MY4NCY

SEASON ONE — 1: pilot (8k) — 2: it’s all her fault (4k) — 3: let’s get to scooping (2k) — 4: we’re not friends (3k) — 5: he has a wife (2k) — 6: kill me, kill me, kill me (2k) — 7: hello raskolnikov (3k) — 8: she’s a murderer (2k) — 9: mama’s here now (1k) — 10: best christmas ever (2k) — 11: the night lila died / it’s all my fault (2k)

SEASON TWO — 1: it’s time to move on (2k) — 2: she’s dying (2k) — 3: meet bonnie (3k) — 4: two birds, one millstone (4k) — 5: hi, i’m philip (2k) — 6: what did we do? (1k) — 7: what happened to you, annalise? (3k) — 8: it’s a trap — 9: something bad happened — 10: there’s my baby

SEASON THREE — 1: there are worse things than murder — 2: always get back — 3: don’t tell annalise — 4: is someone really dead? — 5: call it mother’s intuition — 6: who’s dead? — 7: we’re bad people — 8: go cry somewhere else — 9: he made a terrible mistake — 10: wes

SEASON FOUR — 1: i’m going away — 2: i’m not her — 3: it’s for the greater good — 4: was she ever good at her job? — 5: i love her — 6: stay strong, mama — 7: nobody roots for goliath — 8: live. live. live. — 9: he’s dead — 10: everything we did was for nothing — 11: lahey v. commonwealth of pennsylvania — 12: nobody else is dying

SEASON FIVE — 1: your funeral — 2: whose blood is that? — 3: the baby was never dead — 4: it’s her kid — 5: it was the worst day of my life — 6: we can find him — 7: i got played — 8: i want to love you until the day i die — 9: he betrayed us both — 10: don’t go dark on me — 11: be the martyr — 12: we know everything — 13: where are your parents? — 14: make me the enemy — 15: please say no one else is dead

SEASON SIX — 1: say goodbye — 2: vivian’s here — 3: do you think i’m a bad man? — 4: i hate the world — 5: we’re all gonna die — 6: i want to be free — 7: are you the mole? — 8: we’re not getting away with it — 9: the reckoning — 10: let’s hurt him — 11: what if sam wasn’t the bad guy this whole time? — 12: stay

HER HAND HOVERED OVER the notebook page, a single sentence already written down.

Nothing else came.

She stared at the paper for a while, pen still in her hand. It wasn't like she had nothing to write about. If anything, there was too much of it. But every time she tried to put something down, her mind went blank again.

Letting out a sigh, Amy closed the notebook and dropped the pen next to it. It wasn't happening.

The sound of her phone ringing forced her out of her thoughts. She picked it up. "Hughes."

Jay skipped the greeting. "We caught a body. It's bad." She could hear it in his voice. "I'll send you the address."

She knew him well enough to recognize the tone immediately. Either the scene was gruesome, or the victim was a child.

As soon as she had the address, Amy grabbed her jacket and rushed out. Once she arrived, she took in the scene. Police officers were pushing civilians back behind the tape, making sure no one got too close.

Intelligence had already taken control, talking to witnesses and trying to piece together what had happened.

And in the middle of it all was a small body lying in the street, a white sheet covering her.

Amy went up to Jay, Alvin and Antonio. They were standing by the patrol cars. "What do we got?"

"The victim's name is Mya Watkins," Antonio said, briefly glancing at his notepad. "10 years old."

"She was a state's witness set to testify in a theft case this week," Jay added, his arms crossed. "Shooter walked up, put two in her head, and ran off." His voice wavered slightly, clearly bothered by this case.

Amy's eyes flicked briefly toward Alvin and Antonio— both fathers, both visibly affected in a way they didn't say out loud.

She nodded slightly. "I'm guessing no one saw what happened."

Antonio shook his head. "This was a message to the neighborhood. Don't snitch."

She thought over the very little information they did have. "They killed her in the middle of the street." Amy looked over at the body. "I doubt much planning went into this."

"You'd be right," Jay said. "Homicide found two 9-mil shell casings next to the body, so they didn't bother cleaning up after themselves. They're on their way to ballistics for analysis now."

Alvin was watching Amy closely. She didn't have much of a reaction to any of it. It was almost impossible to figure out what she was thinking.

"No, Mya!" They heard a woman cry out. When they turned, they saw Kevin holding back a crying woman, who was trying to reach the body. The mother.

"She's all alone! Please!" The mother's cries landed heavily over the scene, pulling attention from everyone present.

"I'll see you at the district," Amy muttered, before turning and heading back toward her car.

She quickly put the story together, printed out the photos, and put everything on the whiteboard. It was all ready by the time the unit showed up.

"James Grant," Amy started as everyone gathered around. "Senior at Anderson High. Star forward on the basketball team."

"Kid's a lock for the pros," Jay added. Amy glanced over at him and nodded once.

"Robbery-Burglary picked him up for holding up a corner store a few months ago," she continued. "Mya witnessed the incident, agreed to testify against him, and now she's in the morgue."

Kevin glanced around briefly, slightly taken aback by how bluntly she said it. No one else reacted. After a second, he pushed the thought aside and focused back on the board.

"So she was the only thing that stood between Grant going pro..." Erin trailed off.

"And spending the next five years in Stateville," Antonio finished her sentence. She nodded.

"The coach confirmed that Grant was playing a tournament in Evanston at the time of the shooting," Amy stated. "He has an alibi."

Erin looked over at her. "Maybe that was the plan. Have eyes on Grant while Mya gets shot somewhere else."

"This kid's connected enough to order a hit on a witness?" Alvin questioned. He didn't seem so sure.

Amy pointed at one of the photos on the whiteboard. "His uncle is."

Kevin's eyes were drilled into the image. He stepped closer, getting more determined. "We got anything on him?"

"Plenty." Amy grabbed a folder from her desk and handed it to the Officer. "Devon Tucker, O.G. vice lord turned gun runner."

The Officer flipped through the pages. There was a lot there— crimes, associates, family history. Amy had included notes on all of it.

He read over the part about the uncle and nephew, being able to piece together what kind of relationship they had— the written notes that Amy put in helped a lot. "Looks like he's been looking out for his nephew since the boy learned how to dribble."

"He's locked up at MCC on a federal weapon charge." Kevin glanced up and met Amy's eyes. She had thought the uncle was involved immediately, and now so did he.

Hank glanced between them, before his eyes landed on the Officer. Kevin had a look on his face— it was determination and something else the Sergeant couldn't place. "Think he ordered the shot from inside?"

Kevin turned to the Sergeant. "I bet my star on it."

Once Amy gave him a nod, confirming she thought the same, Hank was satisfied. He turned to Alvin. "Let's go have a chat."

The two older men grabbed their jackets and headed out.

As Amy was about to turn and go to her desk, Kevin spoke, stopping her, "hold on, Detective."

She looked at him. "Yes?"

"How do you do it?" Kevin asked as he handed back the folder. He glanced at the whiteboard, before meeting her gaze again. "Not care about the victim."

She almost wanted to shrug at the question, thinking the answer was obvious. "The victim and her family don't care how we feel about it. They care that we solve it."

Not waiting for a response, Amy headed for her desk, leaving the Officer still trying to figure out what exactly he thought about her.

Hank and Alvin met a dead-end and the case seemed to stall, but they kept working despite that. Figuring they'd be at the district for a while, Amy went to the break room and made coffee. They were gonna need it.

She sat at the round table, one hand wrapped around the mug, the other resting lightly against her chin. Her fingers drifted, almost absentmindedly, to the scar at her throat. A habit more than a thought.

Jay came into the break room a moment later and went straight for the coffee machine. He didn't say anything at first, just filled a cup and leaned back against the counter for a second.

"He asked me about you," he said finally. "Atwater." He crossed over and took the seat opposite her. "About the case."

Amy nodded slightly. "I already had this conversation with him."

"And?"

"And nothing." She lowered her hand from her throat, resting it against the table instead. "He's not the first person to wonder why I supposedly don't care about victims." She gave a small shrug before taking another sip of coffee. "Let him."

A quiet chuckle escaped Jay at how unbothered she was. "You'd sound terrifying if I didn't know you." That got a laugh out of her.

"You should still be terrified," she replied, taking another sip of her coffee.

The grin on his face widened. "Oh, really?" She nodded, a faint smile still present.

Comfortable silence followed, as the two Detectives sipped their beverages and let their minds go back to the case.

Amy let out a quiet sigh, her gaze settling on the table for a moment. "I think people rely on us too much for us not to focus completely," she said finally. "My dad used to say emotions cloud judgment. That bad judgment gets people killed and killers freed."

Jay nodded slightly. "Yeah, I guess, that's true."

"The cases need our focus, especially cases like these." Amy leaned back, glancing at the folder on the table.

He leaned against the table, a grin tugging at his face as she flipped through the file. "Aw, you do care." She didn't respond. Just lifted a hand and flipped him off, which made him laugh.

////

HANK CALLED THE DETECTIVES into his office the following morning. Not only was Commander Fischer there, but they also noticed a few members were missing. The Sergeant informed them that Antonio, Adam and Kevin were undercover in prison.

"As far as anyone knows, they're detainees like any other, which means they'll be treated as such," he told them. "I mean, only the warden knows they're inside. Anyone else finds out, it'll shut us down."

"Who's watching over them?" Fischer questioned.

"One of my best undercovers. So, while Atwater's on the inside trying to get Tucker on a wire copping to ordering the hit, we're out here doing everything we can to I.D. the shooter and then link him back to Tucker."

Fischer paused before he nodded slightly. "Sounds like fun." He turned and walked out of the office.

"That's the new commander?" Jay asked. "Sounds like fun," he mimicked Fischer. "Weird dude."

Hank shrugged slightly. "I spoke to Mya's mother," Erin told him. "She's on her way in for her interview."

"Where we at with the shell casings from the scene?" Hank asked.

"Firing pin signature doesn't match anything in the database, and no usable fingerprints," Amy replied. "Shooter was careful."

"Then we go back to basics. Check every camera we're linked to— CPD pods, commercial, residential surveillance. And run every in-service call that came in last night. I want to be briefed."

"Got it, boss," the Detectives replied before heading out of the office, passing Alvin where he leaned against the doorframe.

As they entered the bullpen, Erin pulled Jay aside to talk to him, and Amy went to her desk.

She decided to check CPD pods and surveillance, like Hank had asked them to do. Hopefully something would turn up. Amy made some calls, while Erin talked to Mya's mother.

Hank entered the bullpen just as Amy got off the phone. "Get a hit off the pods?"

"Not yet," Amy said. "CPIC's gonna extend the review radius to another six blocks."

Jay walked in, holding a folder. "Patrol responded to a hit-and-run collision a half mile from our crime scene last night. Call came in minutes after Mya was killed."

Alvin was leaning against Jay's desk. "Driver in a hurry to get lost."

"Partial plate narrowed it down to a Nathan Hughes in Wicker Park."

Hank glanced between him and Amy. "Hit it." Jay put the folder on his desk, before following Amy toward the exit.

The two Detectives didn't get much from this visit. They talked to Nathan's daughter and found out it was her car— that it was towed two days prior. It was better than nothing.

They informed Hank, before starting the drive back to the district. "Lindsay got a job offer," Jay said. She turned to him. "Steve Kot made her the offer."

"She got a job offer from ASA Steve Kot?" There was a hint of surprise in her voice.

Jay nodded. "On a task force. She is considering it."

Amy looked away, slowly nodding, trying to wrap her head around it. She tried to compare their unit to this task force— what it could possibly entail. "That's a big decision to make."

"It is." He glanced at her briefly.

They soon arrived at the district and got back to work. Hank and Alvin had gotten a lot more from their visit to the car lot, which turned out to be useful.

"The tow clerk rented the car to Omar Martel," Amy announced, walking up to the whiteboard, Jay trailing behind her. She put the photo on the whiteboard, as Hank and Alvin exited the office. "Martel was detained with Tucker at MCC until a few months ago."

Hank stood by his office door with Alvin. "Bingo."

"He used to run a stick-up crew ripping off dealers and killing them for fun." Jay handed out documents to Hank and Alvin. "Right. Now all of his boys are either dead or in jail, so he's branched out to murder. Last known address is on west 23rd and Pilsen."

"And Grant's cell phone records show him pinging a tower near Martel's house two days before Mya was killed," Amy concluded. She pointed at the picture on the whiteboard. "This is our shooter."

Hank nodded. "Beautiful. All right, let's roll out."

The unit quickly headed down to the garage and geared up, before moving out.

They quickly arrived to the house and Amy was the first to reach the door, a rifle in her hands.

Hank stopped her before she could kick the door open. "Hold on." He knocked on the door lightly, which was drowned by the music coming from inside. "Chicago police," Hank muttered.

The Sergeant moved out of the way and Amy kicked the door open. One after one, they followed her inside the house, clearing each room.

"Clear!" Amy gripped the rifle tight in her hands, slowly making her way up the stairs. They made it up to the second floor.

She moved her weapon to the right. "Clear." There was nobody there.

Jay moved past her to get into the next room, when a woman appeared in front of him, out of nowhere. He quickly grabbed her and put his hand over her mouth before she could scream and alert their suspect.

"Nod your head yes or no," Jay told her. "Is he back there?" The woman nodded rapidly. After making sure she'd be quiet, they moved her out of harms way and kept moving.

The Detectives continued down the hall. Jay signaled for Amy to continue forward while he went into the room to the right.

Jay walked into the room where Omar was. He was standing in front of the mirror, and after a moment, he caught Jay's reflection. He grabbed the clothes on the desk and threw them at the Detective, thinking that somehow would get him out of this situation.

Omar grabbed a knife and started swinging it at Jay, who backed away. Jay grabbed a shirt nearby, and when Omar swung at him again, he wrapped it around his wrist and tried to get the knife away. They struggled for a while before Jay elbowed him in the face.

Jay pulled Omar from the wall. The moment he did, Amy stepped into the room and drove a punch into his stomach. Omar doubled over and hit the floor.

Hank and Erin walked in. "What the hell y'all want?" Omar asked, clearly upset.

Hank walked up to him. "Tough guy, huh?" He stepped on Omar's stomach, which caused him to let out a pained groan. "You think you're hard? killing a child? Listen to me. This can go down a lot of different ways. But only one of them ends well for you."

Alvin approached the door, holding a phone. "Hey, Voight."

Hank kept his eyes on Omar. "I'm busy."

"It's Antonio."

Hank looked at Omar for a moment before backing away. "You got nothing on me," Omar remarked.

"We'll see about that." Jay grabbed Omar, turned him on his stomach, and cuffed him. With him in custody and Tucker's confession, they were able to close the case that night.

After clearing the whiteboard, Amy sat at her desk. She grabbed a black notebook from the drawer and opened it to a new page. Picking up the photo of the child victim, Amy glued it to the white paper, writing her name and date of death underneath.

It was something she did, something she had done since she became a cop. A book to remember the victims— the reason they did their job. That and the book of people she had saved.

They were reminders.

Amy heard him before he spoke. "You still here?" Kevin slowly entered the bullpen, looking over at the Detective. His face was bruised.

"I'm leaving soon." His eyes landed on the notebook and was able to get a glimpse before she closed it. She could see he was surprised by it, but didn't mention it. "Mya's mom is downstairs."

IT WAS EARLY WHEN Amy met with Jay in the boxing gym— way too early. But she needed these lessons, because of her shoulder. Also, it was empty, which was perfect.

The radio played quietly in the background. A fan overhead pushed cold air down into the room. Amy sat cross-legged on the mat, working the bandages onto her shoulder.

The tank top with the thick sleeves didn't help. That, and the hour, had her irritated.

Jay stood nearby, finishing his water. He lowered the bottle as he noticed her expression. "Need help with that?"

She let out a huff. "Yeah," she muttered.

He chuckled under his breath, setting the bottle on the bench. Amy got to her feet just as he stepped in.

"When do you wear these?"

"When I'm awake." She pulled her sleeve up toward herself to give him room. "I don't wear them when I sleep."

He placed the first bandage. "What exactly do they do?"

"They support my shoulder, take some of the pressure off." Jay nodded and reached for the next.

The first sat lower, wrapped across her upper arm and the base of her shoulder. The second went higher— laid over the top of her shoulder and pulled across toward her neck, tightening the joint.

Amy stayed still, shifting the fabric out of his way. Jay paused with the last bandage. "Lift your arm." She did without hesitation.

He wrapped it carefully, starting high at the shoulder and upper arm, bringing it underneath before pulling it back across to secure the joint.

"Thanks," she said once he was done, adjusting her strap. He shot her a small smile and moved toward the bag.

Amy stepped onto the mat and flexed her hands once inside the wraps. Jay was already holding the bag when she moved in, settling into stance without needing instruction.

She struck first— clean, controlled. The bag shifted, and he adjusted automatically. "You've been training with Antonio," he said after a few beats.

Amy didn't stop moving. "Yeah." She glanced at him, slowing the punches. "How did you know?"

"The technique you're using."

"Ah." She gave a short nod and picked up her punches again.

Jay held steady as her rhythm settled. "He teaching you to hit or just to look impressive doing it?"

Amy let out a chuckle. "Both, apparently."

"Hm." He shifted slightly. "Explains a lot."

She shot him a look. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"That you're getting better," he said simply.

She worked through another short combination. The pace stayed controlled, but there was a sharper edge now. After a moment, he spoke again. "Your aunt got arrested."

Amy didn't pause, only gave a small nod. "Yeah." She slowed just enough to catch her breath. "Hopefully it sticks this time."

A small smile tugged at his lips. "They'd be idiots not to tighten security."

She stepped back, brushing loose strands of hair from her face. "I don't want to think about her anymore." She caught her breath. "She's locked up. It's done."

Jay nodded once. "Alright."

He lowered the bag, giving her a second. Amy rolled her shoulder, testing the support. It held. She grabbed her water, took a quick sip, and set it back down.

"You good?" Jay asked.

"Yeah." She stepped forward again. "I'm good." This time she didn't ease into it.

The first hit came harder. Jay braced. She followed with another, then another— faster now, more focused. The rhythm shifted— sharper, tighter.

Jay didn't interrupt. He just held steady.

After a few beats, Amy slowed again, just enough to reset her stance. "You ever write?" she asked, more casually this time.

Jay glanced at her. "Write what?"

She hesitated, thinking through how to phrase it, then shrugged. "Nadia said she writes. That it helps her."

Jay adjusted his grip slightly. "Helps with what?"

Amy huffed softly. "Everything, I guess."

He thought about that. "Yeah... I've heard that." He shifted his stance. "You can't really say it out loud, so you just... write it instead." A pause. "Keeps it to yourself."

Amy didn't answer right away. "I tried," she said after a moment.

Jay looked at her. "Yeah?"

She shrugged. "Just sat there." Another hit. "Nothing came to mind."

Jay watched her for a second. "Nothing at all?"

Amy shook her head. "No words. Just... nothing." Her timing slipped. She stepped back and let the bag settle. "Switch."

Jay stepped in, catching the bag as it slowed. Amy moved behind it, bracing it with both hands. "Don't go easy," she said.

"I won't." He started controlled, the bag pushing into her grip. She held it steady. "You're overthinking it," he said between strikes.

"I'm not thinking anything. That's the problem." Another hit.

"Then write that."

She frowned. "Write what?"

"That nothing's coming to mind."

Amy steadied the bag. "That sounds pointless."

"Maybe." Another strike. "Still something."

She didn't respond. The rhythm settled again. Amy adjusted her footing as the bag pushed back.

"Feels like I should have something to say."

Jay slowed just enough to reset. "It'll come."

Amy didn't answer. She just held the bag steady as he picked up again, tightening her grip as it pushed back into her hands. 

After their boxing session, they showered and got ready. It was still too early to go to work, so they went to a diner.

The place was quiet at that hour— half-empty, mostly early regulars and people killing time before the day actually started. They slid into a booth.

The woman behind the counter noticed them almost immediately and came over with a warm smile, wiping her hands on her apron as she reached the table.

"Hey, you two." They greeted the older woman back. "You know," she said, leaning lightly on the edge of the booth, "we got this syrup shipped out last week, all the way from Vermont. It's really good. Would you like to try it out?"

Jay shook his head, briefly glancing at Amy. "No, thanks."

Amy followed a beat later. "We're good."

"The usual?"

"That'd be great," Jay said.

"Yeah," Amy added.

"Alright," the woman said with a smile. She straightened up and turned back toward the counter to put the order in.

Amy's gaze shifted to the window, watching a few cars pass outside. "Vermont," Jay said, drawing her attention. A small smile pulled at his lips.

"That's where the best syrup is from," she replied. "I've heard."

He nodded slightly. "Here you go, you two." The waitress came over with two cups of coffee and set them down in front of them.

"Thanks," Amy muttered, taking hers.

"Thank you," Jay said, picking his up a moment later. The waitress smiled and turned back toward the counter. He took a sip once she was gone.

He let out a hum, almost like he remembered something. "You know what, I know what you could journal about."

Her hand hovered near her mouth, the cup of coffee in her hand. She frowned slightly. "What?"

"Uhh, you could write about what a great partner I am." He tried to come off as serious, but a grin broke out on his face, betraying him.

She let out a chuckle, lowering her hand and putting the cup down. "Oh, yeah." Amy nodded along. "I could, but that would be a short entry," she added with a smile.

He stared back at her, wanting to seem offended— although, he wasn't. "Ouch," he muttered. His response got another quiet chuckle out of her, as she looked down at her coffee and his eyes lingered on her.

When she looked up again, he glanced away.

"It beats sitting in an office with some suit, so I'll figure it out." Amy let out a small sigh, as the waitress walked up to their booth again.

"Here you go." The waitress set the plates down in front of them.

"Thanks," Amy said.

"Thank you," Jay added. The waitress smiled and moved back toward the counter.

They started eating in silence for a moment, the usual rhythm settling back in.

Amy worked through her plate slowly, methodical, cutting the eggs into smaller pieces before eating.

Jay took a few bites, then glanced briefly at her plate before speaking, casual. "Protein is good after a workout."

She didn't look up right away. "Yeah," she said simply, continuing to eat.

They ate in a steady silence after that, finishing their coffee and plates without much more conversation.

When they were done, Jay left cash on the table. They headed out a moment later. The diner door closed behind them, and they made their way toward work.

When they entered the bullpen, Erin and Nadia were standing by Antonio's desk, mid-conversation.

"What's up?" Jay asked, picking up on the tension.

Erin turned to them. "Voight's not here. He's not answering his phone." She set what she was holding down on her desk. "I'm gonna go over there."

She looked to Amy. "You mind coming with me?"

"No," Amy replied, already moving to follow her.

The drive was quiet at first, the engine the only sound between them. Erin kept her eyes on the road, hands tight on the wheel. "He always answers," she said after a moment. "Or he calls back."

Amy didn't respond right away.

Erin glanced at her briefly before looking forward again. "And if he's not here, he usually tells someone. Jay, me... someone."

"He might've stepped out," Amy said.

Erin shook her head slightly. "Without his phone?" There was a beat of silence. "That's not like him."

Amy watched the street ahead, expression steady. "There's a reason for it."

Erin let out a quiet breath, almost frustrated. "Yeah, but what reason makes him not pick up?"

Amy didn't look at her. "We don't know yet." Another silence settled, heavier this time.

Erin's grip tightened again for a second before she forced it to loosen. "I just don't like it," she muttered.

Amy nodded once. "You don't have to." There was another brief pause. "Just don't jump to conclusions before we know what's actually going on."

Erin didn't answer right away. "...Yeah," she said after a moment, quieter now. The rest of the drive passed with less talking before she pulled over.

They stepped out of the car. As Amy shut the door, her eyes landed on the car by the sidewalk. "His car is here." That was weird.

She lingered behind Erin as they approached the front door. When they knocked on the door, there was no response.

Erin reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a key. Amy's attention shifted immediately, and Erin caught it. "I'm his favorite."

Amy stood by as Erin unlocked the door, then slipped the key back into her jacket as she stepped inside.

"Hank?" Erin called out.

Amy followed her in. "Sergeant?" She moved with Erin into the first room ahead.

A table sat in the middle, one of the chairs knocked over. Amy's eyes lifted toward the open entrance beyond it. "Back door."

They pulled out their guns as they moved into the kitchen. Erin's gaze dropped almost immediately to something on the floor. "Phone."

The cellphone was broken, pieces scattered near the counter. The back was empty.

Erin didn't hesitate. She moved toward the basement door and opened it, starting down the stairs carefully.

Amy stayed close behind. "Blood," Erin called.

It wasn't much, just a small smear along the floor near the bottom step, but it was enough. They reached the basement and slowed, taking it in. The hole in the wall stood out immediately. Amy's gaze moved over it, then back to Erin.

Erin didn't say anything, but the worry was there— clear in the way she looked at it, at the space, at everything that didn't make sense.

"We'll find him," Amy said. She holstered her gun and pulled out her phone, already dialing.

It rang once. "Jay," she said, steady. "Grab everyone and get to Voight's house. We've got a situation."

It didn't take long for the unit to arrive at the house.

"There are signs of struggle. We have a smashed phone, a chair on the floor. Also, the backdoor was open," Amy explained to the Detectives as they moved through the house. They stopped by the kitchen entrance. "The two cups on the table suggests that there was a second person here."

