of the mini-mart pulled up beside the store, hurriedly exiting his vehicle. Nolan noticed and waved Ellie over to the store.

“Sorry, sorry!” the manager panted, entering the building. “Follow me, Sam said it was urgent.”

“Very.” Ellie said, following the man to a locked room, Nolan behind.

“We’re looking for the time frame from when the van pulls into the spot, until we arrive today.” Nolan explained, watching as the manager enter in his credentials and pulling up footage.

The footage showed the timestamp as 2:14am, black-and-white grainy feed of a silver sedan rolling into the frame, parking. As the driver’s door open, a man stepped out, black beanie over his head.

Ellie leaned closer to get a better look, scanning every detail she could find of the suspect’s appearance and movements.

The suspect looked around before reaching into his pocket, pulling something out of his pocket, tossing the object into a storm drain, and walked away.

Ellie noticed the slight limp right away, “look at the way they walk. It’s him. He’s favoring his left side, courtesy of a deal gone wrong.”

Nolan looked at the manager, “can our technician come in and get this on a storage device to take back to the lab? We need it for our homicide investigation.”

“Please, feel free to. I’ll help in either way possible.”

“Thank you,” Ellie paused, not knowing the manager’s name.

“Raul. Please call me Raul, miss.”

“Thank you, Raul. If we have any other questions, we’ll reach out,” Ellie said, shaking his hand, “you’ve been a big help already.” She looked at Nolan, “I’ll let one of the techs know to get the footage. I want to see what he dropped in that storm drain,” she says, heading for the exit.

Walking over to the shop, Ellie removed a heavy-duty crowbar from the trunk and could hear Nolan on the phone with a City Maintenance worker. “Hey, don’t worry about it,” she said, walking towards the storm drain.

“Uh, give me one second Sir,” he said into the phone, pausing while looking at his rookie, “Ellie, wait for someone to come open it,” he warned.

“We can’t afford to wait, John, whatever he threw down there could already be gone,” she said, popping open the drain, “I’m going to get whatever it is.”

Ignoring anymore protest from Nolan, she climbed down the storm drain, turning her flashlight on. The stench hit her instantly – a stomach-churning cocktail of stagnant, rotting sewer water, decomposing garbage, and sludge. It was suffocatingly hot, the damp air thick enough to taste. Ellie sloshed through a few inches of the murky, foul runoff, her boots squelching with every step, her flashlight beam sweeping the debris. Catching her eye amid a cluster of garbage, plastic bottles and wet leaves near the outflow pipe, was a set of keys, caked with grime.

“Found it!” She yelled up to Nolan who stood above, waiting for her. “They’re keys!”

“Great, now get back up here, Moore!”

“Already on my way,” she said, holding the keys into an unused tissue she’d found in her pocket. Climbing up the stairs, she noticed Nolan was ready to help her back up. “I’m going to have to change my pants and boots when we get back,” she said, looking down at the grossness beneath her. “Can you give this to SID for the evidence?”

“I can do that. Why don’t you head to the shop, lay one of the paper mats down for the mess,” Nolan suggested. “We can head back after I pass this off.”

Ellie nodded, already heading for their cruiser, sighing.  She was ready for a break.

“You alright?”

She turned to find the source of the voice. John had got in the driver’s seat. “Yeah, I’m good. Just a long day.”

“Understandable. Let’s head back,” he said, his tone light.

Ellie nodded, picking up the mic, “7-Adam-15, show us returning back to precinct.”

“7-Adam-15, copy that.”

Authors Note: Alright, so we’re getting somewhere….Again, working for a slow burn of things. I apologize if some things seem unrealistic. I’m an investigator – not a cop. Kinda wish I was though.

Have I told you that my dream/goal is to one day be on an episode of The Rookie either before I die or the show ends? Will it happen? Probably never. Because I’m not an actor and insignificant.

So, a little backstory of my own… My grandfather was a cop in Columbus, Ohio, a very long time ago. My mother was MP in the Army, so was one of my uncles. I wanted to be a cop, but being married and having a special needs child has kind of threw a wrench in that plan. Mainly because my husband does NOT want me on the streets.

"Grey handles the politics. That's not what's eating you," Nolan counters, his tone laced with genuine empathy. He pulls the shop up to a red light and turns to face her fully. "You fought for Patrick. You tried to save him. When he...” he paused, treading lightly on the situation, “when he did what he did, I saw your face, Ellie. It wasn't just a tough call for you. It hit home."

Ellie's chest tightens. She reaches into her vest pocket, her fingers brushing against her glucose monitor out of pure habit. Her blood sugar has been a roller coaster since the incident, her stress levels totally messing with her numbers. “Seeing Patrice do that to Patrick? It was like watching a rerun of a scene that I’ve already watched."

Nolan’s expression softens completely. There's no judgment in his eyes—only protective warmth. "Ellie..." He reaches over, briefly placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "I am so sorry. No one should have to carry that. Especially not alone."

"I'm not carrying it," Ellie says defensively, her voice cracking as she tries to pull the proverbial closed-off mask back over her face. "I'm a cop. I handle it."

"Hey. Being a cop doesn't make you bulletproof to your own life," Nolan says firmly but kindly. "You have a massive heart, Ellie. Your empathy is what's going to make you an incredible officer. But if you shut it all inside, it’s going to burn you out. You can't protect the city if you're drowning." He gives her a small, encouraging smile.

“You don't have to be perfect. And you don't have to do this by yourself. You've got friends here. You've got Lucy, Angela, Nyla... and you've got me. I'm your T.O., but I'm also in your corner."

Ellie lets out a shaky breath, the heavy weight in her chest loosening just a tiny fraction. For the first time in days, she feels like she can breathe. "Thanks, John," she murmurs.

Nolan smiles, hitting the gas as the light turns green. "Anytime. Now, let's go find a bakery. My treat. We both need a distraction."

Ellie lets out a small, genuine laugh. "I have to watch my sugar, remember?"

"Right, right," Nolan chuckles. "Sugar-free distraction it is."

Parked under the shade of a large oak tree near a local park. Nolan had made a quick detour to a small, health-conscious cafe he knew nearby. The tense atmosphere inside the shop had completely dissolved.

Ellie sat with her door cracked open to let in the breeze, balancing a small paper plate on her lap. On it sat a keto almond flour scone studded with fresh blueberries—low in carbs, no added sugar, just like Nolan promised.

Nolan leaned against the front push-bumper of the shop, happily chewing on a distinctly non-sugar-free cinnamon roll, looking over at her with an encouraging smile.

"Good?" he asked.

Ellie took a bite and nodded, a genuine sense of relief washing over her. "Actually, yeah. Really good. Finding a bakery that doesn't instantly send my numbers into a panic is a rare victory."

Nolan wiped his hands on a napkin. "I have to admit, I know the basics of diabetes from academy first-aid training, but I don't really know what the day-to-day looks like. If you don't mind me asking... how long have you been managing, it?"

"Since I was twenty-four," Ellie said, her tone light but informative. She taps the small of her shoulder. "I was diagnosed right in the middle of finishing my degree. It's a lot of math, honestly. Counting carbs, tracking stress levels, making sure I don't skip meals on long shifts."

"And the stress of the job affects it?" Nolan asked, his protective T.O. instincts immediately kicking in.

"Unfortunately,” Ellie admitted, looking down at her scone. "Adrenaline spikes blood sugar. When Patrick... when the call went sideways earlier, my liver basically dumped a ton of glucose into my system out of pure panic. I could feel my energy crashing right as Patrice started screaming at me outside."

Nolan’s expression grew serious. "Why didn't you say anything? We could have gotten you something sooner."

"Because I'm a rookie," Ellie smiled faintly, looking up at him. "I didn't want you, or Sergeant Grey, thinking I can't handle the physical demands of the streets. There's a stigma, you know? People hear 'chronic illness' and they think 'liability'."

Nolan stepped closer to the passenger side door, shaking his head. "Ellie, look at me. You are not a liability. You survived the academy, you're sharp on your codes, you have more heart than half the veterans on the force, and your aim is impeccable. Managing a health condition on top of wearing thirty pounds of gear just means you're doing the job on hard mode. It makes you tougher, not weaker."

Ellie swallowed past a sudden lump in her throat. She had spent years hiding her struggles, terrified that showing any vulnerability would get her washed out. Hearing John Nolan—the man she looked up to ever since meeting—validate her like this, was overwhelming in the best way.

"Thanks, John," she murmured, a soft, bright smile finally returning to her face. "That... means a lot."

"Of course," Nolan smiled, tapping the hood of the car. "But as your T.O., it's my job to keep you alive and functioning. From now on, if you need a protein bar or a zero-sugar almond treat break, you tell me. No exceptions. Got it?"

"Yes, sir," Ellie chuckled, taking another bite of her scone. Suddenly, the shop's radio crackled to life, breaking the quiet afternoon air.

"7-Adam-15, we have a possible sighting of the silver sedan connected to your active case. Vehicle is stationary at a convenience store parking lot on 4th and Elm..."

Ellie’s eyes snapped up, her training instantly taking over. She set her plate down and grabbed the radio mic. "7-Adam-15, copy that. Show us en route."

Nolan grinned, tossing his trash into a nearby bin and jumping into the driver's seat. "Look at that. Sugar-free luck. Let's go catch a suspect."

Authors Note: I’m baaaaaaack. For now. Life kind of got super busy. I was finishing my master’s degree, we moved an hour away, I started a new job as an investigator, traveled to Vermont for my graduation, my T2 diabetes (hence this chapter)got a little worse off so was placed on night-time insulin, quit my job and started another as a private detective. I’ve never been fingerprinted or background checked so much in my life. FBI, BCI (Ohio), and now I’m waiting on another fingerprinting/background check come back before I dive into training. I do have another chapter that I’m working on currently. I should be finished tonight and post tomorrow. I’m trying to do a slow build before all the action happens. Please bear with me!