Antonio looked at the kitchen table, where he saw a cup of coffee and a cup of tea. "Voight's not the only one who got snatched."

The team split up and started searching the house.

Adam and Alvin went to the basement. Kevin and Antonio moved toward the back. Jay and Erin stayed in the kitchen with Amy.

She stepped closer to the table, glancing at the cup of tea— studying it. "There was a woman here."

Erin raised an eyebrow, looking at her. "Because of the tea?"

Amy shook her head slightly. "The lipgloss on the rim of the cup." This caused the other Detectives to pause and turn to each other in surprise.

"Hey," Antonio stepped inside. "Voight's got cameras outside."

"In the back?"

Antonio nodded. "Yeah."

Amy was already shifting focus. "Then we don't need to test the cup."

They headed back to the district soon after, where Amy took responsibility for reviewing the footage. She sat at her desk and pulled up the video from the back of the house.

She took screenshots, printed them out, and marked the timestamps.

The unit gathered as she started the briefing. "Voight had cameras at the front and back doors," Amy began, placing the photos onto the whiteboard as she spoke. "A young woman arrived at the house at 7:00 a.m. At 7:30, two unknown offenders entered through the back."

She turned to face the team.

"We can't confirm if Voight or the woman let them in. Five minutes later, the woman was seen leaving. One of the men escorted her back inside. And ten minutes after that, they exited through the back with Voight. He appears to be unconscious."

A beat of silence settled over the room. "We've got to put out an all-call and start a city-wide search," Jay said, his arms crossed.

Amy had her doubts about that— knowing Voight wouldn't want it out in the open. Alvin clearly felt the same.

"No," he said, standing by his desk behind Jay. "Because we don't know what Voight was into. We're bringing him home safe. We keep this in-house."

He glanced around the room. "Now— the girl is Olive Morgan. She's someone Justin dated when he was in town."

Erin nodded slightly. "Yeah, I remember her from back in the day. I wouldn't peg her for this."

"We need to run her through every database we've got," Antonio added. "See if her phone's active, get her family, credit cards. She could be connected to these two, whoever they are."

Jay frowned. "Connected? She could've set it up."

"For what it's worth," Kevin said, "Ruzek doesn't think they're local. He's trying something else."

It turned out Adam was on the right track. As the unit worked the leads, he came back with an ID. "Alright, the little guy," he spoke, putting a photo on the whiteboard. "Ian Marks. LKA came back Denver."

He had given the name to Jay already, who did some digging. "I ran his name through the face the nation database," Jay spoke. "His whole family's nothing but crooks. No match on the partner."

Antonio leaned on his desk, frustrated they hadn't gotten further. "The head of this unit's missing four hours already. We need more."

Nadia walked up and handed him a sheet of paper. "Detective."

Antonio frowned. "Cell phone towers?"

Adam turned away from the whiteboard. "That was fast."

"I flirted with the girl at U.S. Cellular," Nadia said.

Erin looked at Nadia. "Over the phone?"

"Yeah."

Antonio handed the paper to Amy, who scanned the content. "Idiot pinged a local tower. Looks like Marks called his family back in Denver."

Erin scoffed lightly. "Can't be that stupid."

"You choose Voight as a target," Jay said, "you can't be that smart."

Amy leaned on her desk, already typing on her keyboard. "I'll triangulate the pings and get a location."

Alvin nodded slightly. "I'll get the arrest warrant."

By the time the unit geared up, Amy had the location. Jay handed her a vest as they moved out. She put it on quickly, sending the coordinates to the team. They rolled out immediately.

They arrived at the house within minutes.

Kevin kicked the door open and the unit moved in. Amy went first, gun raised.

"The girl!" Hank yelled out. "The girl! The girl!"

Amy pushed forward and reached the room first. Hank was on the floor, blood on his face.

Olive was in worse condition— tied to a chair, a plastic bag over her head, tape over her mouth. Amy holstered her weapon instantly and crossed the room, ripping the plastic away and removing the tape.

She lightly patted the younger woman's cheek until she stirred. Erin moved in to check on Hank.

It took Olive a moment to register what was happening. When she finally came to, Amy pulled out a knife and cut her loose.

"They were—" Olive gasped, panicked. "They were gonna kill the baby. They said— they said they were gonna kill the baby."

She was shaken up, but she insisted that she was fine and didn't need a hospital. Hank was just as stubborn. After speaking with Olive alone for a moment, Amy moved on to Hank.

He was standing in the hallway with Erin, insisting he was fine and assuring her he'd get checked out later. Amy held out a water bottle, which he was quick to turn down. "I'm good."

Her gaze didn't waver, her hand still extended. Hank knew she wasn't going to back down. He took the water.

"She won't say much," she told them, as he sipped the water. "But she did say she's met Ian before."

Hank closed the bottle and nodded slightly, anger flashing in his eyes. "I'll talk to her." He moved past the Detectives and toward the younger woman.

Amy stepped back and moved to the dresser, resting her hand lightly against the edge as the rest of the unit gathered in the hallway.

For a moment, no one spoke.

Antonio shifted his weight, glancing toward the other room, where Hank and Olive were. Kevin stood beside him, arms folded, eyes fixed ahead. Erin lingered closer to the wall, trying to listen to the conversation between their Sergeant and the younger woman. Alvin remained a few steps back, steady, watching the room more than the door.

Amy stayed where she was, posture relaxed but alert.

Jay took the spot next to her, his arms crossed. "She say anything?" His voice was low.

"She's met Ian before," Amy said, matching his tone. "That's all she gave me. Voight might get more out of her."

Jay nodded once. "Hope so."

A quiet beat settled over the hallway.

Hank moved out from the room where Olive was, already mid-conversation, cutting it short as he stepped into the hall. "I want everyone back at the district digging into Ian Marks," he said. "Alvin and I are talking to Olive's friend. Move out."

There was no pushback. The unit turned and headed out.

////

OLIVE'S FRIEND, Josie, was a dead-end.

Hank and Alvin talked to her, but weren't able to get anything useful. The team had followed every lead they could, but none of it pointed to the second offender.

Amy sat at her desk, trying to look for anything that could help them, but was coming up empty. The sound of her phone ringing cut through the silence. She picked it up. "Hughes."

"Hey," Marco answered. "I just wanted to let you know that your two robber friends came to my store today."

Her posture shifted almost imperceptibly—shoulders straightening, attention narrowing as the words landed. Her eyes lifted slightly from the desk.

"I told them I only accept card payments and they fell for it, just like you said they would," he continued.

"You got a name?"

"I did. I'll send it you right now." Marco hung up the call.

Amy kept her eyes on the phone and waited for the text, and then it came. 'Lukasz Gregorie.' Her hands moved to the keyboard, already typing his name on the search engine.

"I got a name," she announced, heads snapped in her direction, just as the results pupped up, which were disappointing. "Lukasz Gregorie is the second offender." She looked up from the screen. "No criminal record."

She leaned back on her chair, already thinking of ways to find him and reasons to bring him in. "How'd you get his name?" Erin asked.

"My CI," Amy answered. "He told me Gregorie and Marks were at his store today. He told them they only accept card payments and Gregorie fell for it."

Erin let out a small scoff, shaking her head, not believing that Gregorie would fall for that trick.

Amy glanced at Erin for a moment, then looked away without responding, eyes shifting to the whiteboard. Ian Marks' photo was pinned next to Olive's friend— both potential paths to Gregorie.

Josie hadn't given them anything useful. Marks still could.

A beat passed.

Then she reached for her phone and dialed Marco, who answered after the second ring. "Yeah?"

"I need a favor," she said, her voice low. "It's about Ian Marks and his family in Denver. Police over there are, let's say, investigating them. I need the word out."

There was a brief pause on the line— long enough for Marco to understand exactly what she was asking without her spelling it out.

"Got it," he said, before they hung up. Now, she had to wait.

Jay had been watching her quietly from his desk. After a moment, he got up, crossed the room, and took the seat next to her desk. "What was that?" he asked, keeping his voice low.

Amy didn't look up right away. "I'm reaching out to Ian."

Jay glanced at her. "How?"

"Through his family in Denver. He risked calling them after the abduction," she said, a small shrug. "Figured he cares."

He gave a slight nod, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Smart. You think it'll work?"

She paused for a moment. "Everything about him says it might." A beat. "Doesn't mean it will."

"Tell me we got something," Hank's voice cut through the room as he walked in, Alvin trailing behind him.

"We got the name of the second offender," Amy said, looking over at him. "Lukasz Gregorie."

"He doesn't have a criminal record," Jay added. "It's not going to be easy to track him down."

Hank glanced between the two Detectives, before shifting his attention to the rest of the unit. Nodding slightly to himself, he knew they weren't getting further tonight.

He could tell some of them were tired. "We're done for today," Hank said. "Go home, get some rest. We'll hit it again in the morning."

No one pushed back.

The unit started packing up, chairs shifting, quiet movement filling the bullpen.

Amy grabbed her jacket. Jay did the same, falling into step beside her as they headed out.

////

IT WAS FOUR IN THE morning when Amy and Jay were driving to the gym. Knowing she had a Red Bull waiting for her back at the apartment was the only thing keeping her going.

She sat in the passenger seat, glancing out the window as he drove. The streets were almost empty. They went over the plan, talked through it again. She told him she was ready to train without the bandages— at least, try to.

In the back of her mind, though, Amy kept circling back to Ian. To how he might react to the plan she'd set in motion.

Her phone ringing brought her out of her thoughts and she picked it up almost immediately. "Hughes."

"Ian just left my store," Marco's panicked voice said.

Amy's posture slightly changed as she glanced at Jay, who noticed the shift and looked back at her. "What happened?"

"The plan worked and he's pissed," Marco explained. "I did as you told me. I said the word came from you and now he wants to meet you. It was a bad idea to give him your name, I shouldn't have—"

"No, it was the right thing to do," Amy interrupted him, firmly. "Did he mention where and when he wanted to meet?"

Jay glanced over at her, trying to piece together the conversation, a flicker of frustration in his expression. "At my store," Marco told her. "In three hours."

After the brief phone conversation, Amy turned to her partner to tell him everything. "Ian wants to meet me at Marco's store in three hours."

His face dropped. "He wants to meet you? Why?"

"He knows I put the word out about his family and probably wants to confront me," she shrugged lightly. "He's not the smart one between the two and he could be erratic."

"I'll be there," Jay responded without hesitation. "I'll be close."

"Do we tell Voight?" There was a brief pause as they thought it over. "He'd want to involve the unit and that could be risky."

"We can say we have a lead involving Marks and we are following that lead."

Amy nodded slightly. "Yeah, that could work."

Three hours later, she walked into Marco's store, Jay staying close.

Marco was already inside, standing near the counter but not really settled there. He looked like he'd been that way for a while— shoulders tight, eyes flicking to the door every few seconds like he expected it to break open on its own.

Amy noticed it immediately, but didn't match his energy. She stayed calm, letting her eyes move through the space once— front windows, corners, exits— before she looked back at him.

"It's fine," she said quietly. "Just do what you did before. Keep it simple."

Marco gave a small nod, but it didn't take the edge off him. The store felt too still after that. Even the hum of the street outside seemed distant.

Amy shifted slightly as she stepped closer to the counter, her injured shoulder reminding her with a dull pull. She kept her movement controlled, careful— not favoring it, just adjusting without thinking too much about it.

Another second passed.

Then—

Glass exploded inward.

The first shot ripped through the front window. It happened fast.

Amy's body moved before the sound fully registered, instinct taking over. She grabbed Marco and yanked him down behind the counter, using her good arm while the other tightened on reflex— pain flashing through her shoulder as she pulled him.

"Down!" she snapped.

Another shot followed, tearing through the storefront where they'd just been standing. Marco hit the floor hard, breathing sharp and panicked.

Amy stayed low beside him, already shifting to cover, jaw tight as she pushed through the pain in her shoulder and reached for her weapon, as shots were fired at them.

She returned fire in controlled bursts, moving at the same time— using the counter as cover as she angled toward the side of the store where the shots were coming from. Her shoulder burned with every motion, a sharp reminder she couldn't afford to ignore, but she kept it steady.

Outside, Jay was in position, weapon drawn, returning fire from a better angle down the street. His shots forced Ian to shift, breaking his line of fire on the storefront.

Ian hesitated for a fraction of a second, then he turned his weapon toward Jay.

That window was enough and Amy moved.

She pushed forward from behind cover, closing the angle toward the front door as the glass fractured further around her. Pain spiked through her shoulder again, but she ignored it, locking in.

Ian was focused outside now— on Jay. Amy raised her weapon and fired through the glass door.

The shot hit its mark.

Ian went down hard, collapsing with a shout of pain, his weapon dropping beside him. The firing stopped almost immediately.

Jay moved in fast, covering the distance and securing Ian before he could recover, kicking the weapon away and bringing him under control. 

Amy stayed at the threshold for a second longer, breathing steady but controlled, weapon still raised until she confirmed it was over.

Only then did she lower it slightly, shoulder still aching as adrenaline started to fade. She locked eyes with Jay as he handcuffed Ian.

They both knew what came next.

Amy stepped forward, keeping her weapon trained for another second before holstering it. Ian was already struggling, cursing under his breath, pain setting in fast.

"Stay still," she said, firm.

She reached down, pulling his belt free in one quick motion and tightening it around his thigh, just above the wound. Ian tried to pull away, but Jay kept a firm grip on him.

The two Detectives hauled him to his feet. Jay didn't let go, dragging him toward the car.

Once Ian was in the cage, the door clanging shut behind him, they called Hank.

He arrived at the district already knowing about the shooting and the meet. He didn't say much when he walked in— just took in the room, the cage, Ian sitting inside with a wound wrapped at his thigh, still restrained and watchful.

Jay shifted like he was about to step in, ready to defend what they'd done and why they hadn't brought it to Hank sooner.

Hank saw it immediately and lifted a hand. "We're gonna talk later," he said flatly. "What do we have?"

Amy stepped in first. "Ian is willing to cooperate. He's going to call Gregorie and set up a meet." Hank's eyes stayed on her for a moment— not approving, not dismissive, just measuring. "We send in someone in his place, and once we've got Gregorie boxed in, we move in."

The Sergeant's brows furrowed slightly. "Why isn't Ian going to the meet?"

"If Gregorie sees him wounded," Jay said, arms loosely crossed, "he's going to clock something's off. We lose him."

"We talked about sending Ruzek," Amy added.

Hank nodded slowly. "I'm calling the unit. Set up the meet." He turned and walked out.

Chicago Boat Tours was already active when they arrived.

Amy and Jay blended in quickly, taking a small table near the walking path like any other pair of tourists waiting for a ride. Casual clothes, relaxed posture— nothing that drew attention. Just another couple in the crowd.

From there, Amy's eyes moved constantly without seeming like it. Dock entrances. Foot traffic. Sightlines.

And Adam.

He was further down the walkway, hood up, positioned exactly where he needed to be— still, waiting, unremarkable.

Jay leaned back slightly in his chair. "Can't believe I haven't been here before. It's nice." His eyes were on her as he spoke.

She glanced at him, mostly keeping her attention on their surroundings. "Yeah, it's not bad."

He leaned on the table, not looking away, a faint smile on his face. "We could come here, you know. On a day off."

Amy finally looked at him, longer than a second this time, like she was actually considering it. "Maybe." When she turned her attention away this time, a familiar figure caught her attention. "He's here."

Jay turned and saw him too. He pressed the button on his radio on the table to alert the unit, "target is here."

Gregorie scanned the area once, then again, more focused now— until his attention locked onto the grey hoodie down the walkway.

Adam didn't move.

Gregorie started forward.

Slow at first. Measured. Then more certain as Adam turned and began walking, pulling away from the busiest part of the dock.

"Now," Amy said quietly. They stood at the same time.

Jay moved right, blending into the flow of people. She went left, taking a wider angle, eyes locked on Gregorie.

No rush. No noise. Just control.

Gregorie followed Adam past the densest part of the crowd, the sound of tourists fading as they moved closer to the edge of the dock area.

Amy picked up her pace, and so did Jay.

They passed Gregorie from opposite sides— just two people moving through a busy space— and then slowed again behind him.

Amy stepped into his path abruptly, cutting him off. Gregorie stopped instantly, eyes snapping to her, confusion flashing across his face.

Behind him, Jay was already there. "Don't move," he said, gun drawn, steady.

Gregorie turned slightly, trying to reassess— and froze again as Amy closed the distance without hesitation. She didn't give him time to reset.

"Hands behind your back," she said.

For a moment, he resisted— just enough to test it. Then the cuffs clicked into place.

Adam arrived seconds later, stopping as he took in the scene.

Gregorie didn't speak. He just looked past Amy and Jay— and smirked when his eyes landed on Hank.

Hank walked over slowly, face unreadable, eyes locked on him. He ignored Gregorie entirely and reached down, picking up the black bag where it had fallen.

"Move," Amy said, giving Gregorie a push. She and Jay dragged him away.

////

AMY SAT AT HER APARTMENT table with a notebook open in front of her, the page still mostly blank. The apartment was quiet in a way that felt heavier after a day like this, like everything had finally stopped moving and she was expected to catch up with it.

She held a pen loosely between her fingers, staring at the empty space for a long time before she wrote anything at all. When she finally did, the letters came slowly, uneven.

'I don't know what to say.'

She exhaled through her nose, almost frustrated with the simplicity of it, like even that felt like failure. The pen stayed hovering above the page for a moment before she added more underneath.

'Writing is harder than I thought it would be.'

That made her pause again. She leaned back slightly in her chair, eyes flicking over the words as if she expected them to change or make more sense if she looked long enough.

They didn't.

Her gaze dropped back to the page, and this time she didn't write immediately. The hesitation lingered longer than the words themselves. Eventually, she started again, slower now, more careful.

'I've been thinking about telling Jay something.'

Her hand stopped there.

The sentence sat unfinished, heavier than the rest. She stared at it for a while, thumb brushing lightly against the edge of the pen as if that small motion could push her forward. But she didn't add anything else.

Not yet.

TWO WEEKS LATER.

APRIL WAS LYING ON THE HOSPITAL BED. SHE WOKE UP AN HOUR AGO AND WAS ALREADY BEING questioned by the police. She was connected to tubes and one machine. Bonnie told her doctors about her alcohol problem, so they didn't give her anything for the pain. "Who shot you?"

"I don't know," April mumbled; her voice was hoarse. She was too weak to raise her voice right now.

"You don't know?" April shook her head weakly. "You don't know the person who shot you?" April shook her head again. The police officer scoffed. "How could you not know?"

"Hey, what about you do this later?" Frank walked in. "She just woke up."

"We are just asking some basic questions."

"Not anymore." They had a little stare-off before the police officers left the room. Frank sat down on the chair. "How you holding up, red?"

"I've been better," she mumbled. "What about Annalise?"

"She was discharged this morning."

April nodded slightly. "And the others?"

"They'll be fine."

April sighed. "How long do I have to be here?"

"At least another day, considering you just woke up."

"I can't stay here. I don't like hospitals."

"Well, that's too bad, red. Because you have to."

"I have things to do."

"Like what?" Frank raised a brow at her.

"... stuff. Like, cancel my flight."

"I'll do it. You just lay here, relax and get better."

April sighed. "Fine."

"I mean it," Frank pointed at her like a disapproving father.

April nodded. "I know, and I will."

"Good."

////

APRIL WALKED INTO THE PRECINCT COVERED IN BLOOD— SHE WAS SHAKING AND CRYING. All eyes turned to her. "H-h-h-h-h-he's d-d-dead," she stuttered.

"Ma'am," a woman approached her. "Deep breathes. Who is dead?"

"M-m-m-my- m-my husband," she cries. "I-I-I killed him." She started sobbing. "I killed him."

April woke up, and she couldn't breathe, which was what must have woken her up. Her pillow was smothered against her face, stopping her air supply. She tried to fight back as she gasped for air, ignoring the pain in her neck and chest. The person had a strong hold on her, and April was getting weaker by the second. Her body grew weaker and weaker until she was unconscious again.

////

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?" FRANK ASKED when he entered the hospital and saw Anthony talking to a doctor.

Anthony turned to Frank. "I'm doing my job."

"You can ask questions when she isn't lying in a hospital bed."

"We're trying to find whoever is responsible."

Frank hummed. "Even if she talks now, it'll take you forever to find the guy. So, it wouldn't hurt to wait till she is discharged." He walked away before he could get a response. He reached April's room and was confused when he saw that she wasn't there. "Excuse me?" He called out to a nurse. "Where is Coleman?"

"In her room," the nurse answered. Frank left immediately, without a word.

"We're locking the door now?" Frank asked when Bonnie opened the door.

"Did you bring them?" She ignored his question.

"Yeah." He gave her an orange bottle of pills. "Just promise me you're not gonna use them to kill her."

"Frank..." Bonnie trailed off as she stepped out of the house.

"Like that's a crazy question anymore. At least let me see her."

"She's high on Vicodin and walking around with no pants."

"What about the hearing?" He shook his head before she can answer. "Never mind that. We have a problem."

Bonnie frowned. "What is it?

"I think School President was kidnapped."

"What?!" Bonnie's eyes went wide.

Frank shushed her. "I'm dealing with it. I came to get my laptop. It's in there," he gestured to the house.

"Why do you need your laptop?"

"... April showed me some hacking. There are cameras in the hospital. Can you get it?"

"Isn't hacking illegal?" Bonnie crossed her arms.

"Yeah. And so is murder." Bonnie paused before she went into the house to get the laptop.

Frank entered the police precinct and went up to Anthony, who looked confused to see him. "April was kidnapped."

Anthony looked shocked by his words. "What-"

"Not now," Frank interrupted him. "I know where she is. We don't have time. I need your help."

"Okay," Anthony nodded. "Let's get her."

////

"LOOK WHO'S FINALLY AWAKE" WAS THE FIRST THING APRIL HEARD WHEN SHE WOKE UP. It took a few seconds for her eyes to adjust to the light, and when they did, she saw Matt's father standing in front of her. April quickly realized that she was tied to a chair.

"Y-you shot me?" She asked, her voice weak. April looked around. "Where are we?"

"Oh, this?" Howard grinned. "This is where I work. It's a meat factory— also known as a slaughterhouse."

"Did you shoot me?"

Howard scoffed. "You're the reason my son's killer is out there. It's your fault. What did you expect me to do?"

"Anything but this."

He scoffed again. "You deserve to die, Coleman. I was furious when I found out you survived. You should be dead."

"Then aim higher this time," she scoffed. "It's not my fault you're a bad shot."

Howard glared at her before taking out a knife. "I'm taking my time," he smirked. "I'm not letting you go off easy. Maybe I'll let you bleed out right here."

"And then what, Howard?" She muttered. "What are you going to do with my body? The hospital was filled with cameras, and I bet one caught your face."

Howard's smirk dropped for a moment before reappearing. "I don't care because at least you'll be dead."

April let out a bitter chuckle. "Just like your son."

His smirk dropped and was replaced with an angry frown. "You bitch!" Howard stepped up to her in an attempt to scare her, but she didn't budge— instead, she maintained eye contact, which frightened him a little bit. He brought his knife to her cheek— on her other cut, which had just healed. When Howard slid the blade across her cheek, April closed her eyes and didn't make a sound no matter much it hurt. "You're strong; I'll give you that."

"You're not gonna get away with this," April mumbled.

"Except I will," Howard smirked. He brought up the knife again, just underneath the first one— making another cut.

Howard shook his head as he stared down at April— his arms folded and a smirk on his face. He had made over ten minor cuts on her face, and she was bloodied— and she was awake, which disappointed him. "Are you tired?"

April weakly shook her head. "Sleepy? No. Tired of your bullshit? Yes."

Howard scoffed before trailing around her— like a wolf hunting its next meal. When he kneeled in front of her, and when he put his hand on her thigh, it triggered all the alarms in her head, and she tried to wiggle out of his touch but was unable to do so considering she was tied up. This caused him to laugh. "I think I know your weakness."

"Get off of me," it took her a lot of strength to raise her voice at him. He continued to rub his hand up and down her thigh. She gulped when he looked right at her.

"I never believed any of that crap about your husband, but maybe I was wrong," he chuckled— almost sounding like a villain in a movie. April looked at him, and a little part of her was scared— and she couldn't help but see Nicholas's face when she looked at Howard. She knew she had to get away from there and do everything she could to achieve that. Her legs weren't tied up, so April lift her leg between his legs, so her foot made contact with his groin.

Howard was surprised by her actions while she was trying to keep up her act— and not give in to the side that wanted to break down and cry. He looked at her and tilted his head to the side. She mimicked him and tilted her head. "I bet you've never screwed a murderer." April gave him a weak smirk.

"You'd be right about that," he responded, maintaining eye contact while her foot was playing with his genitalia.

"How long has it been since you did it with your wife?" She could feel him getting hard under her touch.

"It's been a while," he admitted as he let sex cloud his mind, and he seemed to be forgetting what he was there to do.

"Then take me," she whispered.

Howard didn't hesitate— he unzipped his pants and took them off along with his boxer shorts before untying her. April grabbed his shirt and pulled him towards her— connecting their lips in a messy kiss, which turned into a make-out session.

April was still wearing the hospital gown, so he had easy access. Howard groaned as he pushed his length into her— while she faked a moan to seem into it.

He started to thrust into her slowly as he continued to groan and moan— he obviously hadn't done this in a long time. His eyes were closed. April was looking behind him, not wanting to see his face, and she kept making fake sex noises, which he seemed to believe were real.

Howard started to thrust faster, and his moans got louder. April wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer to her. He rested his forehead on her shoulder.

April faked loud moans as she tried to reach for the knife in his pocket. She gripped into him with her other hand to really sell it.

"Oh god," he groaned. "I'm close." April managed to grab the knife. "I'm gonna-" she lodged the blade into his neck, not letting him finish. She watched as he choked on his own blood, and she let him fall to the ground.

////

FRANK AND ANTHONY ARRIVED AT THE MEAT FACTORY. THEY EXITED THE CAR AND APPROACHED THE BUILDING. "Stay behind me," Anthony told Frank as he takes out his gun.

They slowly entered the building— Frank trailing behind Anthony. It was silent, and they didn't know how long April had been there or if she was alive.

When they entered the main room, the first thing they saw was April lying on the ground and no one else in sight. Frank rushed over to her as Anthony continued to search the building.

Frank checked for a pulse and visibly relaxed when he found it. "April," he tried to shake her away. He lifted her when she didn't open her eyes. And he carried her out of the building bride-style.

"Frank?" April mumbled as she lifted her head from his shoulder. She looked weak and exhausted.

"Can you walk?" April nodded in return. He put her down. "We can't go back to the hospital. I've got clothes for you in the car. And we have to fix that up," he gestured to her face. She nodded again, which confused Frank.

"It's empty," Anthony said as he exited the building. "He can't be too far, though. The car is still here." He opened the trunk before turning to April. "Let me fix you up."

April didn't say anything and leaned against the trunk. Both men were confused by her silence, not knowing what had happened. She couldn't get herself to talk, not after remembering what she did. Every time she opened her mouth, she could feel the tears about to form and the lump in her throat growing.

"What now?"

"His wife will report him missing sooner or later," Anthony replied as he cleaned April's wounds with water— from a water bottle. "Where are you planning on taking her?"

Frank frowned. "Isn't she going with you?"

"How the hell am I going to explain this to my wife?"

"Sugarcoat it," Frank shrugged.

"Take her to your place."

"The kids are there right now, and I don't need them to worry."

"They're already worried."

"Don't you think I know that? They feel guilty, and the puppy won't stop asking about her."

Anthony sighed. "Then what?"

Frank paused to think. "We take her back to her place. It's not sold yet."

"So we take turns watching her?"

Frank shrugged. "Just over the night. I'll convince one of the kids to let her move in with them. Maybe the puppy or Prom Queen."

"Fine," Anthony agreed. He turned to April. "We can stitch your cuts at your place." She nodded before getting in the car— getting in the backseat.

Frank closed the trunk. "You think she killed him?"

"... yeah."

April was curled up on her couch. She was wearing sweatpants and a hoodie, her hair was in a messy bun, and she was wrapped in a blanket. She hadn't said a word since they found her. Anthony was watching her from the kitchen— he was on the phone with Frank. "I'm telling you," he spoke quietly into the phone, "she's not talking. I'm officially concerned."

"Maybe she just needs to be alone."

"You've met April. When she doesn't talk, something is wrong. Have you told anyone about this?"

"I told the kids that she was kidnapped and that's she's fine now. So they know what to expect."

Anthony nodded slightly. "That's good. I don't know what to expect either... I have never seen her like this."

"She'll be fine."

////

APRIL WAS STARTLED AWAKE BY THE SOUND OF SOMEONE BANGING ON HER FRONT DOOR. She groaned as she got off the couch where she slept. Anthony left at some point during the night.

She opened the door, and Bonnie was standing there. "Hey." April went back to the couch, and Bonnie walked in, closing the door. "Frank told me what happened."

"I'm sure," April whispered.

Bonnie slowly sat down, taking in April's appearance. Her hair was a mess, and she looked tired. She had a bandage around her neck where she had been shot. "Frank told me you didn't talk at all."

April nodded slowly. "I... needed time." She looked at Bonnie. "Did he tell you everything?" Bonnie nodded. "And how do you feel about that?"

"He tried to kill you, so as far as I'm concerned, you defended yourself. Annalise doesn't know that you were shot and that you were kidnapped. Are you comfortable telling me what happened in the slaughterhouse?"

"... it was bad, Bonnie. Not just bad, it was horrifying. What I did was horrifying. I'm sorry, but I can't tell you. I can't tell anyone."

Bonnie nodded. "I understand. Look, April, I know someone you could talk to. It's not good to keep it all bottled up."

"Therapy isn't my thing."

"I would definitely give it a try. This time actually think about it." April looked at her, confused. "I'm not an idiot, April."

"I just don't see how talking would work."

"Because you get it off your chest, and it'll make you feel a little better."

"I don't know," April mumbled.

"I know that we're not very close, but I'm here if you need anything. Get some more rest- I have some things to do but feel free to call me if you need anything. Alright?"

"Yeah." April nodded. "Thanks."

Bonnie took out her phone as she exited April's building. She dialed a number and held the cellphone against her ear. "It's worse than I thought."

////

APRIL HAD GOTTEN DRESSED AND WAS BRUSHING HER hair in front of the mirror. She had decided to go out to clear her head. When she heard the front door close, she almost dropped the hairbrush. April quickly grabbed her phone and texted Anthony, telling him that someone was in her apartment.

She slowly made her way to the living room, trying not to make any sound. When she reached the living room, she saw her mother. "What are you doing here?"

Karen turned to her with an angry expression. "You did this."

"What-"

"You killed Henry."

"I don't have time for this. You need to leave."

Karen glared at her daughter. "I loved him." She stepped closer to April. "I finally found the guy, and you had to ruin it."

"You need to leave."

Anthony walked in before Karen could say or do anything else. "I'm gonna ask you to leave, Karen." After some hesitation, Karen walked out. "Are you okay?" He closes the door.

April scoffed. "I'm fine." Anthony didn't look convinced. "I'm fine. You need to stop worrying."

"Stop worrying? Yesterday you didn't say a word. I still don't know what happened."

"Well, you don't have to know everything," April snapped at him. "I don't want to talk about what happened because it's too damn hard. Besides, I don't owe you an explanation, so..." she shrugged before sighing. "I can't talk about it. And I'm telling you that I'm fine, why can't that be enough?"

"... I care about you, April. So, obviously, I'm going to worry. It's just how it is. But you're right- you don't have to talk about if you don't want to, but you can."

April nodded as she makes her way to the couch. "Bad things keep happening... it's definitely karma."

Anthony chuckled lightly. "Probably."

"I just wanted a normal life, you know? Like you got."

Anthony sat down. "I get it. And it's not easy. It takes time."

"How much time? Because there are people out there who want me dead. My mom included."

"We will work this out, April."

"I know," she mumbled. "The sooner, the better, though."

"Yeah, I know."

Asher frowned at Frank, "soda? Don't you have something stronger?"

"I do, but April is coming." The others looked shocked by the news— none of them visited April at the hospital because they felt too guilty. "And she doesn't drink. It's either this or water, doucheface."

Asher looked disappointed. "Still going with that nickname?"

"Shouldn't she be resting, though?" Michaela asked, ignoring Asher's comment. "She was shot in two places. She's lucky to be alive."

"Look, she's on her feet, and Bonnie thought it would be a good idea to get her out of the apartment. Just don't ask her too many questions and don't stare at her face for too long."

Michaela frowned. "The scars," Laurel reminded her.

Bonnie entered along with April. "Sorry we're late."

"Take your seats," Frank told them. April sat next to Bonnie.

"Hey," Asher greeted April. "You okay?"

"... no, but... I'll be fine." She gave him a small smile, which he returned.

"A toast," Frank raised his glass. The others raised their drinks too. "We won for today," he glanced at April for a brief moment, "all of us. Salute."

"I HAVE TO ADMIT," KAREN SPOKE UP. "THIS HAS TO BE ONE of the best ideas you've had, April." She smiled.

April forced a smile. "I just thought it would be a good idea to move on. The past is in the past."

"You're right. And I'm glad you let me invite Henry. He was so happy when he heard you had invited him. And he hopes you will forgive him."

"All is forgiven," April lied. "As I said, the past is in the past."

Henry entered the kitchen. "Hey," he kissed Karen as April tried to stay calm.

"Hey, honey. April is here."

Henry waved at her awkwardly. "Hey."

"Hi," April greeted him back. She hated him— especially after what he did to Sheri. "So glad you could make it."

"Me too." Henry smiled. "I'm glad you've forgiven me, April- as I had a long time ago."

April hummed— resisting the urge to punch him. "Well, it was about time." She forced a smile.

"April came up with this idea. We're cooking, so how about you set the table, darling?"

Henry nodded. "Yeah. Sure. And I've got wine." He pointed at Karen, "your favorite."

"Aww," Karen gushed. "I love you."

"And I love you." He pulled her into a passionate kiss, and April tried not to gag. This was all too much, and she was regretting it already.

"Your mother suggested that we could move back to Virginia," Henry stated— smiling at Karen.

April looked at her mother, confused. "Why is that?"

"You're going back, and I still want us to be close," Karen explained.

April hummed. "Right."

"Are you friends with someone named Asher Millstone?" Henry asked April, breaking off her little stare-off with Karen

"He's my classmate," April replied. "Why?"

"It's all over the news. His father died."

April looked at Henry in surprise. "Judge Millstone is dead?"

Henry nodded. "Hanged himself."

April took out her phone and turned it on. She had many missed calls from Annalise especially. "Are you okay, honey?" Karen asked.

"Yeah," April nodded. "I'm fine."

She sent a text to Asher, short and straightforward: "Condolences.”

April looked up from her phone. "You should try my special sauce. It's got a secret ingredient."

"I'd love some."

////

"I KNOW WHAT YOU DID!!" WAS WHAT THE TEXT FROM HER MOTHER SAID— in all caps. April looked it over, but she didn't reply. Instead, she put the phone in her pocket and walked into the mansion.

Michaela kept sending her 911 texts, so April gave in and decided to see what was happening. She entered the living room, and she spotted Wes, Laurel, Connor, and Michaela sitting there. They looked freaked out, and there was a gun on the table.

"Usually when people hang out, they go out for dinner or a movie," this gained their attention, "while this is what we do." April sat down next to Laurel.

"Have you spoken to Asher?" Michaela asked.

April shook her head. "I texted him, but he didn't reply."

"Where have you been?"

"Is this why you sent me so many texts? To see where I have been? Please, just tell me what the hell is going on."

Before Michaela could respond, they heard a voice from someplace in the mansion- "I'm losing my grip." There was a thud.

"Asher?" Laurel spoke up, confused. Why would Asher be there? They got up and exited the living room- they were met with Annalise, Asher, and Bonnie standing over something that looked like a dead body

April shook her head immediately. "Hell no. I'm not doing this." She turned to leave.

"April!" Annalise called out to her— making her stop in her tracks. "Don't leave."

"Why not?"

"Who is that?" Michaela asked.

"Everyone, relax," Annalise told them. They started arguing. "That's Emily Sinclair."

"Someone killed her?

"It doesn't matter," Bonnie replied.

"I ran over her," Asher mumbled.

Bonnie turned to Asher. "It was an accident."

"And we're gonna make it look like even a bigger accident." The students started arguing immediately. "Just do what I say and ask questions later!" Annalise snapped at them.

"No," April broke the silence. She scoffed. "I'm not doing this again."

"I'm with April," Connor said. They turned to leave.

"They killed Sam, Asher." They stopped in their tracks and turned to their professor. They had shocked expressions on their faces— not believing that she would rat them out to Asher. "It wasn't Bonnie. She just said that to protect them. But Sam attacked Rebecca, and they killed Sam. And I've been covering for them the whole time. And now they're going to help cover for you."

"Why are you doing this to us?" Michaela asked, freaked out.

"Because all of this- everything that's happened- Sinclair coming after me, using Asher, now this... it all started with what the five of you did! Now, let's get to work!"

"I called Emily Sinclair here to show her the gun and this photo," Annalise laid the picture down on the table. "And that's when Catherine came home unexpected and killed Sinclair."

"There is no way that anyone believes that," Connor broke the silence.

"And we don't even know that Catherine's guilty," Michaela added.

"Well, you knew Nate was innocent, but you were still okay with me framing him. We found a gun in her room, a photo connecting her to Philip. Her own brother even believes that she did it. You may not believe it, but I do, and I'm the expert, so you do what I say."

"Catherine's not here, though," Laurel said.

"That's being taken care of."

"Taken care of how?" Michaela asked. "You mean kill her?"

"I didn't say that."

"So Catherine ran over Sinclair here. That's our story."

"Our story doesn't matter."

"Of course it does," April told her professor. "Otherwise, none of this makes sense."

"We don't need it to make sense. We just need it to look like chaos, to leave the police a crime scene that's a mess. It's their job to make sense out of it, not ours."

"Great," Connor said sarcastically. "Let's make ourselves more culpable by touching the body."

"Shut up and lift." They did as Bonnie said— April, Connor, Michaela, and Asher helped Bonnie carry the body upstairs to the balcony.

"Stop." They laid the body on the ground carefully. Michaela fell back in exhaustion, and Bonnie uncovered the body, making Connor groan in disgust. "Okay. Take her arms."

"No way," Connor mumbled. April held her hand out to Michaela, who grabbed it, and she helped her up. "I'm out."

"Connor."

"Look, you're just as sick as her," Connor told Bonnie. "That's clear now, but I'm not doing this." He left.

"We're leaving too," April said. She dragged Michaela along with her, who was still freaked.

"You guys have done this before."

"Exactly!" She snapped at her. "We're not doing it again." April left along with Michaela.

April, Michaela, and Connor were leaving the mansion. "Stop!" Wes called out.

Michaela was the first to turn. "Michaela, no." That was when Sinclair's body dropped in front of her, making a horrifying sound when it hit the ground. Michaela let out a scream and covered her mouth in terror. April looked up, and Bonnie was standing on the balcony with Asher.

Michaela was wiping the table to get rid of their fingerprints. "You don't have to do that," Laurel stated.

"I want to."

"We're here all the time," April said. "Our fingerprints should be on everything."

"It doesn't matter anyway. This won't work."

"You're right," Annalise walked in with the gun in her hand. "It won't work... unless we do something to make them believe it." When she walked up to them, they stepped back.

"What are you doing?" Michaela asked when Annalise grabbed her phone.

"Who are you calling?" Connor asked.

April glanced at the firearm. "Why are you holding the gun?"

Annalise brought the phone to her ear. "Help. I've been shot. This is Annalise Keating," she fake cried to make it sound believable. "And my client, Catherine Hapstall- she shot me. I'm here at her house. The A.D.A.'s here too. Please, hurry." She hung up and put the phone down. "Now it'll work." Annalise walked right up to April and held the gun out. "Shoot me."

Her eyes went wide in shock. "What?"

"Shoot me," Annalise repeated.

"No."

Annalise grabbed her hand and placed the gun in it, giving her no choice. "Remember what I did, April. I defended Sheri's killer."

"I'm not gonna shoot you."

"Shoot me in the leg, April. It'll be fine. Do it for Sheri." April shook her head, and her hand was shaking. When she dropped her hand, Annalise raised it again— the gun was pointed at her chest.

"I-I can't..."

"April-"

"-don't shoot!" Nicholas yelled. He tried to look strong with the gun aimed at him, but fear was evident in his eyes. "April, don't shoot! Don't shoot!"

April looked at him through her tears eyes. Her hands, which were holding the gun, were shaking. "I'm sorry," she cried before pulling the trigger.

"April! Do it for your dad," Annalise taunted her.

April shook her head. "I was wrong. You know nothing at all. My dad wouldn't want me to do this." She dropped the gun. "I'm out." She rushed out of the room before anyone could stop her.

April walked out of the mansion and to the balcony. Her body was shaking— she paced back and forth to calm down, but it didn't seem to be working.

NINE DAYS HAD PASSED since Amy called Hank that night, telling him she was ready to return to Intelligence.

The decision had settled in quietly after that—along with something else she couldn't quite define.

It started in the kitchen with Jay. A moment she didn't revisit for long. She couldn't put her finger on what had changed, only that something had. And as the days went on, she pushed the thought aside when it surfaced.

Amy was returning to Intelligence. That was where her focus stayed.

Jay gave her a ride that morning, saying it was because it was her first day back. He asked about her aunt as they made their way toward the district.

"I tracked her down," she said as they walked inside. "New York."

His brows drew together. "Like she didn't even try to run."

A faint reaction crossed Amy's face— there and gone quickly. "Hopefully they'll arrest her soon." She slowed slightly, reaching into her jacket to adjust the elastic bandage on her shoulder, a flicker of irritation crossing her expression as she did.

Jay stopped in his tracks, waiting for her. "How long do you have to keep them on?"

"The doctor wasn't sure," she said, straightening her jacket again. "I had an old injury that didn't heal properly. It's hard to tell."

They started heading toward the stairwell, when Trudy's voice called out to them, stopping them in their tracks, "Detectives!"

The two shared a quick look, before approaching the Sergeant's desk. "Got word from headquarters," Trudy said, glancing between them. "You're both up for mandatory firearm re-qualification. Get to the shooting range by Friday."

The Sergeant turned to the documents on her desk, flipping through them.

"And welcome back to you, Medusa," she said to Amy, not meeting her gaze, which fit the nickname well. "I'm sure Burgess marked her calendar with a small heart."

Amy gave a slight nod, a quiet hum of acknowledgment, but didn't respond. Jay suppressed a smile as he followed her toward the stairwell.

"Friday is gonna be a piece of cake," he said.

She unlocked the gate and pushed it open. "For me. I'm a better shot than you."

Jay shot her a look as they stepped through, but didn't argue. Because he knew it was true.

Nadia was sitting at her desk by the entrance when the Detectives walked into the bullpen. She stood immediately when she saw Amy.

"Good morning."

Amy and Jay both paused near the entrance, taking in the bullpen— Hank still in his office with a small group, something already in motion.

"Morning," Jay said, breaking off toward his desk. Amy remained by the entrance a moment longer.

Nadia reached for a cup from her desk and stepped forward. "I got you a coffee." A small, hopeful smile flickered across her face as she offered it.

Amy looked at her, then at the cup. Nadia was still smiling— expectant, like this was normal. Like Amy had always been someone she could just do that for.

That was what made the Detective hesitate for a fraction of a second. "...Thanks," she said anyway, taking it. Her eyes moved toward Hank's office as she crossed to her desk.

Erin glanced up from her own desk, catching the exchange.

Nadia was still smiling faintly, watching Amy for a second longer than necessary before turning back toward her workspace.

Erin's mouth twitched— something close to amusement— but she didn't say anything.

"What's going on?" Jay asked.

Erin leaned back slightly. "Commander Fischer came in with Alderman Becks and his wife," she explained. "Shut the door behind them."

Antonio walked out of the break room with a coffee in his hand. "Now you have all the information we do."

The two Detectives were glad to see Amy back in Intelligence, despite not showing it. Jay had told them not to make it a big deal, so they didn't.

They soon found out what the small meeting in Hank's office was about— the Alderman's daughter and her friend were missing.

They gathered the little information there was about the teenage girls and met in the bullpen again to go over it.

Antonio put up the photos on the whiteboard, along with the girls' names. "Allison Becks, 16 years old," he started. "Last seen with her friend Hayden Tannenbaum. They were supposed to go back to the Becks' house after a study group. Neither showed. School records do show that both of these girls are in all AP classes and got straight As. Study group's plausible. Maybe they are jammed up. Allison's dad woke up to an email this morning from Uber saying she booked a car in his account last night."

"What the hell's an Uber?" Alvin asked.

"It's like a taxi, but you get a black car."

"So why didn't you say black car?"

Adam stepped in. "It's not just black cars, it's regular cars too. It's an app. You order it on your phone. It's got all your credit card information." He noticed that Alvin didn't understand. "Okay. I'm gonna call the company, see if I can get in touch with the driver." Adam left to make the call.

"Good," Hank said. He turned to Amy, who was sitting at her desk. "And you call State's Attorney Kot. I want a warrant for both girls' cell phones and computers."

She was already reaching for the phone. "You got it, Sergeant."

Hank turned to Jay's desk. "Hey, they got GPS on these cars?"

"Yeah. All of 'em."

"All right, I want...," Hank trailed off, not knowing the technical terms.

"Yep, I got it."

"Yeah, all that stuff. Thank you."

"Hey, Sarge," Adam walked back in before Hank could go to his office. "We got a problem with the Uber driver."

Hank moved immediately, signaling for Alvin and Antonio to follow as he headed out to check it.

Amy stayed back just long enough to finish with the warrant request, her focus already shifting ahead. If something had happened to the girls, it wasn't random.

She stood. "We should talk to Hayden's parents," she said. Jay didn't question it. He gave her a nod before following her toward the entrance.

"You're bossy, you know that?" He joked as they approached the stairs. She gave him a push, a small smile tugging at her lips.

The Detectives went to Hayden's house and sat across from her parents— Gordon and Liza.

"Did Hayden call last night?" Jay asked. "Email?"

"No," Gordon said, shaking his head. "Not after she left the house."

Amy glanced between them. "Can either of you think of anyone who might want to hurt your daughter?"

Gordon frowned, clearly thrown by the question. "No. No, not at all. We don't understand how this can be happening."

Amy's gaze shifted to Liza, who had been quiet the entire time. "Liza?"

She didn't answer. Just shook her head. Amy glanced at Jay. They needed to separate them.

"Hey, Gordon, why don't we step outside for a minute?" Jay said, already standing.

Gordon followed him out, leaving Amy alone with Liza.

Liza sniffled. "This is my fault," she said quietly. "I told her she could go. It was just a sleepover.”

Amy's expression stayed steady. "This isn't your fault. Okay?"

Liza nodded, tears slipping free.

They sat in silence for a moment while she pulled herself together, wiping her face.

"Does Hayden have a boyfriend?" Amy asked. "Maybe she didn't want her dad to know."

Liza let out a small, shaky laugh. "She's always been a pretty girl. Teenage girls... there's a new crush every few weeks. I stopped trying to keep up."

Amy nodded once. "We've got good people working this," she said, standing as Jay and Gordon came back in. "If you think of anything— anything at all— call us."

Liza nodded. "Okay."

"Of course. Thank you. Thank you all so much," Gordon said, shaking Jay's hand before they left.

Outside, Amy was quiet for a moment, her mind already working through it. Then she glanced at Jay. "He's hiding something."

"You think he's lying?"

"There's something."

////

ADAM FINALLY GOT A READ— he pinged one of the phones and got a location. They were hopeful that this would lead them to the girls.

They rushed to the address.

Amy got out of the car along with Jay. "Signal's weak, but it's around here somewhere," Adam spoke into the radio.

Then Hank did. "All right. Spread out. We go through doors if we have to." The unit did as they were ordered, to cover more ground.

They scanned the neighborhood for anything suspicious.

Then suddenly a crashing sound demanded their attention, alerting them. They quickly drew their weapons and turned to the source.

Rushing to the house, they spotted a young girl on the grass, clearly injured. A man was standing by the window, and he started shooting at them.

"Stay down!" Hank shouted at the girl, as they took cover. They shot back at the man.

Amy was kneeling behind a car— her gun in her hand. She looked ahead, where Erin was in a similar position. "I got you, go!"

Erin made a run for it. She ran to the girl, and Amy shot at the man, covering Erin.

"I'm the police. It's okay!" Erin told the girl. She had wrapped her arms around the frightened girl and was attempting to comfort her somewhat and reassure her. "But you gotta move!"

Erin helped the girl from the ground as the others kept shooting. The girl was yelling out in pain as Erin pulled her away. Amy followed them to the side, where they would be out of sight of the man who was shooting at them.

"Breach!" Hank yelled. "Go, go, go!" Adam and Kevin rushed to the door, followed by Antonio, who cleared it.

"All right, you're clear!" The Detectives ran into the building.

"Halstead! Hughes! Around the back!" Hank ordered.

The two Detectives shared a quick nod before they split—Amy went left, Jay went right, moving quickly to cover the rear perimeter.

Amy kept along the fence line, scanning as she moved. Her grip stayed firm on her weapon, though her shoulder gave a dull reminder with each controlled step— nothing that slowed her down.

Jay mirrored her movement on the opposite side. No need to talk. They'd done this before.

Inside the building, the sweep moved quickly. Within moments, the team cleared the interior and pushed toward the rear exit.

Above them, Kevin and Adam emerged at a higher position along the structure, stepping onto the fire escape where they had a clearer view of the yard and fence line below.

"Hey, other side of the fence!" Adam called out to the Detectives.

Amy and Jay both turned instantly, reacting on instinct rather than thought.

Through the gaps in the fence line, they saw a man standing by a car. The trunk was open for a split second— then slammed shut. There was movement inside before it closed.

No hesitation followed.

Both Detectives broke into a run at the same time, cutting straight toward the narrow gate just a few feet away.

"Police! Stop!" Jay shouted, his voice carrying across the yard.

The man didn't even slow.

Amy reached the gate first. She grabbed it low, yanking hard against the rusted frame and chain tension at the top. Metal resisted, holding for a fraction too long before beginning to give.

Jay moved immediately as it loosened, slipping through the opening without waiting.

Behind him, the car door slammed shut.

Amy released the gate as soon as he was through, stepping back to clear space.

Jay sprinted forward the moment his feet hit the other side, weapon drawn, shouting again—

But the engine was already roaring. The car surged forward, tires biting into the street as it pulled away before he could get close enough to stop it.

Although, the offender got away, Hayden was safe and hopefully help them find her friend. Most of the unit headed down to the hospital, so they could talk to her about what had happened with her and Allison.

Amy didn't see the point of all of them going, so she went to the district, where she could look into Gordon. First, she went to the locker room. Her shoulder was bothering her and she felt the need to change her bandages.

Standing in front of her locker, Amy slipped off her jacket before she reached up to her shoulder and ripped off the bandages.

The adhesive gave way with a quiet pull. She peeled the wrap off in one motion, rolling her shoulder slightly as soon as it was free. The movement was controlled, measured— testing range more than comfort.

A dull ache settled in immediately, nothing sharp, just familiar. She rotated her arm once, then twice, checking how the joint held under its own weight.

Satisfied it wasn't anything new, she reached into her bag and pulled out a small tube of anti-inflammatory gel. She squeezed a thin line onto her fingers and rubbed it into the side of her shoulder, working it carefully into the joint where the ache sat the most. Her expression didn't change— focused, routine, like it was just another step in getting ready for work.

She let it sit for a second, flexing her fingers absently as she waited for the slight cooling sensation to settle in.

Then she reached for a fresh elastic bandage.

Amy started the wrap low on her upper arm, pulling it snug as she worked upward. Around the shoulder, she tightened it just enough to give support without locking her movement. The fabric crossed close to her collarbone and up toward the side of her neck, reinforcing the joint the way she'd done countless times before.

She tested it once she finished—lifting her arm, rolling her shoulder slightly.

Better.

Not perfect. Just steady.

Good enough.

She grabbed her jacket again and slipped it back on, already moving on in her head before she even closed the locker.

As she turned, ready to go to the bullpen, Nadia walked in.

The younger woman was holding a book in her arms, close to her chest, a pen in her hand. Her grip tightened when she saw Amy, who immediately noticed.

But, she was ready to just move past and get to work. If Gordon knew anything about where Allison could be, then they had to find out.

"It's my journal," Nadia blurted out, stopping Amy in her tracks. "Uhh..." she trailed off, letting out a small chuckle. "It helps... with everything that I've been through."

When Amy interacted with her colleagues, it was about work— about a case, or suspect. Something work related.

Nadia wasn't a cop, so they didn't have much to talk about, so Amy didn't have that many talks with her. And they were always brief and not personal— like almost all of her interactions.

"You don't have to explain," Amy told her, trying to end the conversation that had barely begun. "I'm glad it works for you."

The younger woman responded with a smile, as the Detective moved past her.

As Amy moved across the bullpen, her phone rang. She grabbed it as she reached her desk and looked at the screen— Jay.

"What's up?" She answered the phone.

"Just wanted to let you know that Hayden didn't see the offenders," Jay responded. "Their faces were covered the entire time. We're heading back now."

"All right, see you in a bit." After the brief phone conversation, Amy logged into her computer.

She didn't get further than that before her phone started ringing again. "Hughes," Amy answered.

"This is Dr. Patel with the Medical Examiner's office," a calm voice said. "We've got a positive identification on your decedent from the scene."

Amy reached out and grabbed a pen and her notepad, ready to write down the name. "Go ahead."

"His name is Jason Woodley."

She scribbled down the name. "Alright, got it. Thanks." Amy hung up, before she looked up his name on her computer. She managed to find some things about Woodley before the unit came back.

Not much, just his criminal record and his mugshot.

Amy put the photo on the whiteboard and wrote his name above it, just as the unit entered the bullpen. "The ME just called," she informed them. "Our shooter is Jason Woodley. He is a career criminal and two months out of prison after a stint for armed robbery."

Jay was already by his desk, leaning back in his chair. "Was," he corrected her, with a teasing smile. She shot him a look, not responding. He knew she wasn't bothered by it.

Erin glanced up for a moment longer than she needed to, then went back to her desk, expression neutral.

Hank nodded along, ignoring their interaction, turning to the unit. "Alright. I want everything we got on this guy. Family members, known associates."

"Hank." They looked over to Trudy, who was standing by the entrance. "You got someone downstairs, says she knows you." She turned and went back downstairs.

Hank left the investigation in Antonio's hands, before he headed towards the stairwell.

Amy turned back to her computer. With the whole unit looking into Woodley, she decided to look up Gordon. There was something about that man— his behavior— that didn't sit well with her.

She started looking into him— starting with his family and associates, moving on to his work and financials. He made a descent amount of money.

Scrolling through his financial records, Amy didn't see anything suspicious, not until she went far enough back.

A large sum caught her eyes— 60k dollars.

That definitely stood out. Not just because of how much money it was, but because he didn't make that much money the other months. Why did he make that this particular month?

Amy kept scrolling and went back a few more months— another red flag went up.

60k dollars were taken out. It wasn't making sense.

A large amount of money just left his bank one random day over 10 years ago and appeared again a few months later.

Her eyes darted away from her computer when she heard muttering. Looking up, she saw Jay and Alvin talking to each other, before both stood up.

Jay noticed her looking in their direction. "We're gonna talk to Woodley's mom," he explained, grabbing his jacket. "Only living relative."

She gave him a short nod. "Alright."

"Keep me updated," Antonio told him from his desk.

Amy turned back to her computer as the two Detectives left. A large amount of money were taken out, then the same amount appeared a few months later, with no explanation.

She leaned back in her chair, her eyes not leaving the screen for a few more seconds. Once she did look away, her eyes fell on Antonio, who was sitting at his desk.

"Antonio, can I run something by you?"

He looked up immediately. "Yeah, sure."

"I've been looking at Gordon's financials."

"Hayden's dad?" He asked, his brows furrowed. "Why?" Erin turned to her too out of curiosity.

Amy turned her chair to face Antonio, ignoring the question. "Over ten years ago, 60 thousand dollars just vanished from his account with no explanation. A few months later, the same exact amount returned. Again, with no explanation."

Antonio was quiet for a moment, processing it. "That is unusual."

Erin found it weird too. "So, it was stolen and put back?"

"So, what? Someone robbed Gordon and he stole the money back?"

"He definitely has the money to pay someone to do that," Amy responded with a small shrug. She didn't really mean that as an actual theory, but once the words left her mouth, she couldn't help but start wondering. Did he?

She pauses for a second, returning to her computer.

To test the theory, Amy looked through the arrest record— ten years ago, Chicago, robbery.

Since, she had the specific information, it would be easier, but it still left a lot of people— a lot of suspects. She had to narrow it down.

Their offender is a white male, possibly in his 30s or 40s and he lives in Chicago. That makes the list shorter, but there's still too many people.

Amy adjusted the filters again.

Arrest records. Robbery cases. Chicago jurisdiction. Ten-year window. Incarceration overlap where available.

The list updated on her screen.

Twenty names.

She leaned back slightly in her chair, eyes scanning the results without really reading them yet. It was still too broad to mean anything on its own—but it was manageable now.

Amy pulled her notebook closer and began writing them down, one by one, marking the ones that aligned most closely with timing and repeat offenses. Not assumptions—just patterns that stood out on paper.

Her pen paused once or twice as she studied certain entries longer than others, then kept moving.

Twenty names. Now it was just about finding the one that didn't belong.

Slowly, Amy went through the list, crossing out every name she didn't suspect had done it. She continued as the list got shorter and shorter.

She continued down the list until she got to a specific name— Reid Dryer. There was nothing special about this person at first glance, then she dug deeper.

Reid was arrested ten years ago and was released recently, but what really stuck out was the prison. He had been locked up in the same place as Woodley— that was not a coincidence.

"Hey," Jay walked into the bullpen, trailing behind Alvin. "Woodley's mother just gave us a name."

Amy looked up from her computer. "Reid Dryer?"

His head snapped in her direction, taken aback. "Uh, yeah. How did you know?"

"Gordon." Realization dawned on him. "It's all over some stolen money over ten years ago. Reid served ten years in prison over, I'm assuming, money he stole for Gordon, where he met Woodley, both were recently released."

"Ten years is a long time to plan for revenge."

Antonio stood up. "Alright, so we bring him in." He gestured to Alvin and the two Detectives left.

Amy got up and went into the break room, really needing a cup of coffee. She grabbed a cup and filled it, the machine humming softly.

Jay stepped in a moment later, leaning against the counter. He watched her for a second. "You beat us to it."

She glanced at him, the corner of her mouth lifting slightly. "Looks like it."

He let out a quiet breath, shaking his head. "We just got the name."

"Mm." She took a sip of her coffee. "You should've walked faster."

That got a small huff of a laugh out of him. He studied her for a second longer. "How'd you get there?"

"Gordon's financials. Something was off." Jay nodded, following. "Money disappeared about ten years ago," she continued. "Same amount came back a few months later. No explanation."

"And you went digging."

"Yeah." A small shrug. "Arrest records. Robbery. Same timeframe."

Jay exhaled, impressed despite himself. "And you land on Reid Dryer."

Amy looked at him again, that same faint hint of a smile still there. "He overlaps with Woodley."

A beat.

Jay pushed off the counter slightly, arms folding. "That's good work."

She didn't deflect it this time. Just took another sip of her coffee. "Don't sound so surprised," she said lightly.

Jay smirked a little at that, following her out of the break room. "I'm not." They split, going to their desks.

Nadia looked across the bullpen at Amy, watching the Detective as she sipped her coffee and worked on her computer.

She mustered her courage, before getting up and approaching her.

"Detective Hughes?" Nadia said, a little hesitant.

Amy looked up from her screen. "Yeah?"

Nadia shifted slightly, already starting to talk a bit too fast. "I—uh, I was reading through some of the case files from when you were in New York. Just trying to learn, you know, and there was this one case— family member, I think—and you figured it out when no one else did."

Amy stilled for a second, then gave a small nod. "Yeah."

Nadia nodded quickly. "I just— I was wondering how you knew. Like, what made you look at them when no one else did?"

There was a brief pause. Amy leaned back slightly in her chair, studying her for a moment. "Nothing made me look at them," she said. "They just weren't ruled out."

Nadia frowned a little, trying to follow. "But... no one suspected them, right?”

Amy shook her head once. "Doesn't matter." Another small pause. "Everyone's a suspect until they're cleared," she added, matter-of-fact.

Nadia nodded slowly. "And sometimes," Amy continued, "the person closest to it is the one you should be looking at first."

Nadia glanced down briefly, then back up. "So... it's not about catching a lie?"

Amy shook her head again. "Not at first."

A beat.

"You look for what doesn't fit," she said. "What they say, how they react— something's off, even if you can't explain it yet."

Nadia absorbed that, nodding more firmly now. "That's... actually really helpful."

Amy gave a small shrug, already turning slightly back toward her computer. "It's just the job."

Nadia hesitated for half a second longer, then nodded. "Right."

Before she could step away, Antonio's voice cut through the bullpen. "We've got Gordon. He's in the interrogation room."

He walked out to the hallway, to go question Gordon, just as Hank stepped in from the stairwell. He had been talking to his visitor, whose identity they didn't know. Not yet.

"Did I hear that right?" Hank asked, looking at the remaining unit. "Gordon is in the interrogation room?"

Erin nodded. "Yeah. Hughes found out he knew more than he was letting on. He's connected to both our suspects."

"Antonio is with him right now," Amy added.

The Sergeant nodded. "Alright." He then turned to Erin. "A word."

She followed him into his office and closed the door. "What's up?" Erin watched as he sat down by his desk, letting out a sigh. This was serious.

"Olive Morgan came to see me," he said. "An old girlfriend of Justin's." Slowly, Erin took a seat. "She's pregnant."

"Justin's?" When Hank nodded, confirming it, her eyes widened. "Does he know?"

"No, not yet." He was still processing the conversation and everything Oliver told him. "Her parents talked her out of having an abortion and she doesn't want to be a mom."

"Then why tell you?"

"She thought Justin would want to be a dad."

"Wow," Erin muttered. He nodded, still not entirely sure how he felt about the situation. A knock cut through the silence.

The door opened. "We got a lead," Antonio told them, going back into the bullpen.

Hank and Erin got up and followed him. "Gordon gave Reid Beck's phone," Antonio said. "We are tracking it down."

"Got something!" Adam called out from his desk, already pushing up from his chair. "Location just came in."

The Sergeant nodded once. "Let's gear up." He laid out the plan quickly as they moved into the garage, grabbing vests and weapons.

Once they drove to the address, Amy approached the building with Antonio and Erin— their weapons drawn.

Slowly, they entered the building, one after another. "That cell phone is in this building," Hank voice spoke into their earpieces. He was sitting in the car with Alvin, outside, positioned a safe distance away. "Halstead, what do you see?"

The Detective was positioned on the roof across the street. His sniper was in place and ready to use if necessary.

Amy moved further into the room, then after a brief moment, heard Jay response. "Nothing yet."

Her flashlight flashed through the room. "Same here. Empty so far," she told the team.

Antonio moved on her left, rifle raised. "Ruzek, how many rooms we looking at?"

"Blueprints are coming in now," Adam answered. He was in a van outside with Kevin. Antonio waited, wanting to be sure of how many rooms there were before continuing.

"We've got something like 15 or 16 rooms," Adam said after a brief moment.

They moved forward, clearing the next section, flashlights cutting through the dark.

"Hold on," Jay's tense voice came through the earpiece. "I got something. Second floor, two people. Big room, the north side of the building."

Amy paused at the stairwell, sweeping it quickly with her light. Clear. "Looks like it could be our kidnapper," Jay added.

"That's the science lab," Adam informed them, after looking at the blueprint.

After gesturing to Antonio and Erin, Amy started moving up the stairs. The flashlights came to use as they reached the top of the stairwell.

The hallway on the second floor was dark. Furniture was scattered, the space partially trashed.

Erin cleared the first room on the left and signaled the others forward. They moved past her.

Two more rooms— clear. Adam's voice came through the radio. "Guys, at the end of the hall, turn left."

They advanced methodically, clearing each space as they went. "Approaching the science lab now," Erin stated.

Antonio took point at the door, signaling a pause. The room beyond was lit. Male voices could be heard, but not clearly.

The Detectives shared a nod— it was time to breach. Amy opened the door, and Antonio went in and then Erin. She was quick to follow them and noticed the gun immediately.

"Chicago Police!" Amy yelled out, announcing their presence.

Antonio stepped forward. "Get down on the ground! Let me see your hands!"

Reid turned to Becks angrily. "I said no cops!" He yelled before he pointed his gun at Becks and pulled the trigger, the bullet hitting his shoulder.

Becks fell on the floor and dropped his suitcase in the process. "Drop it!" Erin yelled at Reid. "Where is she?"

Reid swung the gun toward Antonio. "Shoot me and you'll never find her!" His aim shifted to Erin. "You need me!"

"Where is she!?" Erin repeated.

"Not until I walk out of here," Reid snapped, voice shaking as he kept the weapon moving between them.

Amy stayed still, eyes locked on him. "She's here, right?" she said calmly.

Reid glanced at her. "You brought her here," Amy continued. "She's in this building."

He stared back at her— which she viewed as hesitation. He was about to lie to her and she knew it. "She's not here."

"She's here," she corrected, firmer now. "Which means we don't need you." She raised her weapon slightly, stepping in just enough to close the distance, making it clear she had it aimed at his head. "I can pull this trigger and end it right now."

Silence snapped tight.

They stared at each other for a tense moment, before he finally realized there was no getting out of there. "Okay, okay!" Slowly he lowered his weapon, dropping it to the floor.

Erin moved forward and handcuffed Reid. The other Detectives didn't lower their weapons until he was secured.

Then Alvin's voice cut through the earpiece. "We got her," he said. "We got Allison." The tension was quickly replaced by relief.

////

AMY STOOD IN THE LOCKER ROOM, looking into her almost empty locker. Now that she was back permanently, she needed more things. As of it being her first day back, it hadn't been bad.

Behind her, the door opened and Nadia stepped in. "Detective," she greeted her, a little less hesitant than before.

Amy glanced over her shoulder. "Hey." She turned to her locker again, organizing the few things she did have.

"I don't think I thanked you for getting me the job," Nadia said, taking careful steps closer.

The Detective closed the locker and turned to face the younger woman. "You did."

Nadia hesitated, then smiled a little. "Maybe it doesn't feel like it's enough." There was no doubt in her tone— just genuine gratitude.

Amy studied her for a moment. "You don't have to try so hard," she said simply. Nadia blinked, caught off guard.

She continued, matter-of-fact. "You earned your spot here. I didn't earn it for you."

That landed harder than Amy seemed to intend.

Nadia's expression shifted— surprised, but also quietly reassured. Like she hadn't expected to be seen that clearly.

She didn't think Amy paid attention to her. She certainly didn't think the Detective noticed the work she put in. But clearly, she did.

"Thanks," Nadia muttered, more to herself than anything, before turning and leaving the locker room.

The door opened again and this time Jay walked in. "Hey," he greeted her as he crossed over to his locker.

"Hey." She leaned against the lockers with her arms crossed, as Jay opened his.

"You're still in one piece," he stated, grabbing his bag and putting the strap on his shoulder.

Amy gave him a quick look. Just a little longer than she used to. Not because she was searching for anything—just because her attention didn't move off him quite as quickly as it normally would. "So are you."

"Give it time," he replied, like it was a genuine warning.

That got a small, almost automatic reaction out of her— a faint exhale that was close to a laugh, but not quite. Jay noticed it anyway.

He closed his locker and leaned against it, but not before inching slightly closer. "What are you doing tonight? And don't tell me you're staying here late to do paperwork."

There was slight humor in his tone.

Amy turned to him, shrugging slightly as a small smile pulled on her lips. "I'm going home."

Jay pushed away from the lockers. "Nope. We are going to Molly's."

Her eyes followed him. "We are?"

He hummed. "This was your first day back. I'm getting you a drink."

She stared back at him, trying to determine if he was being serious. Once she knew he was, Amy nodded. "Alright."

His smile widened slightly. "Alright."

SIRENS COULD BE HEARD in the distance, which meant the ambulance was close. Jay handed Amy another towel, upon seeing the first was soaked in blood.

She pressed the second towel over the first, keeping steady pressure on the wound. After a moment, she shifted her hand slightly, testing the angle— then pressed down harder when the bleeding slowed.

Jay kept reassuring the injured woman that she was going to fine and told her to hold on. His eyes were wide in panic.

Soon enough, two paramedics rushed over, one of them carrying a backboard.

"We got it from here," the female paramedic told Amy and took over, applying pressure like she had just done.

Jay and Erin helped get Maddie on the backboard, before they carried her into the ambulance, watching as they rushed her to the hospital.

Amy turned to Jay, seeing the clear panic in his eyes. He was shaken by what just happened and she knew he was already blaming himself. "We're gonna get him," she told him.

They soon went to the district and she went with them. She entered the locker room that she was very familiar with and washed her hands in the sink. The blood was almost dry, so it was difficult to wash it off, but she got most of it.

She then had a talk with Hank, explaining what had happened, insisting on being part of the investigation. "I'd like to see this one through, Sergeant."

Hank had nodded. "Alright." He had been hoping that she would return to Intelligence, which was part of the reason he hadn't filled her spot yet.

By the next morning, the Intelligence unit were up to speed on the situation.

Amy pulled Jay into the locker room, wanting to talk to him. Hank thought he'd take it better if it came from her and she didn't mind.

She sat on the bench, between the lockers. "Voight wants you here," she told him. "At the district."

A scoff left his mouth. At this point, the panic was replaced by anger. "I'm not gonna sit on my ass when the shooter is still out there!"

"If you go out there, you'll be joining Maddie," she spoke, calmly. Her words made him freeze. He turned to face her again. "And none of us want that. Do you?"

He let out a sigh, shaking his head. "No," he muttered.

"If the target was on my back, what would you tell me to do?" That got him.

Jay approached, slowly sitting down next to her. "I'd tell you to stay here, where it's safe."

Amy nodded, her gaze steady. "Exactly. And that's what I want for you, Jay. You're not going anywhere out there until we catch this guy."

He ran a hand over his face, swallowing the tension. "The bullet was meant for me." He shook his head. "It's my fault."

"No, it isn't. The shooter is the only one at fault here and he's not going to get away with it."

Jay exhaled slowly, the tight coil in his chest loosening just a little. "Alright."

Amy gave a small, determined nod. "Good. Then let's get to work." She stood. "Let's go." She held out her hand, offering it to him.

He looked up, meeting her gaze. A small smile tugged at his lips— quiet, almost shy, but full of relief. Jay took her hand, letting her pull him up. He didn't let go, until they left the locker room, finding a measure of calm in the simple connection between them.

When they entered the bullpen, Hank was there, along with Erin and Antonio.

"So you knew the victim?" The Sergeant asked Jay.

"Maddie Callahan. She worked there," Jay responded, as he went to his desk. Amy went and stood by him.

"No I.D. on the shooter?"

Erin shook her head. "No, patrol's going door to door in the neighborhood looking for witnesses."

Antonio got off the phone, before approaching Jay's desk, giving the Detective a, somewhat, stern look. "That was the hospital. Your friend's in ICU, but she's alive."

Jay nodded slightly. "Thanks."

"Hey, it's not your fault."

Antonio meant it and Jay could tell.

"Someone needs to talk to Bembenek," Antonio told Hank, as Jay sat down.

"Oh, Olinsky's already on that."

Kevin and Adam walked in, both with news on the case. "A black Arcadia was found abandoned in Englewood. It matches the description of the getaway vehicle, but there's no prints. They torched it."

"White male just checked into a South Side clinic about a half hour ago, two bullet wounds."

Hank nodded. He knew that Amy had seen the shooter and decided to send her. "Hughes and Lindsay, get on it."

Amy gave a small nod, already moving toward the exit, glancing back at Jay. He stayed at his desk, watching her, tension still lingering in his shoulders— but there was trust in his eyes.

The two Detectives soon arrived at the clinic.

Inside, a man caught their attention. He had his jacket draped over his shoulder and tried to turn away as soon as he saw them. He was definitely their guy.

They already had his ID. "Not so fast, Donald," Amy called.

He froze and turned toward them. "Do I know you?"

The Detectives flashed their badges, closing the distance. "What did you get treated for?" Amy asked, testing him.

Donald tried to sidestep, but Amy blocked him. Erin yanked the jacket off his shoulder, revealing two bullet wounds in his back.

"I accidentally thumbed the trigger," Donald stammered. Erin held up two fingers to Amy—two wounds. "Pow," she said.

Amy's glare sharpened. "Twice in the back?"

Erin tossed the jacket at Donald and stepped next to Amy.

"He's not the shooter," Amy murmured, then turned back to Donald. "My guess is you were the getaway driver. So, tell us who took shots at Police Officers."

Donald's eyes widened, nodding. "It's true. I just drove. And I sure as hell didn't know a cop was the target."

"You have two options, Donald," she said evenly. "Cooperate, tell us who the shooter is, play the oblivious driver and maybe get minimal time. Or we wait for those bullets to be processed, match them to a police firearm, and charge you with attempted murder."

Fear overtook him. "His name is Karl Forsman," he blurted.

Once they had the name, Erin texted it to Hank.

They started heading back to the district, Amy in the passenger seat. The city passed by in a blur, the hum of the engine filling the quiet.

"I've been thinking about leaving Homicide," Amy blurted out, her eyes fixed on the street.

Erin glanced at her, surprised, a small smile tugging at her lips. "You miss us?"

"It's different there," Amy replied, ignoring the question. "I still haven't really gotten used to it."

Leaning back, Erin let out a sigh. "Well... I know the unit hasn't been the same since you left. I think we'd all like it if you came back."

Amy remained quiet, letting Erin's words hang in the air, the thought settling somewhere deep.

Once they arrived at the district, they entered through the front, walking past Trudy's desk. The Sergeant saw the Detectives. "Hughes, hold on."

She stopped at the mention of her name, turning to face the Sergeant. "Yes?" Erin stopped in her tracks too, curious as to what the older woman wanted to say.

"Just wanted to apologize for before." Trudy didn't give it much effort, barely looking from her desk, but Amy didn't want to stand there and talk to her any longer than necessary, so she just accepted it.

Amy gave a small nod, not bothering to respond, before following Erin upstairs. At least she had apologized and they could move on from the incident.

The rest of the unit was already there.

There had been a murder.

A sixteen-year-old girl was shot and killed. Hank had called Erin and informed her when they were driving back, so they knew what to expect when they walked into the room.

Kim and her new partner, Sean, were there too. And she looked a bit too excited when Amy walked in. Although, she tried to suppress it, it didn't go unnoticed by some of the people in the room.

Kevin stood by the whiteboard. He put up the photo of the victim on it, along with her name— Dora Kot. Besides that, a picture of Bembenek, the board was empty.

"Doubling up on squad cars in front of all the homes of the people involved in the Bembenek trial," he said. "There's judges, lawyers, clerks."

Amy moved to her desk, her eyes flicking to Jay. He was clearly pissed— jaw tight, shoulders tense. And still blaming himself, and wanting nothing more than to interrogate their suspect. But he couldn't.

Alvin was standing by his desk. "Bembenek anticipated that. That's why he's going after their family members."

"Two taps to the head without an eye witness. That was a professional hit," Antonio stated.

Amy nodded slightly, agreed with the conclusion. "And we have no idea how many people are on this list?"

"No," Hank replied. That seemed to make Jay even more angry. They had no idea how many people were targeted.

"Hey, everyone." They turned when they heard Adam's voice. He stood by Antonio's desk, a blonde woman in uniform was next to him. "This is Sheriff Charlene Radigan. She helped me secure phone recordings Bembenek made on a cook county landline."

"Most of the calls are in Polish. Inmates switch to their native tongues all the time when they try to cover up what they're talking about," Charlene added.

"So we're going to need a translator." Adam turned to Hank, his hands on his hips. "Forsman kid flipped, right? You think he'd... you think he'd do it?"

Hank backed away from Jay's desk. "He'll paint my house if I want him to. He's in here." He was already walking toward the hallway.

Charlene exchanged a few words with Adam before following Hank.

The suspect gave them the initials JP, having heard it on a phone call. Hank and Alvin quickly put together that JP was Joe Price.

While they were still speaking with him, Kevin called in from a crime scene.

Another victim.

The mother of the judge in the Bembenek case had been murdered.

Two people were killed and they hadn't gotten closer to finding the people responsible or finding the list.

Fortunately, Joe was willing to make a deal and cooperate. He was going to call Patrick Shostak and set a meet.

Amy spent a lot of hours tracing phone calls in the first few weeks of working in the Homicide unit and it was going to come in handy. Hank asked her into the interrogation room and set her up with the right equipment to track the call.

She sat by the table, the equipment in front of her.

Joe stood in front of her.

Hank stood, leaning against the wall, and Alvin was sitting close to Amy.

"You're never going to be able to trace a call from him," Price informed them, sounding very sure of himself. "He goes from one drop phone to another. I don't know why you're bothering."

Amy looked up at the older man. "Let us worry about that." Joe looked away, nodding slightly, still skeptical. She held up the phone once it started ringing. "Sergeant."

It was Shostak.

Joe took the phone and answered the call, just as Jay walked in. He stood by, wanting to listen to the conversation. "Hello."

"JP?" A person replied.

"What's up, Shostak? I have something you may want."

"I want a lot of things."

"Halstead."

"My understanding is you turned down this contract." The man on the phone had an accent.

"And I heard they offered you a lot more money than me. I want half."

"Or what?"

"Or I let him go. And you better think quick. The dilaudid I pumped into him's going to wear off soon."

"1/3rd."

Joe paused for a moment. "Okay. I'll take care of it, I'll bring you a photo for proof."

"No, no, no, no, no. Just because I'm talking to you doesn't mean I trust you. I want to see him alive."

Hank shook his head immediately, not wanting to risk the life of one of his members.

Joe didn't see this though, because he was looking at Jay, who had the opposite reaction. He saw the opportunity and nodded, giving Joe a thumbs up.

He had to do this.

"Deal." Hank's face dropped as he turned to face the Detective, knowing exactly what had happened. Amy looked at him too, but she wasn't surprised. She knew Jay.

"Highway between Cermak and Kedzie. 30 minutes."

As soon as the phone call ended, Jay walked out of the interrogation room. His mind was made up and there was no changing it.

The rest of the unit followed him into the bullpen. Amy went to her desk as the rest tried to talk Jay out of going. It was way too risky.

"There's too many risks," Antonio told Jay, once they stood in the bullpen.

Jay went to his desk. "There's always risks."

"Jay, you'd be in the car with a hitman," Erin reminded him, moving to stand in front of him.

"Who's retired, and who we made a deal with."

"Because that changes everything," she remarked.

"We don't know how many people Bembenek wants dead!" He snapped back. Erin gave him a look, silently asking if he had just yelled at her. He went over to the whiteboard, slapping the surface. "Isn't this enough?"

Amy watched him from his desk, observing him as he approached Hank. "Sarge. Sarge, I will sign whatever I have to sign saying I went on my own free will, that I wasn't ordered. That'll release the city from all liability. I don't have any beneficiaries anyway. I signed that form the day I graduated from the academy, right before they pinned a badge on my chest."

A pause lingered in the room as they waited for Hank to respond. The tension felt thick, as the unit realized they couldn't say anything to change Jay's mind.

Then he nodded. "Alright. I want everyone downstairs in five minutes."

Amy followed the unit down to the garage, rotating her shoulder slightly, fighting the soreness and pain, as she thought over what she was going to say to Jay.

She waited until the plan was set, before approaching him, a pair of handcuffs in her hand. "Ratchets on the cuffs have been shaved down. So one tug, they'll come off," Amy explained.

He eyed her as he removed his watch, deciding to keep the bracelet on. "You've been quiet," he stated, holding his hands out, letting her handcuff him.

She let her hands linger on his wrists for a moment, almost like she was assuring herself he was still there and he was fine.

Amy grabbed the watch from his hand. "Well, I get why you're doing this. I'd probably do it too."

He gave her a small nod. "I'm glad you understand. At least someone does."

"Just be careful, Jay," she told him after a brief pause.

"I will."

Once the car was bugged, they were set.

The plan was for Joe to drive to the meet with Jay, with the unit and two Officers following them. They would be close by and hopefully arrest Shostak.

Amy kept her distance behind Hank and Erin, her eyes flicking between the road and the laptop open on the passenger seat. The signal held steady. Joe's car hadn't dropped once.

Two abandoned warehouses came into view ahead.

Joe pulled in between them.

Amy slowed, stopping far enough back to stay out of sight. Around her, the rest of the unit settled into position, each car angled just enough to keep a clear line on Joe's.

She watched the signal hold.

Then it pinged.

Incoming call. "Price is getting a call."

Joe answered. Amy listened in, eyes locked on the screen as the connection stabilized.

"Take him out of the car. Show him to me."

Her gaze snapped up to Joe's vehicle.

The driver's door opened.

Joe stepped out.

Amy leaned forward slightly as he moved around the car, opened the passenger side, and dragged Jay out. His body stayed slack, convincing enough.

Joe shoved him against the car, scanning the area.

Amy's eyes tracked the same lines— rooftops, corners, windows. Nothing moved. No sign of Shostak.

"Satisfied?"

"Head to the abandoned storefront on Ridgeland and Roosevelt." The call ended.

Amy's focus dropped back to the laptop as Joe forced Jay into the car and got behind the wheel.

The signal started moving.

She shifted into drive, easing back into position behind the unit. They hadn't gone far before the phone pinged again.

Her screen lit up. "Shostak's calling again," she said into the radio.

Joe answered.

"Check your texts."

Amy leaned across the console, already working to pull the data through.

"Get me that text, Hughes."

"Working on it." The file came through a second later.

She opened it.

A young man tied to a chair. Amy forwarded it without comment. "It's Price's son," Hank said over the radio.

Amy's eyes flicked back to the road, then down to the screen.

The signal ahead slowed.

On her laptop, the dot lingered in place longer than it should have.

Not traffic.

Not a light.

It stayed there.

"Car's stopped," she said, voice steady, into the radio. "He's been sitting in the same spot for a few seconds."

The dot didn't move.

"He may have dumped the vehicle," she added. "Could be switching out."

A second later, the signal cut out completely.

Amy pulled over to the side of the street, shifting into park without taking her eyes off the screen. Her fingers moved quickly, bringing up the secondary trace.

A new signal appeared.

Moving.

Different direction.

Amy leaned in slightly, tracking it for a second— confirming.

"I've got Jay," she said into the radio as she forwarded the location of the tracking device to the unit. "Signal's active and moving. Different route— Joe switched cars."

She hadn't told him she'd placed it. It had happened earlier in the rush of the garage— just a brief adjustment to his collar as they passed each other, close enough in the chaos of getting ready that no one else would have noticed. Jay had, though. He didn't stop it, just registered it and kept moving.

She glanced up, locking in the direction. Then shifted back into drive. "I'm back on him."

The response from the team was immediate— no hesitation, no discussion. The formation tightened behind her as they shifted direction together, engines building speed through the open industrial stretch.

The roads out here were emptier than before. Warehouses and fenced-off lots replaced buildings, giving the suspect fewer options and less room to disappear.

Amy kept her focus split— just enough on the road to stay safe, just enough on the screen to not lose him.

The dot moved fast.

Then faster.

Ahead, the unit began to converge. Sirens layered into the distance as multiple cars adjusted their angles, closing in without fully committing yet.

Then the suspect made the mistake.

A straight stretch of road. No turns. No cover.

Hank moved first.

The lead unit car cut in sharply, forcing the red vehicle to react instead of escape.

It swerved.

Too late.

The impact came hard— metal snapping into metal as the red car was forced off balance.

The sound hit before anything else did.

For a split second, Amy's grip tightened on the wheel— automatic, reflexive. A flicker of memory tried to surface with the same violent geometry of motion, the same loss of control— but she forced it down immediately, staying in the present.

The red car clipped the edge of a parked industrial vehicle and rolled.

Once.

Twice.

Then came to rest on its side, dust settling around it in a slow wave.

Amy was already braking before it fully stopped.

She pulled in behind the rest of the unit and stepped out with her weapon raised, scanning immediately.

No movement from secondary threats.

Just the wreck.

"Chicago PD!" Hank's voice cut through the space. "Show me your hands!"

A moment of stillness.

Then movement inside the vehicle.

Slow. Controlled. Injured but conscious.

The driver pushed the door open and dropped out onto the pavement, landing on his knees.

Amy advanced just enough to control the space, weapon steady, posture locked in place.

"Hands up!" she ordered. "Now— on the ground!"

He complied immediately.

Hands behind his head. Breathing hard. Bleeding but not resisting.

Amy held position, watching him until she was sure he wasn't going to move again.

A sharp ache pulled through her shoulder as she kept her arm raised, but she didn't shift her stance. She worked through it, keeping the weapon steady.

Footsteps approached behind her.

"Amy—"

Jay.

She registered him instantly, but didn't break focus.

"Cuffs," he said.

Without looking away from the suspect, she handed them over.

Jay moved in, securing the man and pulling him fully into custody as the rest of the unit collapsed the perimeter around them.

Only when the situation was fully controlled did Amy lower her weapon slightly, rolling her shoulder once as the tension finally released, eyes still scanning the scene out of habit rather than necessity.

The return to the district was quiet in comparison. No sirens, no urgency in the same way— just the low hum of engines and the aftermath settling in behind them as they made their way back.

By the time they reached the garage, the energy had shifted completely. Doors opening, radios clicking off, people stepping out of cars in practiced rhythm.

Amy moved with the rest of them, but slower now— less driven by urgency, more by routine. Her weapon was secured, but her attention stayed sharp out of habit, eyes still scanning faces, exits, movement.

Hank stood and waited for them to gather around him. Kim and Sean were there as well, looking at the Sergeant.

"In about two minutes, I gotta meet Commander Perry so he can brief command staff," he started.

"You know, no one out there really knows how we operate," Hank continued after a beat. "How we put ourselves in harm's way. If they did, our hands would be tied. And the worst of the worst that we hunt down would go free. So when I say this stays in house, this stays in house so we can keep operating the way we do."

He turned to Jay. "Halstead... what you did today..."

He paused, then placed a hand briefly on Jay's shoulder—something rare, restrained, but genuine. A small smile followed. Pride, unspoken but clear.

Hank let go. "What you did for this city..." he added, then shook his head slightly. "Well, no one will ever know. But this family knows."

A short silence followed, heavier than the words themselves.

Then Adam lifted his hand slightly. "Since no one else is mentioning it." He looked toward Amy. "You bugged Halstead?”

Jay reached up immediately, pulling the tracker from his collar.

Amy didn't react much— just a small shrug, like it was procedural. "Of course I did. We were working with a retired hitman. I wasn't taking chances."

A few low chuckles moved through the group. No one questioned it further. If anything, it reinforced the outcome that mattered most— Jay was alive, and the case was closed.

"I'm going to Molly's and getting drunk," Antonio said, breaking the tension. "Anyone want to join?"

Erin smiled slightly at that.

"Yeah, I'm in," Kevin said.

"I'm in," Roman added.

Amy reached into her jacket pocket as they started leaving, pulling out the watch. "Here," she held it out to Jay.

"Thanks." Jay put it back on. "For this and for having my back."

"Of course," she gave a short nod, before heading out. Amy returned to her district and went straight to her office. Paperwork was waiting on her desk.

Her office was quiet.

She sat down, pulled a file closer, and started the report, pen moving in steady lines across the page.

Routine. Familiar.

Her gaze lifted for a moment without meaning to.

Across from her— just for a second— her mind filled in the space the way it used to be.

Jay sitting there. Same posture. Same focus. Half listening, half already ahead of the next move.

She blinked once.

The image didn't match the room in front of her. Amy looked back down at the paperwork and kept writing. Thankfully, she didn't have a lot of work to do and was back at her apartment less than an hour later.

Amy entered the apartment, putting her bag on the counter and slipping off her jacket, just as Jay walked out of the kitchen.

He leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms. "I can move back to my apartment."

She hung her jacket up first— taking her time with it—before turning slightly toward him. "Right. You don't have a target on your back anymore."

Jay shifted aside so she could walk past into the kitchen, watching her as she got a glass of water. "You okay with that?"

Amy let out a quiet hum, taking a sip before answering. "It was never permanent. I moved in because I was injured. You moved in because your place wasn't safe. That's all it was."

The glass clicked softly as she set it down.

Jay nodded once, like he couldn't argue with the logic— but didn't fully let it go either. "I know. Still... four months is a long time."

A faint, almost reluctant half-smile tugged at his mouth. "Feels like it stopped being temporary somewhere along the way."

That earned a brief glance from her.

Not a correction. Not agreement either.

Just acknowledgment.

"It'll be fine," Amy said after a beat.

Jay exhaled through his nose. "Yeah," he said. "It will."

But he didn't move right away.

And neither did she.

Then he stepped a little closer to the counter, like he wasn't done with the conversation yet.

"You know," he said quieter now, "Erin told me you've been thinking about leaving homicide."

Amy glanced at him. "She talks too much."

"She wasn't wrong though."

That made her pause, just briefly.

Jay leaned a hand lightly on the counter beside her— not blocking her, not crowding her, just closer than before.

"There's still an open spot in Intelligence," he said. "Your spot."

"I know."

Simple. Flat. Not a decision either way.

A beat stretched between them.

Jay exhaled lightly through his nose, like he'd been holding something in longer than he meant to. "I miss my partner."

That landed cleanly.

Amy held his gaze a moment longer than usual. Her focus sharpened slightly— not defensive, not soft either. Just attentive, like she was trying to separate intent from words.

The rest of the apartment felt further away for a moment.

Jay didn't look away when he added, softer, "I want you back in Intelligence."

She didn't answer immediately, because it wasn't just about work in the way he was saying it.

It was rhythm. Familiarity. The kind of trust you don't notice until it changes.

Something she hadn't realized she'd adjusted to until it wasn't there anymore.

Jay shifted slightly, eyes flicking down for a fraction of a second— then back up.

Quick. Unmarked. Like it almost didn't happen.

Amy noticed anyway.

Her expression didn't change, but her attention did— a subtle recalibration, like she'd caught herself staying in the moment too long and was already trying to step back from it.

"You don't need me there," she said.

Jay shook his head once. "I'm better with you there."

That one landed heavier.

Not dramatic— just honest.

A silence followed.

Then, quieter: "We were better.”

That stayed in the air longer than anything else.

Amy didn't correct him.

Didn't agree either.

She just looked at him for a moment that didn't belong to cases or decisions.

Then she turned slightly, breaking the angle between them— not leaving, just resetting the space.

"I'll think about it," she said.

Jay nodded once. He didn't push.

But he also didn't step back right away. Amy held there for a second longer than she needed to. Then she moved.

Not quickly. Not abruptly. Just enough to break the stillness and give herself something else to do.

She left the kitchen and crossed the apartment without turning back. Her room was quiet when she closed the door behind her. For a moment, she just stood there.

Then she sat on the edge of the bed.

Hands loosely together, attention unfocused in a way she didn't correct immediately.

Her mind replayed the conversation in fragments rather than sequence. She exhaled once through her nose, quiet and controlled.

Four months of routine that had started to feel less like temporary logistics and more like something she hadn't assigned a category to yet.

Amy reached for her phone and scrolled through her contacts without much hesitation.

THE BOXES WERE STACKED neatly against the wall. Celina straightened up, resting her hands on her hips as she surveyed the mess around her. She nearly groaned at the thought of cleaning the room.

Kelly entered, carrying her corkboard in one hand and a box tucked under his arm. "It's kinda cozy," he said, observing the small space.

Celina nodded, a smile growing. "And I won't have to cook, which is the best." She grabbed the corkboard from him. "And also seeing my godson, of course."

He let out a small chuckle. "Of course." Kelly placed the box on the bed, his thoughts drifting to the fact that he'd be moving out soon too.

She noticed the way his expression changed, her smile faltering. "Something wrong?"

Kelly turned to her, huffing slightly. "Renée and I have been looking for a place. Shay's doing the same." He took a seat on the bed. "Things have been kinda tense these four months."

Celina nodded. "Yeah."

"I feel like every time I talk to her, it ends with an argument. We're not gonna be roommates anymore and this isn't how I want us to leave things."

She leaned the corkboard against the wall. "This is about Renée and what Shay said about the baby." Kelly nodded. "Look, I don't know Renée, but I know Shay. She wouldn't say that just to hurt you or in spite. I think she's genuinely worried. You guys should talk— I mean, really talk."

"Yeah," Kelly responded with a nod, knowing she was right. "I'm gonna talk to her." His eyes then landed on the corkboard.

She had a photo on the top left corner— of her, Shay and Kelly from one of their martini nights. And on the opposite side, there was a piece of paper.

The words 'bucket list' were written at the top in a black pen, with pink hearts around it. There wasn't much written down, but what was there caught his attention.

"You have a bucket list?" Kelly asked her, turning to look at her.

Celina glanced at it before smiling at her former roommate. "Uh, yeah. I finally have enough goals to actually make a list."

Kelly walked over to the corkboard and grabbed the list before reading it. "Learn a new language, more coffee products, learn to play an instrument, travel, work as an army medic."

He looked back at her, raising an eyebrow in curiosity. "You want to be an army medic?"

She shrugged lightly. "I would get to help people and do something that really matters."

Kelly nodded, understanding where she was coming from— admiring her willingness to help others. "Have you chosen a language?"

"Yeah, I was thinking Italian, since it's so close to Spanish."

"Hey," Herrmann appeared at the doorway, their eyes turning to him. "We planning to go to work or what?"

Kelly huffed. "Hold your horses, Herrmann." Celina grabbed her bag from the floor and threw the strap over her shoulder.

"Yeah, Hermy," Celina added, pushing past him as she shot him a sarcastic smile, which he was quick to return.

"This is what I get for letting you move in," Herrmann complained, trailing behind her down the stairs.

They had barely reached the bottom when the front door opened. Cindy stepped out on the porch, Kenny resting against her shoulder. "Good morning."

She was met with smiles. "Good morning," Celina and Kelly greeted her.

"Christopher, you forgot this." She held out his coffee.

"Knew I was forgetting something," Herrmann muttered, taking it from her.

Celina smiled before stepping closer, gently kissing Kenny's cheek. "Hey, little man," she whispered gently to the sleeping baby. 

Cindy smiled softly. "He's been spoiled ever since you moved in."

Herrmann rolled his eyes, already moving toward the car. "Alright, let's go." Celina and Kelly said bye to Cindy before getting in as well, leaving for work.

It was the same familiar routine, often interrupted by a high-risk call— the perfect way to start the day. They had barely finished changing when the alarm blared throughout the firehouse.

The fire truck sped through traffic, sirens echoing loudly through the streets. Celina adjusted the helmet, mentally preparing herself.

They came to a halting stop and stepped out onto the pavement. Casey approached the Chief, his Firefighters behind him.

"Someone's inside," Boden told Casey, gesturing toward the sidewalk. An older woman's walker had been left behind, abandoned beside the smoking building.

Casey eyed the building, quickly planning their next move. "We'll vent the roof and start in the basement."

Kelly stood close by. "We've got the main floor," he told Casey.

The Lieutenants were about to give out orders to their crews, but stopped when Boden spoke. "Woah, woah, woah, woah." They turned to him. "Do you smell—"

Before he could finish, sparks suddenly flew and an explosion ripped through the building. They instinctively jumped back, covering themselves.

Celina lowered her arm and quickly observed that the explosion had occurred in the basement. Casey jumped into action immediately. "Cruz, Herrmann and Otis, up the aerial to vent! Candidates, we're in the basement!"

She crouched down, removing her helmet, before putting on her mask. Pulling her helmet back on, she and Peter followed their Lieutenant toward the building.

Casey entered the basement first. It was small, and he quickly realized it was empty. He grabbed his radio. "There's no one down here! It's inferno, Chief! We're heading back the way we came!"

"Copy that," Boden responded.

The Firefighters turned around and started heading back, thinking that perhaps that woman was upstairs where Squad was searching.

They had barely stepped outside when a loud crash echoed from somewhere above them.

A second later, Kelly's frantic voice came through the radio. "Mayday, mayday! I'm trapped in the basement!"

Boden quickly called out to Mouch— they had to go in. The two grabbed a hose and rushed inside.

Celina removed her mask and helmet, unable to look away from the burning entrance.

Casey told her to stay back, that Boden had it under control. She stayed close to her Lieutenant, her eyes locked on the burning entrance, trusting her Chief to bring Kelly out.

Several intense seconds passed before Boden and Mouch exited the building, holding onto Kelly. They guided him down the steps.

Shay rushed over. "Let's get him down." Her eyes turned to Kelly, checking if he was hurt. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm okay," Kelly insisted, as he was guided to the small grass patch. "I'm okay." He removed his mask and helmet, before sitting down.

One of his men handed him a bottle of water. Celina watched him chug half of it in a matter of seconds, worry evident on her face. "You sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine." Shay patted his back, before she went to the ambulance. Celina noticed the awkward interaction, but didn't comment on it. She was just glad they were all okay.

Kelly closed the bottle, before his eyes drifted to the side of the building. Casey frowned. "What is it?"

Celina turned to look at whatever had gotten his attention, her eyes landing on the numbers on the wall— 1751.

"That's my badge number," Kelly said quietly, pointing toward the wall.

The atmosphere inside Firehouse 51 was noticeably quieter when they returned.

Kelly had brushed off the incident, insisting he was fine, but the numbers painted on the building had left everyone unsettled.

Not wanting to dwell on it, Celina sat down at the common room table and opened her laptop. If there was one thing that always helped clear her head, it was work.

More specifically— keeping herself busy.

She clicked through the website she had been building for Molly's, adjusting the layout as she looked over the drink menu she had uploaded the night before.

Celina glanced up when she heard Mouch's voice. "This is the common room." A woman she had never seen before stood next to him. "This is where we lounge and wait for the alarm to go off."

Mouch looked over at Celina. "This is my friend and coworker, Celina."

"And this," he added, gesturing toward the woman beside him, "is Mari."

Standing up, Celina shook the woman's hand, offering her a smile. Upon hearing the name, she immediately knew who the woman was and her smile widened. "It's really nice to meet you."

"You as well."

Herrmann took a seat by the table. "Apparently she's gonna cook for us."

Celina went back to her chair. "As long as I don't have to." Mouch guided Mari to the kitchen area.

Her comment caused Herrmann to shoot her a look. "Well, you do if her food doesn't turn out good."

"Maybe it will." She turned her attention to her computer again, as Otis took the seat next to her. "Hopefully it will."

Otis smiled at her before glancing at the computer screen. "That's the website for Molly's?" He leaned in for a closer look.

"Yeah," Celina answered with a smile, turning the laptop toward him. "I added the drink menu, a link to the podcast website and one for my coffee brand. The address is at the bottom."

"It's really good."

"Thank you."

Whatever Mari was cooking smelled good. The scent traveled through the room, making the Firefighters look over in curiosity.

Peter went up to see what the woman was making. "Smells good," he told her. It was almost done, so instead of responding, Mari held up a spoon to the candidate and let him taste it.

He seemed taken aback. "Wow. This is amazing."

Mouch had observed this. "I've never eaten so good," he said to Peter and Herrmann, who was approaching them. "I come in, there's noodles, there's rice, there's little chopped-up fish."

Mari gave some to Herrmann, too. His reaction was similar to Peter's. "Holy mother, it's good," he chuckled. "Wow."

Celina chuckled at their reactions, relieved that she didn't have to cook. She was a good cook, but didn't like doing it.

Their reactions made her curious though, so she went over to have a taste too. "Wow," she mumbled upon tasting it. "This is amazing."

Mari smiled, satisfied with her work.

"Okay, everybody, listen up," Boden said, walking in. "The state of Illinois, in all its wisdom, has brought in a consultant to make recommendations on firehouse closures."

"What?"

"51 is on that list," Boden continued, ignoring Herrmann. "To be certain that it doesn't happen here, we are gonna tighten up, not give 'em a reason to even look in our direction. Does everybody understand?"

"Meaning what, Chief?" Joe questioned.

"Meaning that the trucks and the gas will be monitored. So no more side trips to go and get ice cream. You also will be required to join a wellness program, or you will pay higher premiums."

"This is insanity, Chief," Herrmann complained.

"Yeah, according to these wellness doctors, I'm technically obese," Mouch added.

Casey glanced at them, before turning to face the Chief. "The union's not gonna stand for this," he stated.

"Actually," Herrmann spoke. "I heard douchebag Greg Sullivan is running for union president."

Mouch dropped the spoon he was holding in frustration. Celina turned to Herrmann, confused. "Who?"

Herrmann groaned in annoyance. "I know him from bowling league. And let me tell you, he's no fireman's fireman. He's a climber."

"Regardless, we lock it down starting now," Boden told them.

"You got it, Chief," Casey responded.

Boden nodded. "You're gonna have some new faces soon from the house that's already been closed. Everybody, keep an eye out."

////

CELINA WENT FROM booth to booth, placing the newly laminated drink menus on each table. She smiled to herself, satisfied with how polished they looked.

Shay looked at her from the bar, shaking her head slightly with a small smile. "Gosh," she muttered. "I don't think I've ever seen someone be this happy over drink menus."

As she made her way behind the bar, Celina shoved the blonde in the process, making her chuckle. "I've spent a lot of time coming up with these drinks, so be nice."

"Okay, okay," Shay raised her hands in mock surrender. She sighed, sipping her drink, remembering the apartment hunt.

"Have you talked to Kelly?" Shay's eyes were fixated on her drink. She shook her head. "He said he'd talk to you."

Shay shrugged. "Work keeps us busy."

"Not that busy." That got Shay to look at her. "You guys are best friends and have been for a long time. This Renée thing shouldn't come in the way of that."

"It's more complicated than that." She pushed the stool back, getting up. "I gotta go. I'll see you tomorrow."

Celina nodded and smiled at her friend. "Yeah, I'll see you tomorrow." She watched as the blonde walked out of the bar. Just as she was about to turn away, a familiar face appeared and she stilled for a moment.

The man stopped at the door, recognizing her as well. "No way," he muttered.

A small smile formed on her face, the shock faltering. "What brings you here, ranger?"

He shrugged lightly. "I've heard good things about this place. Didn't realize you worked here, New York."

She let a small chuckle out, rounding the bar. "Well, I didn't back then." Celina approached him, pulling him into a hug. He returned it instantly, a small smile tugging at his lips.

Pulling away, she looked up at him. "It's good to see you, Jay."

"You too."

"Can I get you anything?" Celina stepped back behind the counter.

"Surprise me." He took a seat by the bar.

A small grin tugged at her lips. "Careful, ranger. I take that as a challenge."

He let out a chuckle, leaning on the counter. Jay watched as she turned toward the shelves behind her. She moved with ease, grabbing bottles without hesitation, mixing ingredients together like muscle memory had taken over long ago.

His eyes followed her quietly.

It was strange, in a way.

When he'd first met her years ago, she'd been different. More guarded. Quiet in a way that had stood out immediately, especially in a room full of people trying to unpack pieces of themselves. She'd barely spoken those first few meetings, shoulders tense, eyes always distant.

Standing here now, confidently moving around the bar with an easy smile on her face, she looked lighter somehow. Chicago had been good to her.

A minute later, she turned around and slid the drink in front of him. It was bright pink, with a strawberry resting neatly against the rim of the glass. 

Jay stared at it, then slowly looked up at her.

Celina stood there, both hands resting against the counter, smiling far too proudly. One of his eyebrows lifted as she bit back a grin. "What?"

He glanced back down at the drink before looking at her again. "This," he gestured vaguely toward the glass, "is what you came up with?"

She folded her arms. "You told me to surprise you."

He reached for the menu resting nearby, scanning over the names. "And which one would this be?"

"Miss sunshine special."

Jay looked back at her. "Is it named after you?"

Her smile widened instantly. "Yes, but I didn't come up with it. My friend Otis did."

He let out a quiet breath through his nose, shaking his head slightly before finally picking up the glass.

"You know," she added casually, clearly enjoying this far too much, "I figured you could benefit from a little color in your life."

Jay gave her a flat look before taking a sip. Celina watched him expectantly.

A beat passed.

He took another sip. She noticed immediately. "Well?" she asked, already looking smug.

Jay set the glass down slowly, pausing before responding. "I hate that this is good."

Her face lit up triumphantly. "Thought so."

He glanced at the drink again, still mildly offended by the color. "I'm not ordering this in public."

Celina laughed softly, shaking her head. "Don't worry, ranger." She leaned against the counter, grin still firmly in place. "Your secret's safe with me."

Jay looked at her for a moment, the corner of his mouth twitching upward despite himself. Some things, apparently, never changed.

////

CELINA SHUT THE CAR DOOR behind her, adjusting the strap of her bag over her shoulder as she made her way toward the firehouse.

Her appointment had taken longer than expected, meaning she was running later than usual. Not late enough for Boden to care, thankfully— but late enough that everyone else had already started their shift.

She frowned when she noticed several figures gathered outside instead of being inside preparing for the day.

Casey stood near the sidewalk, arms crossed over his chest. Next to him stood Kelly. And directly in front of them—

She slowed to a stop.

The black car parked by the curb was almost completely scorched, parts of the exterior blackened beyond recognition. The sharp smell of burnt metal still lingered faintly in the morning air.

Her eyes widened.

"What the hell happened?"

Kelly glanced over at the familiar voice, watching as she quickly approached. "I was wondering when you'd show up," he muttered dryly.

Celina ignored the comment entirely, staring at what remained of his car. "I saw this car yesterday." Her eyes moved to him immediately. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah." Kelly shoved his hands into his pockets. "I'm fine."

Only then did she notice the two unfamiliar men standing nearby.

One looked older, posture rigid, expression unreadable. The other stood beside him with a camouflage duffel bag slung over one shoulder.

She knew immediately they were from firehouse 33. "You must be the new guys. I'm Celina."

"I'm Lieutenant Spellman," the older man shook her hand. "This is Clarke."

Clarke shook her hand firmly. "Ma'am."

She offered them both a polite smile despite still being visibly distracted by Kelly's destroyed car. "Welcome to 51." She glanced at the wreck again.

"Hey!" A voice called out. They turned to see Otis standing by the truck. "Boden wants everyone in the locker room!"

Casey nodded first, immediately turning toward the firehouse. Kelly followed beside him, Spellman falling into step with the two Lieutenants as they headed inside.

Clarke stayed behind for a moment before quietly following after them.

Celina glanced at him briefly before matching his pace, walking beside him as they made their way toward the entrance.

Her eyes drifted toward the bag resting against his shoulder.

"You were in the military?" she asked casually.

He turned his head slightly, meeting her gaze. "Yes, ma'am."

There was a brief pause between them as they stepped into the firehouse, making their way down the hall.

"We don't have to talk about it," he added after a moment, his voice polite but closed off. Like it was a conversation he'd had before.

Celina studied him for a second, immediately understanding she had touched on something personal.

She gave a small nod. "Thank you for your service."

For the first time, something shifted in his expression. Surprise, subtle but noticeable.

Like he hadn't expected that response. After a second, he gave her a small nod.

Neither said anything else as they continued walking.

By the time they reached the locker room, most of the others had already gathered around. Clarke moved toward the back without a word.

"Good morning, Chief," Celina greeted Boden as she made her way past him.

He gave her a nod back. "Good morning."

She moved to stand next to Otis, who was leaning against the lockers.

Boden waited for them to settle before talking. "Due to the cutbacks, overtime pay has been suspended."

There were some groans. "Here we go," Herrmann muttered, annoyed.

"We are gonna start doubling up on lockers," the Chief continued. "They're gonna take out that whole section and use it to store some of the equipment from the closed Firehouse 33. Please don't ask me why."

"This has reached a new level of absurdity," Herrmann complained.

"So now, you get to choose who you wanna share with." Gabby was quick to pick Shay, reaching out and putting her hand on the blonde's shoulder.

"Anyone but Cruz, I'm begging you," Otis mumbled, forcing Celina to hold back a laugh.

Joe raised his hand. "I'll take Otis."

"He didn't mean that," Otis told Boden.

The small smile faded from Boden's face. "On a more serious note, we have a reason to believe that Kelly Severide has gotten the attention of an arsonist."

His words shocked them, causing Celina to look at her friend. His expression immediately confirmed it. "I have been assured by CPD and arson investigation that they are into it. But I expect extra vigilance in the coming shifts from all of you."

There was a brief pause as they processed the situation. "And finally, today marks one year since we lost Andy Darden. Everyone hold a thought for him and the family that he left behind. We are all a little less without him in our lives." He gave them a slight nod. "I'll leave you to it."

Otis almost immediately turned to Celina, as the room started to empty. "Will you share a locker with me? Otherwise I might have to share with Cruz."

She nodded, smiling. "Yeah, that could be fun."

A smile grew on his face. "It will be fun."

They turned when they heard a whistle. Joe was leaning against the doorframe. "We're going for a ride." He turned and left, not waiting for a response.

After gearing up, they got in the truck.

Joe pulled out and started driving.

The conversation soon became about Kelly's situation. "It started with that call," Celina spoke. "Yesterday. His badge number was written on the wall."

Otis nodded. "Yeah, that definitely wasn't a coincidence."

"Then his car caught on fire," Herrmann said, shaking his head slightly. "Who would do this? Who would go after a Firefighter? People like us."

A moment later, the truck came to a stop. "If anyone asks, we saw a cat in a tree," Casey told Joe before opening the door.

"Got it," Joe responded. He watched as the Lieutenant closed the door and entered a building— it was a personal stop.

Celina leaned her head back, thinking about the entire situation, wondering why Kelly was being targeted. Why him, specifically? His badge number, his car.

This was personal.

A few minutes passed before Casey got back. He entered the truck. "See, no one will even know we were gone." Just as he shut the door, they were alerted by the dispatcher.

Building fire— truck 81, squad 3, engine 51.

Joe immediately pulled out, the sirens blaring.

Once at the scene, the truck didn't come to a complete stop before the Firefighters started exiting, immediately jumping into action.

Casey had a clear plan, ordering them to follow him. Celina got her mask and helmet on, before following them into the building— Squad was with them.

It was a tall building, with at least three floors and they didn't know how many people were inside.

They went up the stairs and almost immediately Celina's eyes landed on a figure on the floor. She rushed over to check on them. It was a woman.

Celina grabbed her arm and helped her to her feet, before holding her close and guiding her toward the stairs.

She held onto the woman as they descended the staircase. Celina pulled her through the front door as the woman continued to cough due to the heavy smoke.

As soon as the woman was out and safe, Celina went back inside, joining the others upstairs.

The second floor was quickly cleared and they moved to the third. Celina moved behind her Lieutenant, turning to the left to clear that part of the building, when something caught her eye outside the window.

She froze when she noticed flames outside and immediately moved closer.

Her eyes almost widened at the sight. "Lieutenant, we have a problem!"

Casey's head snapped in her direction. "What is it!?"

"We got a fire in the next building!"

He was soon by her side, looking out the window. The wind picked up, the fire was spreading. Casey grabbed his radio to alert Boden. "Fire's jumping, Chief!"

With Gabby and Shay inside the next building treating a victim, the situation had suddenly become much worse.

After a moment, Boden radioed Casey, confirming it. "Shay and Dawson are trapped in building two. Can you see them?"

Celina frantically looked around until her eyes landed on the window above— on the fourth floor of the building. She saw Gabby. "There she is!" She pointed at the paramedic.

"Got them, Chief," Casey told Boden. Gabby was contacting the Chief as well, letting him know the woman being treated couldn't move.

At least the fire in the first building was out thanks to engine.

They heard Boden's voice again. "Casey, we can't get the aerial in there to pull them out."

Celina instinctively turned to her Lieutenant, knowing he'd come up with a solution. Which he did. Grabbing his radio, Casey contacted the Firefighters outside. "Mills, Otis, run a straight ladder up. We bring them across."

For this plan to work, they had to be parallel with the paramedics, so they had to move up to the next floor. Kelly was already moving. "Let's go!"

The three Firefighters rushed up the stairs.

The Lieutenants went to get the ladder, while Celina rushed over and opened the window. "Gabby!" She called out to her friend.

Gabby appeared. "We don't have much time!" The fire was growing and getting closer to them.

They got the ladder on the window frame and carefully, but quickly, pushed it toward Gabby, who grabbed the other end.

The ladder was placed flat between the two buildings, the rest of the firehouse having a clear view of it from the sidewalk.

Casey grabbed the hose that had been brought up with the ladder before climbing out the window and making his way across.

Kelly turned to Celina, urgency in his voice. "I'm gonna help Casey! You stay here and help them get across!"

"Yes, Lieutenant!" Her response was quick. She watched as Kelly climbed out the window and moved across the ladder.

She saw Gabby.

The paramedic carefully placed her hands on the ladder, before climbing on it. Celina could see how nervous she was, her eyes stuck on the ground below.

"Gabby!" Celina called over. "Gabby, look at me!" The paramedic slowly looked up, meeting her friend's eyes. "You can do this! Slow movements!"

Gabby could barely nod, her movements slow, but somewhat deliberate. Thankfully the gap between the two buildings wasn't that big and it didn't take long for her to reach Celina.

The Firefighter grabbed her friend's hands and helped her down.

Once Gabby was on the floor, Celina turned to the window again, just in time for Peter and Otis to arrive.

Kelly helped Shay on the ladder. She had seen Gabby and knew not to look down, so she kept her eyes ahead— on Celina.

The blonde crossed faster, Celina and Otis helping her down. "Get me off this thing," Shay muttered as they did so.

The job wasn't over though.

The fire was still growing in the second building as Casey was struggling to tame it, and the victim had to be moved as well.

Casey had to abandon the hose to help Kelly.

The woman was on the backboard. They carefully guided the backboard onto the ladder.

Slowly, they began sliding it across.

Celina and Peter reached out to grab the other end and pulled the backboard all the way in, backing away slowly.

The backboard was almost halfway in when Gabby and Otis jumped in and grabbed the other end.

The four of them held onto the backboard and slowly put her down. She was still unconscious, but breathing. Celina and Otis moved in, grabbing each end before lifting her up and moving toward the stairs.

Shay rushed after them.

The two Firefighters moved down the stairs as quickly, but as carefully, as possible. They were moving down from the fourth floor, which meant a lot of stairs.

The paramedic moved ahead and tried to guide them as best as she could, occasionally grabbing Celina's arm so she didn't trip, seeing as she was walking backwards.

As they neared the first floor, Celina felt her arms beginning to ache, but shifting her grip wasn't an option.

As soon as they stepped out, the other Firefighters rushed over with the stretcher from the ambulance. They quickly got the woman on it and Shay tended to her.

Celina was finally able to remove her mask and helmet, but before she could take a breath, a deafening metallic clang suddenly echoed through the alleyway between the buildings.

Her head snapped toward the sound instinctively.

The ladder was gone.

It now lay twisted several floors below.

Her stomach dropped. For one horrifying second, she thought someone had fallen with it. She quickly looked up.

Casey was hanging in midair, both hands desperately gripping the hose they had been pulling back moments earlier.

Standing at the window above, Kelly immediately leaned forward, grabbing both of Casey's arms as he began pulling him up.

He struggled, but with Peter's help, they were able to pull Casey up.

Celina finally exhaled, knowing they were safe.

The rest of the call passed without incident. Once the victim had been taken by ambulance, the firefighters stayed behind to finish cleanup— rolling hoses, gathering equipment and making sure the trucks were ready for the next call.

By the time they got back to Firehouse 51, the adrenaline had long faded and darkness had settled outside.

The common room had become unusually quiet, everyone taking the chance to finally sit down after the long shift.

She sat on the couch, leaning back and getting comfortable. Pouch jumped up and climbed into her lap. Celina smiled faintly, stroking the dog's back.

"Oh, my God," she heard Otis mutter from the long table. He didn't sound panicked, so she knew it wasn't serious and he was most likely just being dramatic.

As usual.

Celina looked over at Otis, who was sitting on one of the chairs and staring wide-eyed at a phone, which wasn't his.

Herrmann looked over too. "What?" He walked over and grabbed the phone, as Celina got up. She saw the way Herrmann's expression fell into shock.

Now she was curious.

She stood next to Otis and looked at the phone with them. Quickly, Celina realized they were scrolling through photos of Joe at Game Day, clearly enjoying himself.

She felt confused and disappointed, as Herrmann played a video recorded at the bar, showing Joe partying and having fun. Music was playing loudly in the back, people were drinking heavily.

When Joe walked in, he knew immediately what was going on, his eyes widening.

Herrmann turned the phone off and threw it to Joe. "Thanks a million, Judas!"

"Guys, what do you want me to say?" He glanced between them, seeing they were mad. "Game Day's incredible. It's the best bar in Chicago. No, it's the single greatest place on earth."

Almost immediately, an argument broke out and soon they were yelling at each other. It escalated, which got the attention of the rest of the firehouse and the room started to fill up.

Celina tried to calm down Herrmann, who seemed to be the angriest, but it didn't work. Casey stepped closer, trying to figure out what was going on and why they were arguing.

"HEY!" Mouch screamed. All eyes were suddenly on him and the yelling died down. They watched as he grabbed Sullivan's poster from the corkboard and tore it in half.

Confusion washed over their faces, as Mouch threw the pieces of paper on the floor. "I would like to announce that I, Randy McHolland, am running for Union President, and I would appreciate your support."

They kept staring back at him, processing what he just told them, as he waited for a response or reaction.

Celina and Herrmann reacted first, both smiling at their friend. He pointed at Mouch. "Attaboy, Mouch. That's the best news I heard all day."

"You're gonna do great," she added. They all went up and congratulated Mouch, cheering him on, but it was cut short by the alarm.

The dispatcher alerted them that there had been a car accident, so they were prepared— or so they thought.

Only one car was involved in the accident.

They exited the truck and followed their Lieutenant, moving toward the black car. Joe and Herrmann went to the passenger seat, as the rest approached the Officer.

"DUI," Officer Atwater informed them. "The passenger's in pretty bad shape." They watched as Herrmann and Joe got the woman out of the car and onto the stretcher.

Gabby looked her over, her eyes focusing on the blood on her temple. "Head trauma," she observed. "Losing blood fast. We gotta move now."

The paramedics rolled the stretcher into the ambulance.

"Where's the driver?" Casey asked Atwater, who just pointed.

They turned, curious to know who had caused this accident. Celina's jaw almost dropped when she saw the familiar face. Around her, the others looked equally stunned.

THE LAST COUPLE OF DAYS HAD BEEN STRESSFUL FOR APRIL— SHE HAD BEEN ignoring calls and texts from anyone involved with Annalise, including Wes, and she had been working on David's case with his lawyer. A day after her argument with Annalise, April sent her professor a text saying that she wouldn't be returning to her class again, and she turned her phone off after that. April had also been staying over at Tamara's apartment because Frank and Annalise didn't know her or where she lived.

Adah, David's lawyer, entered the apartment with Marian— both carrying boxes. Adah and Marian owned one of the biggest law firms in Pennsylvania.

"Finally," April backed away from the kitchen counter, a cup of coffee in her hand. "This is going to help David's case?"

The boxes were placed on the living room table. "This is everything we have on the victims," Adah told her. "We need to go through this and find something that will help free David."

"Let's get started," Marian clapped her hands together. They took a box each and started. They sat on the large couch. "I spoke to Matt's parents because they heard we're taking the case... they're pissed."

"Of course they are," April told her. "We're taking their son's killer's case."

"... imagine raising someone like that..." Tamara trailed off. "Can't imagine."

"We know what he was... we just have to convince the jury."

"How?"

"Tamara, you and I are gonna contact the victims' families, tell them we're opening the case, and hopefully they'll agree to meet us," Adah spoke.

"April, you and I are going to link Matt to the deaths of these kids," Marian added. "See if we can place him at any of the crime scenes."

"Remember that we're doing this for them. Not him."

"I got into the database, and I found Matt Morrison, but it's gonna take a while to get into these files."

Marian frowned. "What do you mean?"

"The files are sealed, so it's going to take a while for me to break into them. I'm new to hacking."

"How long?"

"Could take hours— even days."

Marian groaned in annoyance. "Are you serious?" April shrugged. "The cause of death is what links the victims— blunt force trauma to the head. And they show clear signs of sexual assault."

"Post mortem?"

"Yep," Marian nodded.

"The victims attended to the same kindergarten— lived in different neighborhoods."

"It's not much, but it's a start."

April hummed. "Coffee round?"

"Please."

April stood, "how do you like your coffee?"

"Like my soul."

April snorted as she grabbed her wallet. "Extra milk?"

Marian gave her a playful glare. "Screw you, Coleman." April shared a sarcastic smile before exiting the apartment.

April exited the coffee shop, holding two cups of coffee. "We're not doing this." She started to walk away from Frank, who followed her.

"You need to come back, red."

"I'm not going back to that class, Frank."

He caught up to her. "Oh, come on. So you had an argument with Annalise. Big deal."

"It wasn't just an argument. And I'm not going back. You can't convince me."

"Annalise sent me."

"Why?"

"She wants you back." Frank stepped in front of her, causing her to stop walking. "You're smart, April. You're just going to throw that away?"

April shook her head at his question. "I'm not throwing away anything, Frank. I just— I can't look at her. You don't understand."

"Then tell me."

"She has probably already told you." Frank shook his head. "The man that killed my girlfriend walks free because Annalise defended him. She's been spying on me— did a full background check on me." He averted his gaze for a second, and the realization hit her like a truck. "You— you did the background check— not Annalise. She asked you to do it. That explains why you called me School President. I thought it was a coincidence, but I was wrong." She felt frustrated, just like she did that night she argued with Annalise. Who could she trust? "... stay away from me. I'm not kidding." April walked around him and started walking away.

"Or what?" She stopped. "You'll kill me? Like you did with your hubby? And Sam?"

April stopped. His question was echoing in her head. "... maybe." She walked away, this time not bothering to wait for him to say anything.

////

"THANK YOU FOR MEETING ME," APRIL SAYS, as she looked over the menu.

Karen smiled. "I got to say I was surprised. And I had to say yes because we never spend time together. We haven't for a long time."

April forced a small smile. "I was thinking that too. Have things worked out between you and Henry?"

Karen's smile dropped. "We don't have to talk about that now."

"I'm sorry if I offended you. I just thought since we're becoming close and more open with each other that you'd tell me— that I could ask you. Sorry."

Karen sighed. "You're right. I— well— things are good."

April frowned. "Good? How so?"

"I confronted him about what you told me, and he denied it."

April fought the urge to argue with her.  "Oh? So, he didn't do it?"

"No," Karen shook her head with a smile on her face.

"That's good."

"How are you doing?"

"... I'm quitting law school."

Karen looked at her in shock. "What? Why? Don't tell me it got too hard."

"No. I just— it's not me. I mean, it's not what I want to do. Yeah, I know it's pathetic. Me being almost thirty years old and not knowing what I want to do. I should have figured it out by now, right? You don't have to tell me."

"I wouldn't. So, you're not seeing anyone?" April shook her head. "I know someone who you might like. There's this cute guy where I work."

A waitress walked over to them. "Have you decided?"

"Yes," Karen smiled at the waitress. "We'd like two of number eight and two glasses of your best white wine."

"Alright." She took the menus and walks away.

"How old is this guy?"

"... age is just a number."

"That means he's too old for me."

"... he's rich, April. You could marry a rich man."

"Uhm.. no, I don't. I want to be a rich man."

Karen frowned. "What do you mean? Are you," she leaned forward, "a trans?"

April glared at her mother. "I didn't mean that literally, mom. Never mind."

April was back at her apartment. The first thing she did was to lock the door and close the blinds. She then checked her apartment because she felt like she was being watched— maybe she was a little paranoid. April grabbed all the bottles of liquor that she had and put them on the living room table.

She took the cross necklace that belonged to Sheri, and she put it on. Before settling down on her couch, April changed into something more comfortable. She put on grey sweatpants, a t-shirt, and a hoodie— and grabbed a blanket.

The blanket was wrapped around her body, and her hair was up in a messy bun. The bottles had been moved to the couch because she would be too lazy to reach for them on the table. The tv was on, and a movie was playing. Not caring, April let the tears stream down her face— she was alone after all.

////

APRIL WOKE UP THE NEXT MORNING ON HER COUCH, the headache hitting her like a truck. Empty bottles surrounded her, and the blanket was hanging around her shoulders loosely. April groaned as she got up, the blanket dropped on the couch.

She went to grab some aspirin- accidentally closing the cabinet too harshly, which caused her to wince. April poured herself a glass of water and took the pill.

Her phone rang, almost startling her. April rushed to answer the call, the ringing made her headache worse. "What?" She asked, annoyed.

"Good to hear your voice, too," Tamara stated sarcastically. "Have you been drinking?"

"... why are you calling me this early?"

"I take that as a yes on the drinking. It's five pm."

April looked at the clock on the wall, and Tamara was indeed correct. "Whatever. What can I do for you?" She rubbed her forehead.

"The trial was this morning."

"And?"

"We provided the jury all the evidence we had against Matt, and one of the victims' family testified. We won the case, April. We convinced the jury that he was indeed a pedophile. We are waiting for them to make a decision about David."

April nodded. "That's good."

"Yeah. Where are you? You never showed last night."

"I'm in my apartment. Why?"

"... well, I was worried."

"There's no reason to be worried."

"If David gets released, then the case is over... are you still leaving?"

"... yeah," April replied hesitantly. "I can't stay here. We've been over this."

"Fine," Tamara sighed. "As long as you're a hundred percent sure you want this."

"I am. Talk to you later." She hung up.

"Congratulations on winning the case."

Adah walked up to April outside the courthouse. "Thank you." She smiled.

April was squinting, the sun hurting her eyes. "How did the parents take it finding out their son was a pedophile?"

"As one would expect," Adah shrugged. They started walking. "Hopefully, they'll release David."

"They haven't made a decision yet?"

"We will get an answer tomorrow."

April frowned. "They really need that long?"

Adah shrugged. "Apparently."

"There you are!" April and Adah turned towards the angry voice and saw Matt's parents walk up to them. "You're the one who told her to take the case!" The mother glared at April.

"And what about it?" April snapped back at her.

"You have ruined our lives!" The father snarled— just as angry as his wife. "You're gonna pay for this!"

"Fight me, old man."

Adah pulled back April. "I was just doing my job, sir."

"Kindly walk away," April added. She glanced between them.

"You're a murderer," the mother snapped.

"And you raised a pedophile, so..." April trailed off. "I didn't ruin your lives- your son did that. I'm not sorry for what I did. And don't be too upset, I mean- you guys look like you could die any second, so you'll see your son in hell soon." Howard stopped his wife from attacking April, who looked proud of herself for her comment. "Anyway... have a great day," she said sarcastically before walking away with Adah.

"Was that necessary?"

"Absolutely," April smiled.

///

APRIL WAS PACKING HER CLOTHES AND BELONGINGS, LEAVING TWO OUTFITS WHICH she would wear for the next two days. She bought a plane ticket and was leaving in two days, the earliest flight she could get.

The apartment had been cleaned— including the empty bottles. The radio was on, and a song was playing. There was a knock on the door. April dropped what she was doing and went to answer it.

"Hey," Karen greeted her.

"Mom." April seemed confused to see her mother. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, I just thought I'd pay you a little visit." Karen smiled. "I haven't been here in a while."

April opened the door wider. "Come in."

Karen stepped into the apartment. "You've cleaned," she stated as April closed the door.

"Well, I'm leaving, so..."

Karen turned to face April. "You're going back to Virginia?"

"Yep," April nodded as she went to sit on the couch.

"And then what?"

"I haven't decided yet."

"This is unlike you. You always plan things ahead. You're not one to improvise."

"People change," April shrugged.

Karen sat next to April. "Is there anything I can do for you? I'm here if you need anything."

"I'm good," April forced a smile. "I'll be fine."

///

2013

APRIL WAS BANGING ON HER MOTHER'S APARTMENT DOOR, so loudly that she was wondering how the neighbors hadn't yelled at her. The door opened abruptly. "What the hell is this, April?!" Karen snapped at her.

April had tears streaming down her face, not that her mother seemed too bothered about that. "I-I-I didn't k-know where t-to go," she cried.

Karen placed her hand on her hip. "What are you stuttering for? Where is that husband of yours?"

April sniffled. "I-I don't know what to do. I tried to push him away, but-"

"What are you talking about?!"

"... h-he forced himself on me."

"That's Bull."

April shook her head, more tears formed in her eyes. "It's true. It started a few months ago."

"Why didn't you say no? Why didn't you leave?"

"I'm telling the truth!"

"If it were true, you would have left. Don't come lying to me."

2013

APRIL PICKED UP HER LAB COAT FROM THE FLOOR AND USED IT to cover up her naked body. She picked up the clothes and made her way upstairs. Her cheeks were wet from the tears, her eyes were red, and she was shaking. Her body was aching.

She threw her clothes in the garbage— but she put her lab coat in the closet. Her mind was hazy even though it has happened before— maybe she thought she would get used to it. Turning the shower on, April got in— after locking the door.

The water washed down her body, and her hair got soaked. She was getting cleaned, but she still felt dirty. April wrapped her arms around herself— it used to be Nicholas who hugged her when she felt down. And when she was a child, it used to be her father. She sniffled as she tried to remember the good times in her marriage, but why? Why did she keep looking for the good in him? There was no good in him. All the horrible memories were clouding the good ones, and maybes that was good.

Had April remembered the good times with Nicholas, she wouldn't have killed him later that night.

////

APRIL AND WES WALKED INTO THEIR CLASSROOM SIDE BY SIDE. He was on the phone, "where are you? Please call me back."

"Still nothing?" April asked.

"Is that your bestie Levi?" Laurel asked before Wes could answer April's question. "How's jail treating him?"

Wes grabbed her arm, stopping her from leaving. "I can take crap from Connor and Michaela, fine, but you know I'm not crazy."

"What's up with you?" April asked as she crossed her arms.

Laurel glanced at them both. "I snooped through Frank's stuff this morning."

"You found something?"

"No. And I won't because there's nothing to find."

"Then what's with the suitcase?" Wes asked.

"Huh, we were right," Michaela approached them. "They're obsessing about the suitcase."

"Not obsessing," April told her. "Just curious to know why Frank has so much money laying around. Aren't you?"

"Maybe he has a gambling problem or distrusts banks," Connor guessed.

"Or is saving it to hire a hitman to kill Wes for letting me sleep with a drug dealer."

"Okay, can we all stop this, please?" Laurel asked. "Forget about the suitcase and Rebecca and Levi before Annalise finds out we've all gone bananas again."

"Laurel is right," April was the first to speak up. "Right, Wes?" She eyed him.

Wes looked at April for a moment before nodding. "Right." She gave him a nod back before turning to Michaela.

"By the way, let's not blame your failed sex life on Wes because we all know your taste in men sucks." Connor grinned at her comment while Laurel tried to hide hers.

"Why aren't we in our seat?" Annalise walked in before Michaela could respond to April's comment.

April grabbed Wes's arm and dragged him with her. "Keep your head down," she told him before she took her seat, and he went to find his.

"The United States V. Mahoney," Annalise spoke up. "Mr. Millstone." Asher stood from his seat. "Tell me the verdict."

"There was no verdict in the U.S. v. Mahoney. Due to the victim's concerns about suffering additional emotional harm, he didn't testify, and the judge had no choice but to dismiss the case."

"What legal option did the prosecutor exercise in allowing the victim's request not to testify?"

"Discretion." Annalise nodded at his answer.

They were back at Annalise's house— they were in the living room area. "Sorry I had to go all Jason Bourne on you guys," Asher said, "but, uh, your heads would literally kerplode if you knew about all the crap going on in this house."

"Really?" Laurel asked. "You can't tell us anything?"

"No, not a peep."

"Good. I don't want to know anything that could get me into trouble," Connor said.

"Seriously, don't tell us anything," Michaela added.

"I mean, I won't." Asher glanced at Bonnie when she exited Annalise's office. "You know, A.K. really wants to keep this genie in a bottle—"

"That's good," April cut in before Asher could say anything else ridiculous. "If it's that intense, then it's best that you keep it to yourself."

Asher nodded. "You're totally right, and I will keep it to myself, A.C." April grimaced at the nickname. "Ooh, you know what? If my initials were D and C, then we would be ac/dc." He grinned at his own comment.

"Wow," April mumbled. "Yeah," she forced a smile, "that— that would have been great." Asher grinned wider as April grabbed her book and leaned back on the couch.

"You need something?" April looked up when she heard Frank's voice.

And then she saw Wes standing there, looking at Frank. "No."

"Wes," April called out to him as Connor and Michaela glanced at each other. Wes turned to face her. "I need to show you something."

Frank watched as Wes made his way to April and sat next to her. "What?" Wes asked April in a low voice.

"I don't actually have anything to show you." April turned to face Wes. "Look, I want to know what happened just as much as you do, but I told you to keep your head down," she whispered to him so that the others wouldn't hear. "You don't think Frank is going to tell Annalise? He will. He will get suspicious. And so will she."

Wes nodded. "I know. And you're right. I just... I want to know the truth," he whispers back.

"And we will figure it out... just be patient." Wes nodded, knowing she was right.

"When are you finally gonna talk to him?" Frank asked Annalise in her office.

"I don't know," Annalise replied.

"Sooner, the better, I say. The suitcase distracted him, but he's a dog with a bone about Rebecca."

"Don't you think I know that?"

"And it's not just the puppy... I think School President is on it too."

Annalise grabbed her bag and turned to Frank. "April?"

"Think about it, Annalise. She was friends with the girl— even killed Sam defending her. You really don't think she would want to know the truth?"

Annalise paused for a moment. "I didn't even think of it that way. But don't worry... I can handle them. Right now, I have to go handle a bitch."

////

"WELL, WE OBVIOUSLY KNOW WHO I THINK OUR NUMBER-ONE SUSPECT IS," Michaela stated. "The racist. Aunt Helena. She was next in line to get the money if you two went to jail."

"But she's dead now," Catherine said.

"Her money has to go to someone, though, right? An ex-husband, a boyfriend."

"A girlfriend." Asher walked in. "Old ladies can like vag, too," he said when the others looked at him.

"Our aunt willed all her money to a charity based in Africa," Caleb told them.

"Hmm, the irony," April mumbled— only Michaela and Connor hearing the comment since she was sitting between them.

"What about miss Guthrie?" Laurel asked. "She planted the sibcest photo of you two, had access to the house."

"Her sister told the police she was home all night," Catherine cut in.

"Why aren't we considering your real parents?" Asher asked. "Your sperm and egg parents, not them," he gestured to the picture on the wall.

"Oh, my God," Michaela whispered, annoyed.

"Those are our real parents," Catherine told Wes.

"You know what I mean."

"We are not looking into our birth parents," Caleb shut down the idea.

"Why not?" Wes spoke up for the first time. "A jury might buy that they resented your adopted parents' ability to give you what they couldn't."

"So they murdered them in cold blood?" Michaela seemed to be angry at the idea. "That makes no sense."

"It does if the birth parents knew how much Catherine and Caleb would inherit," April stated— gaining a glare from Michaela.

"Okay, no, we are not vilifying the people who were brave enough to put their biological kids' needs before their own, thus ensuring them a safe and loving home."

"Exactly." Caleb sided with Michaela. April watched as he and Michaela glanced at each other.

"So... please tell us those aren't the only potential suspects you have," Catherine said.

"Ronald Freestone. Your dad's ex-business partner who was ousted from the board."

"Where have you been?" Wes asked Nate— he put the phone on speaker. He was standing on the balcony with April. Wes had already explained everything to April— after that night at the storage locker.

"Doesn't matter," Nate replied.

"It does," April said. "Frank used his storage locker the night Rebecca disappeared."

"We went inside and found all this cash in a suitcase," Wes added.

"Great. Tell your friend. What's his name?"

"He's in jail for dealing, but I think Annalise set him up."

Nate didn't respond. April frowned slightly. "Are you hearing what we're saying?"

"No. And I'm done... with anything having to do with Annalise. Stop calling me." April and Wes looked at each other once Nate hung up the phone— both confused.

"If you're charged with a murder you didn't commit, you'd blame anyone but yourself, even your birth parents."

"We're considering the birth parents again?" April asked Laurel as she entered the room with Wes.

"No," Michaela replied.

The iPad on the table catches April's attention. "Oh, my god," she mumbled. "Whose is that?" She pointed at the iPad.

"Why?" Laurel asked.

"It's recording," April replied. Laurel grabbed the device.

"It's Catherine's."

"She's recording us?" Michaela stood along with Laurel.

"Delete it," Connor told Laurel.

"She'll know," Wes said.

"Well, it's better than letting her hear us say they're killers."

"It's got a passcode," Laurel told them.

"It's 4713," Catherine walked up to them, taking them by surprise. "And you don't get to be mad I recorded you." She took back the device. "You lied to me, as did you, so I figured we might as well know what our lawyers were saying about us for once."

"I don't know what's more idiotic," Annalise scolded her students. "Bad mouthing our clients in their own home or getting caught doing it."

"I'd say the latter," Asher spoke up— standing next to Annalise.

"I'll talk to Caleb, explain—"

"He just called," Annalise interrupted Michaela. "He doesn't want any of you near this case."

"But not me, right?" Asher asked their professor.

Annalise glared at Asher before turning to the students who got themselves in trouble. "You know, at least tell me you've made some headway on the suspect front." No one spoke up. She shook her head at then. "You're all garbage."

"You mean all them, right?" Asher asked as Annalise made her way to the office with Bonnie. "Not me? I-I'm still good, right?" The professor ignored him and shut the door.

"What about you, April?" Michaela turned to April, who was walking over to the white chairs— now standing opposite Michaela, who was seated. "I thought you were the smartest here. So use your smart, psychopathic brain and find a solution."

April laughed sarcastically. "Okay." Her face went blank. "Genius, psychopathic brain. And I didn't get us into this mess. You're the ones," she gestured to Michaela, Laurel, and Connor, "bad mouthing our clients. I mean, what were you thinking?" The three didn't respond. April scoffed as she sat down.

"Uncle Silas. Looks like a serial killer," Laurel said, holding up a picture.

"His credit cards show he was in Brazil during the murders," Michaela responded. April was sitting on the couch, trying to concentrate on the case.

"The family lawyer."

"Was at a museum gala that night," Connor stated.

"Why don't we at least find out who the birth parents are?" Wes asked.

"No respectable adoption agency is just gonna hand over that information to us."

"Nothing needs to be handed over," April mocked Michaela. "We just call Oliver. He can hack into the system and find the biological parents."

"I'll call him right now," Connor said.

"No! Our clients specifically said not to go down this road," Michaela told Connor angrily as she took his phone from him.

"Is this about your crush on Caleb?"

"You have a crush on Caleb?" April scoffed. "So, after endlessly making fun of Wes for being with Rebecca, you're going to do the exact same thing? Besides, the birth parents are the best chance we have."

"I'm adopted, and no, we're not talking about it, but yes, it means I have personal feelings about this issue, which I would consider putting aside if I didn't know that this was just Wes and his crazy."

"How is this about me?"

"Because everything wrong about our lives is about you, and—"

"That's enough!" April interrupted Michaela as she stood from the couch. The sudden noise almost startling Michaela. "You continue to blame everything on Wes, and I'm sick of it. Sam's death— that's on me. I'm the one who ruined your life that night— not Wes. So hate me. And you can hate me as much as you want, but right now, you need to put it aside so we can fix your mistake. But if you can't pull yourself together, then you should leave because I can't afford to waste my time here." Michaela only nodded in return, not knowing what to say.

////

"WHAT'S YOUR PLAY, APRIL?" TAMARA ASKED as they sat on April's living room couch.

"... we know Henry and George killed Sheri. Nicholas was Henry's brother... he wanted revenge, so he killed my girlfriend." April took a big sip from her white wine.

"But how do we prove that?"

"We know George is dead, so we find out how he died."

"You think he could have been murdered?"

April shrugged. "After everything that has happened, that doesn't seem too crazy. David saw them together, which means he saw them in Virginia before he was arrested. I'll call hospitals and tell them the prosecutor is building a case. I'll get the certified death report and— you know what? You get it."

Tamara exhaled and nodded. "That sounds good, April. But are you sure it's going to work?"

"Yeah," April nodded. "I think it will. I have it all planned out. It will work."

"Have I reached Virginia Hospital Center?" April spoke into her phone as she slowly paced around her living room. This being the fifth hospital she had called.

"Yes," the woman on the other end answered. "How may I help you?"

"My name is Dr. Coleman, and I'm calling from Pennsylvania. I work for a prosecutor of the state, and we're looking to build a case for one George Matthews and, if I'm not mistaken, you have his file."

"Uhh, I'm going to have to check. One second." There was silence on the other end as April waited. "Did you say George Matthews?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"We have the death certificate. Is that what you're looking for?"

"Yes. That's great. So, if you could just email it to me, that would be good."

"What did you get?" Tamara entered April's apartment.

"Death certificate," April replied, her eyes on her laptop screen. "Anthony called Arlington Virginia Police Department, which is a mouthful, and provided us with everything they had on Henry."

Tamara frowned. "W-wait. I don't understand."

April looked at Tamara. "George's official cause of death was homicide— first degree."

"You were right."

April hummed. "Henry was arrested for the murder because his firearm matched the murder weapon."

"But he never went to prison?"

"He's a white police officer... obviously, he didn't go to prison. I'm looking for the lawyer who represented him." April started looking through the file.

"Then what?"

"Violet knows a lawyer. You can go—" April stopped mid-sentence when something in a file caught her attention.

"What?" Tamara looked confused.

"This can't be right," April mumbled. She looked at Tamara. "Defense attorney, Annalise Keating." She felt her heart almost drop to her stomach when she said the words out loud.

Tamara looked shocked. "April—"

"Go to Violet," April interrupted her. Pushing her feelings down. "She knows a lawyer, and we're gonna need her."

"For Henry?"

April shook her head. "For David. I'll handle the Henry... situation."

Tamara took a step closer. "April—"

"Please, just do what I told you!"

Tamara scoffed. "Just like old times; you telling me what to do."

"... it's not like that."

"It's exactly like that."

"I can't do everything, Tamara! I'm just asking you to talk with Violet. Please?"

Tamara sighed. "Fine." She left— slamming the door behind her. April looked at Annalise's name on the file, knowing she had to confront her about it.

////

"I KNOW THAT I'M THE LAST PERSON YOU WANT TO SEE RIGHT NOW," April started— the wine bottle in her hand. "But... I-I just came to apologize for my behavior. I was way out of line."

"Is that so?" Karen asked, her arms crossed.

April nodded as she blinked back her tears. "You're my mom... no matter what. We fight all the time, but that doesn't change the fact that we're family. And I— I really need someone to talk to right now," she choked up— she wiped a single tear that rolled down her cheek. "I don't know what to do."

Karen looked sympathetic— almost tearing up as well. She opened the door wider. "Come in." April walked in, and Karen closed the door.

"What happened?" Karen asked as she poured April a glass of the wine she brought.

"... it's just— school is really stressing me out," her voice shook as she talked. "And I kept thinking about the things I said to you... I shouldn't have said those things to you." Karen gave her the glass of wine. "And I'm sorry for mentioning George. I didn't even stop to think how his death affected you. It's always hard to find out someone you care about has been murdered."

Karen stopped in her tracks. And she slowly turned to face April. "What did you just say?"

"That I'm sorry," April repeated.

"The part about George being murdered."

April sniffled. "The cause of death was a gunshot wound to the head. I thought you knew."

Karen sat down on the couch. "I— I didn't know. Who killed him?"

"Some guy who was let go. It doesn't matter."

"April. Tell me."

April looked at her lap. "Henry," she mumbled. Her answered shocking Karen. "And my professor represented him. She defended him in court." She sniffled. "She defended him." Karen took the wine bottle and started drinking it. "I'm sorry."

Karen dropped the bottle. "How did I not know this?"

"I'm sorry," April repeated. "I thought you knew, and I didn't want you to find out like this."

"But he must have been innocent because he's free."

April nodded. "Yeah. At least you know the truth now."

Karen nodded. "Thank you, dear."

"I think— I think we could work this out."

Karen smiled. "Me too, dear."

April forced a smile. "That's good."

"Excuse me," April said when her phone rang. She stood up and went to the kitchen to answer it. "What's up?"

"The lawyer agreed to represent David."

April sighed in relief. "That's good."

"Yeah, but there's bad news. We don't have enough proof."

"What about witnesses?"

"One, and she was too scared to take the stand."

"Family of the victims."

"Do you think they're going to want to testify after what happened last time? Plus, they've worked so hard to forget what happened. I'm not sure I want to put them through that."

"I understand what you're saying, Tamara. But David is your friend, and he would do the same for you."

"... I'll see what we can do. The lawyer decides. Bye."

"Bye." She hung up.

"Everything alright?" Karen asked.

April nodded. "That was work. Everything's fine."

April entered her apartment where Tamara was. She was sitting on the couch, with a pitiful expression on her face. "What happened?" April closed the door and approached Tamara.

"I was just on the phone."

"And?"

"Josephine Kelley— the only witness died two years ago." April was shocked by the news. "Whatever evidence we find, if we find any, better be damn good if we want to win this case, April."

April sat down on the couch. "Do not give up on this, Tamara. We will win this... but we may have to play dirty."

"Whatever it takes to get him out of that place."

////

IT WAS LATE— APRIL AND WES ENTERED NATE'S APARTMENT BUILDING. "It makes sense," April told him in a low voice. "She had cancer, and he sounded upset on the phone."

"He said that he doesn't want anything to do with Annalise."

"They had an affair while his wife was dying of cancer. I don't know; maybe he regrets not spending time with his dying wife."

Wes nodded slightly. "Maybe you're right."

As they got closer to Nate's apartment, they heard knocking— it was Annalise. "Nate?" She knocked again before putting something on the floor.

"Don't tell me what my wife wanted!" They heard Nate yell at Annalise. April looked down, knowing she was right about his wife passing away.

"I couldn't not come."

"Because you knew what you took from me! She needed me. The whole time I was in jail, in court, but I wasn't there 'cause you stole that from us. The only time we had left together, you stole that. So no cobbler or apologies could fix it."

"Right. I would hate me too."

"I don't hate you. I just don't care about you. I gave Nia those pills because I loved her. And I laid next to her in that bed, held her as she fell asleep, so close that I could feel when she took her last breath. No one's ever going to love you that way. Leave. Leave!" Nate went back in and closed the door. April grabbed Wes's arm to drag him away because she didn't want Annalise to see them, but he didn't budge. That was when Annalise looked up and saw them standing there.

"Come on," April whispered to Wes. Annalise took a step towards them, but she didn't have the chance to do more than that because they left.

"What now?" April asked Wes— they were at his place.

"She's gonna show up here." Moments later, there was a knock on the door. "Told you."

April opened the door, and Annalise walked in. "Nate's wife died last night."

"We know." April closed the door.

Annalise stood in front of April and Wes— she looked at both of them. "We have to finally talk."

"Then talk."

"You know everything now. Right?" Wes asked. "From Frank, or has Nate just been telling you all along?"

"I didn't kill Rebecca," Annalise stated.

April eyed her carefully. "So, she is dead."

"April—"

"You said you didn't kill Rebecca," April interrupted her mid-sentence. "Which means someone else did. Maybe you're covering for the real killer. Make us believe that she just left town."

"That is not true."

"Explain the suitcase," Wes demanded. "Why did you have us find it?"

"She ran away. That's all I know."

"You know more than that."

"Tell us," April added. "Is she dead?"

"I don't know where she is."

"And we don't believe you."

"And I understand that." Annalise glanced between them. "You both have a parent who killed themselves," she notes— changing the subject altogether.

April scoffed and turned away from Annalise. "How do you know that?" Wes asked. He was not surprised about April's dad, considering he and April had shared a lot after they agreed to work together.

"It's my job to know these things," Annalise replied. "About all of you. You were both abandoned... and that's not something a nine-year-old or a twelve-year-old can just get over."

"Stop." Wes turned away from Annalise.

"Now you can't trust anyone anymore—"

"This is not about my dad!" April interrupted her again— she was trying not to tear up. "And it's not about his mom!"

"It is," Annalise insisted. She turned to April. "With your estranged relationship with your mother, there's no wonder why—"

"You don't know what you're talking about!" April had tears in her eyes— she tried to stay strong. Annalise fought the urge to take a step back. "I never told you anything about my father, so how the hell do you know so much about him?!"

"It's my job!"

"Stop lying!" All the anger came out. "All those times you needed to talk to me after class or in your office, you asked me all these questions about my mom and my family! Why?! You were sitting there with all the answers, so why make me tell you?! Why?! W-was it to see if I would lie to you?! To test my loyalty?! What was it?!"

"April, just let me expl—" Annalise stepped towards April, her arms out ready to comfort her but was stopped when Wes stepped in front of her.

"Don't touch her!" Annalise was taken aback by Wes protecting April— she didn't realize they were that close.

"I trusted you," her voice wavered. "You've been spying on us. You did background checks on us. You're a damned liar," she muttered the last part. She's frustrated. "And when you stood in front of me and pretended to be sympathetic after Sheri died when you're the one who defended her killer in court!"

Wes looked shocked. "Is that true?" Annalise didn't answer. "It is."

"It's more complicated than that," Annalise told April. "I know it's hard to believe, and I understand. And it's hard to believe that Rebecca ran away, but it's just how it is sometimes." Her voice was calm. "And the worst part about this is that it's destroying us. But I'm here for you— for both of you. All right?" April scoffed— it was hard to believe anything right now. "I'm never leaving you."

"You have to stop keeping secrets then," Wes told her.

"You're right—no more secrets. We've looked all over for her. Everywhere. I can't find her. I'm sorry."

AMY WAS FINALLY ABLE to work in the field again, but more importantly, she got to carry a gun. She never thought holstering her gun in the morning would feel as good as it did.

She looked up, catching her reflection in the mirror. The bandage visible on her arm, by the sleeve of her t-shirt. The gun on her hip. It felt like she was actually back to being a cop.

The last four months of working in Homicide were good. Nothing like working in Intelligence. All those months and she barely interacted with the unit— each person working independently, most of the time.

They weren't a team, or a family.

They were simply coworkers. And surprisingly, Amy didn't know how to feel about it.

"How's the shoulder?" Jay asked, as he walked out from the kitchen, with a cup of coffee in his hand.

"Almost healed."

Something caught his eye. "Uhh..." he trailed off, making her frown. Jay approached her, putting the cup on the counter. "It's your bandage. I can fix it."

Amy had her head turned, looking at him, as he stood next to her. "Alright." He lifted her sleeve, adjusting the bandage.

"Are you sure you're ready to be out in the field?" He asked, finishing with the bandage. Taking a step back, he kept his eyes on her.

"Yeah, it's been four months," she replied with a nod. "You should be more worried about the bounty on you."

That was followed by a brief pause before he replied. "Touché." That brought a satisfied smile on her face.

Amy leaned down and grabbed her bag. "Alright. I'm gonna head out now." She put the strap around her left shoulder. "I'm gonna meet Antonio for a boxing session."

"Be careful."

"Yeah, yeah," she muttered, patting his arm as she passed him. She could hear him chuckling as she left the apartment.

Amy really did need those boxing sessions— at this point it was mostly to get back into good physical shape. And Antonio was a good boxer, so it was fun too.

And with his marital issues, Antonio needed them too.

After quickly changing in the locker room, she joined Antonio, greeting him with a fist bump. They got started almost immediately, because neither of them knew if they could be called in to work.

Amy wiped the sweat off her brow and squared her stance. Antonio stood a step in front of her, glancing at her shoulders.

"Keep your right up a little higher," he said. "Your left's fine, but your right's dipping. Don't leave it open."

Amy adjusted her gloves. "Like this?"

"Better. Now throw a jab— fast, snap it back."

She punched the bag, the thwack echoing in the gym. A slight pang ran through her right shoulder, but she ignored it.

Antonio nodded, stepping closer. "Good, but don't reach too far. You want control, not just power."

Amy tried again, more controlled this time. "Feels weird not using my right as much," she muttered.

"Right shoulder's still healing, I get it," he said. "You don't need to baby it, but don't push it."

She grunted and jabbed the bag again, focusing. Antonio circled her slowly, watching. "Good. Keep your feet moving— don't let them get flat. Boxing's as much about balance as it is about hitting."

Amy shifted, adjusting her stance. "Like this?"

"Exactly. Nice," he said. Then, as she paused to reset, he added casually, "By the way, your spot in Intelligence still hasn't been filled."

Amy froze mid-jab, eyes narrowing in surprise. "Really? Four months and no one? Why?"

He shrugged, a small smile on his face. "Beats me." He did know though. Hank told him he wouldn't find anyone to fill her shoes, so he wasn't going to.

After he was called to work, Amy decided to change and head to work as well. She was looking forward to getting cases that allowed her to go out in the field.

She got a coffee and started driving to work. Soft music played on the radio, the weather was good, and hopefully the day would be too.

As she got closer to the district, Amy's eyes fell on a group of Police Officers.

Some were walking around, others talking to civilians, and a few were setting up yellow and red tape.

A crime scene. It could be interesting.

Amy quickly pulled over, parked her car, and got out. "Hey," she approached the Officer, who stood by the yellow tape.

The Officer recognized her before he saw her badge, lifting the tape as she ducked under. "Detective."

"What's going on?"

"Patrol Officers found him," he explained as they walked toward the crime scene. "Middle-aged man shot in the head, possibly with a shotgun."

They crossed to the garage, just as more red tape was being set up. Her eyes fell on the body, next to the car. But what really got Amy's attention was the dollar bill on his chest. Odd.

"Thanks." Amy walked up to the body to have a closer look. Two Officers stood close by— she assumed they were the ones who found the body.

The dollar bill was weird. The killer wanted to send a message— but what kind of message?

Then there was a noise that caught her attention. No one reacted to it, so they probably didn't hear it. Her eyes moved to the black car. Something wasn't right. Her instincts screamed— she had to be ready.

She looked at the Officers. "Did you check the car?"

"No," the Officer replied.

Amy inched closer to the vehicle— to the trunk— her hand moving to her gun. As she did so, there was a knock, causing the Officers to almost jump back.

"Open it," she gestured toward the front of the car, grabbing her gun.

The Officer moved to the front of the car. He reached down and, after Amy's signal, he pulled the button that opened the trunk.

It flew open, and Amy pointed the gun at the person inside.

Once she saw the young girl covered in blood, she lowered and then holstered her gun. The blonde had her hands raised, covering her face. "It's alright, we're the police."

Slowly, Amy held out her hand.

The young girl was scared, slowly lowering her hands to see who was talking to her. She was shaken up. Carefully, she took the Detective's hand, letting her guide her out.

And she didn't let go.

Amy turned to the Officers. "Homicide is taking over the crime scene."

One of them nodded. "Understood, Detective." She explained that someone from the unit would be there shortly before gently guiding the young woman away.

The girl clung to Amy's hand as they moved toward the car. Once they reached it, Amy helped her into the passenger seat.

Crouching slightly, Amy met the girl's wide, frightened eyes. "Okay, I'm going to call my boss, then drive to the district. It's safe there. Alright?"

The girl gave a small nod— enough to reassure Amy.

After a brief phone call, Amy started the car, the engine humming as she drove them to the district. During the ride, they talked quietly— not about the murder, just the basics— giving Collette something familiar to hold onto.

Once inside, Amy led Collette into her office, closing the door behind them. The younger girl hugged her arms across her chest, hesitating a moment before sliding onto the chair. Amy pulled up a chair across from her, keeping her posture relaxed but attentive.

"Me and Dad got out of the car," Collette said finally, her voice low, almost a whisper. She shifted in her seat, eyes downcast. "It's like he came out of nowhere, wearing a hoodie..."

Amy nodded slightly, her tone gentle but professional. "Did you get a look at him?"

Collette bit her lip and shook her head. "I... I think so." She paused, glancing up at Amy before quickly looking away. "White. Dark hair. Clean shaven."

"Good," Amy said softly. "That's important. Take your time— you don't have to rush."

Collette's fingers fidgeted with the edge of her sleeve. "And his eyes..." Her voice trembled. "There's nothing behind them. He just had this blank look. And... he just turned the shotgun on my dad and... right in front of me. Who'd do that? A human being wouldn't do that."

Amy stayed quiet, letting the words hang in the room. She kept her voice even, soft, without adding judgment or emotion. "Collette, how did you end up in the trunk?"

Collette flinched, hugging herself tighter, her shoulders hunching. "He... he turned the gun on me, with that same dead look in his eyes. I... I said, 'please, don't kill me.' And... and he nodded at the trunk and told me to get in."

Amy gave a slow nod, watching her carefully. "Alright. That's exactly what you needed to do to stay safe. You were brave, Collette."

Collette took a shaky breath, and for the first time, she met Amy's eyes. Slowly, she began to recount more: how her father had reacted, the sound of the gun, the feel of the cold trunk door closing behind her. Amy listened quietly, occasionally nodding or prompting gently, letting her speak without pushing.

Even in the face of fear, Amy stayed focused on the facts. She wasn't there to console or sympathize— she was there to solve the case, and right now, Collette's words were the first vital pieces of the puzzle.

/////

HOURS PASSED BY, the investigation in full gear.

Amy managed to find clean clothes for Collette. The girl had finally washed the blood off and gotten some food in her— the last part thanks to Marcus.

It was one thing he had in common with Hank. They both cared about victims, especially kids.

Now, Amy sat at her desk, going over everything collected from the scene. Witness statements. Crime scene photos. Initial reports.

She flipped through the images, her eyes scanning every detail. One of the photos caught her attention— shotgun shells, ten gauge.

She studied the image, before the sound of her phone ringing cut through the silence in the office. It was her personal phone— she knew who it was before even checking the caller ID.

Jay.

"Hey, what's up?" she answered.

He skipped the greeting. "First of all, I'm fine." That alone made her look away from the photo in her hand, her focus sharpening instantly. There was something off about the way he said it. "Someone broke into the apartment."

The photo slipped from her fingers, landing softly on the desk. "The bounty," Amy muttered under her breath.

She heard him sigh on the other end. "Yeah. That's what I'm thinking too. They didn't take anything—just trashed it. Went through everything."

Her jaw tightened slightly. "Where are you?" She was already on her feet before the question fully left her mouth.

Jay didn't answer right away. He knew exactly why she was asking. "You don't have to come," he said instead. "I'm fine. You're probably busy." He appreciated it, but didn't want to pull her away from her work.

Amy grabbed her jacket, slipping it on. "Are you at the district?"

A brief pause. "Yeah."

"I'm coming by." He tried to protest, but she hung up before he could.

The drive to the district was quick. Too quick. Her mind didn't slow down once— running through possibilities, connecting it back to the bounty, to whoever had put a target on Jay in the first place.

She pulled into the garage a few minutes later, parking a little harder than usual before stepping out. The sound of the door shutting echoed slightly as she made her way toward the stairs, her pace steady but fast.

By the time she reached the hallway upstairs, Jay was already there.

He spotted her immediately, pushing himself off the wall he'd been leaning against. Even though he had seen her that morning, he'd missed her.

"They tore the place apart," he said as she approached. "Drawers, cabinets... mattress flipped. Like they were looking for something specific."

Amy stopped in front of him, her arms crossed loosely over her chest. "And they didn't take anything?"

Jay shook his head. "Not that I could tell."

She nodded once, processing. "So not a robbery."

"No."

A brief silence settled between them, heavy with the same conclusion.

The bounty.

Amy studied him for a second. "You sure you're okay?"

Jay let out a small breath. "Yeah. I wasn't there."

"Good." Her tone was calm, but firm— decided. "Since they clearly know where you live, we can't stay there. We've been talking about me going back to my apartment and after tonight, you're coming too."

His expression softened. "Amy—"

She held up her hand, stopping him. "It's decided."

He held her gaze for a moment, then gave a small nod. "Alright." She reached into her pocket, pulling out a spare key, which he gladly accepted.

They had enjoyed being roommates, more than either of them would like to admit. "You can grab your things whenever. It's fine. No rush."

Just then she realized how quiet the bullpen was, glancing over his shoulder. "Where's everyone?"

"They left. The case is going slow, it's been a long day."

"What's the case?" She moved past him and started walking towards the bullpen, Jay trailing behind her.

"Two people were killed," he told her as they reached the bullpen. "Both were killed with a shotgun."

They stopped by her old desk. "Shotgun?" She asked. "My case involves a murder and a shotgun too. That's not common."

"It's not." Her eyes moved over the whiteboard— the names, the bodies. Something green on the photos made her do a double take.

Jay noticed. "What is it?"

Amy stepped closer to the whiteboard to look at the crime scene photos. The victims were shot with a shotgun, by the same person.

And once she saw the weapon was a ten gauge and a dollar bill was found on each victim— it clicked.

Her case was connected to theirs.

She turned to face her former partner. "My murder victim was killed by a shotgun, like I said. But, he also had a dollar bill taped to his chest."

His eyes widened slightly as he made the connection too. "Same as ours." The realization made him feel better, because it could mean them working together again. At least, for this case.

"I got a witness. The victim was her father and she saw the guy."

He inched closer. "Where is she?" This was big for their case.

"She is at the district with a sketch artist. Shaken up." He nodded, already thinking ahead. "I'm gonna go over everything again," Amy continued. "Then I'll bring the file and the sketch over tomorrow."

Jay nodded. "Yeah, alright."

She met his eyes, her tone shifting back to firm. "You go to the apartment. Get some sleep."

He didn't argue this time. There was nothing else to do tonight. "I'll see you tomorrow," she added.

Jay gave a small nod. "Yeah. See you tomorrow."

////

SHE KNEW she would be going to the district and see everyone in the bullpen, which would be weird. Amy had seen her former colleagues around, even hanging out with them at Molly's occasionally, but being in the bullpen with them again— that was going to be weird.

Almost strange.

But she was there for a case and kept her focus. The next morning— as promised— she grabbed the file and sketch, before heading over to her old district. Amy went through the garage again.

At least they knew she was coming and this wouldn't be a surprise visit. Once again, Jay stood in the hallway, waiting for her. "You got it?"

She held up the folder. "Right here." Amy followed him into the bullpen, grabbing the sketch as she made her way across the room, all eyes on her. "Alright. This is the guy my witness saw."

They watched as she put the image on the whiteboard, before they studied the sketch. Some shook their heads, not recognizing him.

But Jay did.

He slowly approached the whiteboard, standing parallel to Amy, as he used to do. His eyes didn't leave the sketch and he made sure he got it right.

"That's the kid from the hospital," Jay said, voice low but steady. He turned to the unit. "It's Dale Hansen's son."

They quickly did a background check on Nate Hansen, wanting to know more about him. He was enrolled at the Union Hill Military Academy, which made sense.

They got his address.

"Let's gear up," Hank told the unit. He then turned to Amy, as the others started heading down to the garage. "Your witness, so you're coming too."

"Alright." She nodded, following her former colleagues. Jay threw her a smile over his shoulder as she followed him to the door.

Once in the garage, Amy removed her jacket, leaving her in a tank top. The weather was perfect for that. She grabbed a tactical vest and slipped it on, the elastic bandages wrapping her right shoulder fully visible.

They quickly learned that Nate wasn't home— it was just his dad and sister, Dale and Lauren, sitting on the couch, comforting each other.

Amy stepped forward, Hank behind her, Antonio and Jay flanking her. "I got a witness," she said firmly. "She described the man who shot and killed her father." She showed them the sketch. "Looks like your son."

Jay added quietly, his hands resting on his vest. "I think you got squeezed, wanted some retribution, so you sent your son to do it for you."

Dale shook his head violently. "I swear, we just found out what Nate was doing. He ran off maybe a half hour ago."

The rest of the unit entered after searching the house. Erin spoke up. "We're all clear. No Nate, no weapon."

Hank's gaze was fixed on Dale. "If you had nothing to do with this, how did Nate know who to target?"

Dale's eyes stayed glued to the floor, avoiding theirs. Amy studied him carefully, hand casually resting on her gun. "You don't want to talk because you feel ashamed," she said softly, but with authority.

The words cut through his hesitation. He finally lifted his gaze. "What?" His voice was low, almost a whisper.

Amy's eyes didn't waver. "I'm guessing it has to do with the bruises," she continued, noting the red and blue shades on his face. "Whatever it is, you're going to have to tell us, because your son is out there and he's armed."

Dale nodded slightly, the shame and fear clear on his face. "The three of them— Marcello, Fagan, and Valeo— showed up one night. When I said I'd go to the cops, they threatened my life."

He struggled to compose himself, voice shaking. "My kids... Nate saw them do this. He saw me cower and beg... the look on his face... it's my fault."

Lauren rubbed her father's back, her voice trembling. "If you find Nate, please... don't hurt him."

Alvin's tone was calm but firm. "That's up to him."

Hank turned back to Dale. "Is there anyone else who leaned on you, that your son might go after?"

Dale hesitated, swallowing hard. "Uh... there was a boss I paid money to a few times. Enrietto."

Hank's eyes narrowed slightly. He knew the name. "Don Enrietto," he said quietly.

He was the next target.

They all knew that.

The Sergeant decided it would be best to split the team, so some of them could stay with Dale and Lauren. He ordered half of the team to go with him to Enrietto's house.

They took one car and drove to his house in full speed.

Amy got out of the backseat, joining Jay, Hank and Alvin on the sidewalk. The Sergeant already had a plan.

"All right. I know Enrietto, I'll make the first play." As soon as those words left his mouth, gunshots could be heard coming from inside the house.

Weapons were drawn.

"Cover the back!" Hank ordered Amy and Jay. The Detectives split. She went right; he went left.

Amy held her gun steady, moving toward the side of the house. A slight pull on her shoulder reminded her of the old injury, but she pushed it aside, focusing on the task.

She walked through the overgrown grass, slowly, tactically. Her movements were controlled, her eyes moving around, occasionally glancing over her shoulder.

There was a tree and many bushes— it would be easy to hide there.

But no one was.

Amy rounded the corner of the house and kept walking. There was a fence in front of her— the door open. She picked up the pace.

"Offender fleeing southbound on foot. Dark hoodie!" Jay's voice came through the radio. This caused Amy to pick up her speed toward the fence.

"In pursuit," she called back, pushing off the ground with controlled strides. At the next corner, she spotted Jay, frantically scanning the bush where he had temporarily surrendered his gun.

Amy tightened her grip on the weapon, her heartbeat matching her pace, and sprinted after their killer.

As she ran, she spotted the younger man in the distance and picked up her pace. She had always been a fast runner, and was quickly catching up.

He had the shotgun in his hand. "Stop, Police!" She yelled after him. Her words went ignored and he kept running.

They passed under a bridge cluttered with parked cars— a hurdle in her path. Without hesitation, Amy vaulted onto one of the cars, the alarm blaring. She didn't falter, keeping her eyes on him.

Nate shot through a metal gate and onto the road, nearly colliding with a car— Erin at the wheel. Amy kept her pace, with Jay trailing behind. Nate vaulted over a metal fence.

Amy sprinted full speed toward the fence. Her shoulder throbbed, but she had no time to think. She made a split-second decision— she tossed her gun over the fence first, then swung herself up, minimizing use of her right arm.

Landing with a thud, she snatched her gun from the ground and resumed pursuit.

Jay, Erin, and Kevin followed close behind.

Amy caught up to him, aware that Jay, Erin and Kevin were behind her.

"Nate! Stop!" she yelled again, but he ignored her. She glided through another narrow gap, pushing past fatigue. The gun weighed heavy in her hand, and pain radiated down her shoulder and arm, but she clenched her teeth and kept moving.

Ahead, stairs led down to the train tracks. She didn't want to descend— but there was no choice. Dropping the gun to the side, knowing the area was clear, she picked up her pace.

As Nate stepped onto the platform, ready to climb down, Amy was on him. She tackled him hard, crashing to the ground with a thud. He let out a pained groan.

Pain shot through her shoulder as she twisted him onto his stomach. She pressed her left hand onto his back, tucking her right arm close to her torso. Her jaw clenched, teeth gritted against the pain.

Jay reached her side in seconds. He saw the strain immediately. "I got him," he said, holstering his gun as he handcuffed Nate.

Amy slowly stood, rubbing her shoulder, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts. She had him— but her body was screaming for relief.

Letting out a small chuckle, Jay shook his head. "You're unreal," he muttered, looking at Amy. And he definitely meant that as a compliment.

She gave him a small, tired smile, keeping her right arm pressed against her stomach like a sling as she reached with her left hand to grab her radio. "Offender is in custody," she said, then slid the radio back into the pocket of her vest.

"You dropped this," Erin said casually, walking up with Amy's gun in hand. "Twice." She smiled, still impressed by what Amy had just done.

Amy took the gun, holstering it on her right hip with her left hand while keeping her injured arm tucked against her stomach. "It was weighing me down," she said, her voice steady but with a hint of dry humor.

Kevin muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. "Damn. You're fast, Detective."

Amy glanced at him, a small, appreciative smile tugging at her lips. "Thanks, Atwater," she said, grabbing Nate's weapon from the ground.

Jay gripped Nate's arm. "Let's go." He walked next to Amy as they moved toward the car, his eyes flicking to her shoulder. "You holding up okay?"

Amy kept her arm pressed to her chest, nodding. She noticed a small change in herself— she smiled briefly at Kevin's comment, a lightness she rarely allowed in the past. Four months of living with Jay had done that, even if it didn't change the way she kept her guard up.

////

AMY PRESSED THE ICE PACK against her shoulder, which was already feeling way better than before. She refused to go to the doctor over it, knowing she was gonna be fine.

"Can I have another one?" Erin asked the bartender.

"You got it." The bartender replied. She grabbed Erin's empty glass and went to pour her another drink. She turned to Jay, who sat between her and Amy.

"You're sleeping with her," Erin said to Jay, who was taken aback.

"What? No." He couldn't help but glance at Amy, almost like he didn't want her to think that. "I am not sleeping with her."

Erin smirked slightly, before she got more serious. "You know what? I believe you. I don't think you'd be sleeping with her since you have that crush."

He froze, not knowing how to respond.

Amy turned to face him, a small frown on her face as she adjusted the ice pack. "Crush? What crush?"

Jay opened his mouth, ready to deny everything, but Erin beat him to it. "Oh, it's harmless. He won't say who it is, but he definitely got the heart-eyes."

Maddie came over with Erin's drink before attending to another customer.

Amy kept looking at Jay— curious. "You haven't mentioned having a crush on anyone. Is it someone embarrassing? Is it a lawyer?"

Erin chuckled, almost spitting out her drink. She pointed at Amy. "Someone he arrested, maybe."

Jay held his hands out. "There is no crush." The women eyed him, not really believing it.

Amy had no idea about this, but now that Erin mentioned it, it would make sense. And if Jay was lying and there was someone— she wondered who it could be.

She picked up her glass of water, taking a sip. Her shoulder was starting to get a little too cold so she put the ice pack down on the bar counter.

The bell alerted them that someone had entered the bar, which they didn't think too much of.

Amy's hand stilled around her glass.

Something felt off.

She turned slightly, eyes landing on the man by the door— his hand already coming up, a gun in it.

"Get down!"

She shoved Jay and Erin off their stools, forcing them down just as the first shot rang out.

The sound exploded through the bar. Glass shattered. People screamed. Chairs scraped harshly against the floor as others dropped, ducking for cover.

Amy hit the ground hard, her right shoulder protesting instantly. The pain flared sharp, but she ignored it, keeping low as more shots followed— directed toward them.

Erin reacted fast, pulling her gun and firing back from a crouched position, using a table for partial cover.

Jay stayed low beside them, eyes tracking the shooter, unable to return fire but fully alert.

Then—

A heavy thud behind the bar.

Amy's head snapped in that direction.

The bartender.

Without hesitation, Amy pushed herself forward, keeping her right arm tight against her body as she moved. She crawled quickly behind the bar, using her left arm to pull herself along.

The bartender was down, blood spreading from her neck.

Amy grabbed a towel with her left hand and pressed it firmly against the wound, applying steady pressure.

"Hey— stay with me!" She leaned in just enough to keep the pressure consistent without shifting her injured shoulder.

The bartender's breathing was uneven, panicked.

Amy adjusted the towel slightly, increasing the pressure with her left hand, her right arm still tucked protectively against her torso.

Gunfire still echoed in the background. People were shouting, crying, scrambling.

Amy stayed focused.

Jay reached them, eyes wide as he took in the scene. He crouched beside Amy, glancing from her to the bartender.

"I'm going after him!" Erin yelled, already running toward the exit as the shooter backed out the door.

Amy didn't hesitate. "Jay, call 911! Now!"

He nodded, fumbling for his phone as he dialed, glancing quickly at Amy to make sure she had the situation under control.

THE PUNCH, HER QUITTING, the crash, her aunt, the gunshot— the memories flooded her brain, as she drifted in and out of consciousness. Her eyes were darted up at the black sky, which was quickly replaced by red and blue flashing lights.

She could barely register the Firefighters through her haze. Just flashes— being lifted from the ground, Celina's face leaning over her, saying something she couldn't hear.

The Firefighter helped push the stretcher into the ambulance, before turning to her Chief. "That was Detective Hughes, from Intelligence."

The doors to the ambulance slammed shut, the sirens blaring as it drove off. Boden's eyes narrowed, recognizing the name. He pulled out his phone.

The sound of the phone ringing cut through the tense silence of the bullpen. Hank turned and entered his office, picking up the phone from his desk. "Voight."

Jay looked up from his desk, watching as a shocked expression washed over Hank's face, before it was replaced by worry. Something was wrong. "Thanks, Chief."

"What's going on?" Jay asked the Sergeant, once he hung up the phone and rejoined them in the bullpen. The Detective shifted in his seat.

"That was Chief Boden," he told the unit. "They responded to a car crash just now. Amy was involved."

Jay was on his feet before Hank finished his sentence. He had his jacket in his hand and was heading toward the exit before the Sergeant could protest.

The others exchanged worried glances, feeling shocked over the news they just received.

Hank nodded slightly to himself. "Let's go."

The doors to the emergency room swung open, as the two paramedics rushed in with the gurney between them. They quickly called for help, informing them about Amy's condition.

A bullet was lodged in the top of her head. Her right shoulder was dislocated, and deep lacerations marred her face.

Amy felt her body being moved, the lights flashing over her, as she drifted in and out. Her body was lifted and the surface under her was replaced by something soft— she had been moved onto a hospital bed.

Her mind struggled to process everything happening around her. A light was flashed in her eyes. Something poked her arm. Fingers lightly touched her head.

Then her vision turned black.

The doctors and nurses moved around the room, doing their best to treat her.

Not long after, Jay burst into the waiting room, the rest of the unit close behind. Worry etched across his face, he strode to the front desk. "Any updates on Amy Hughes?"

The nurse looked up, then quickly typed at the computer, shaking her head. "Amy Hughes..." She glanced at him again. "Why don't you take a seat? I'll find you as soon as I know anything."

Hank stepped in beside him. "Thanks." He guided Jay to the waiting area as the others gathered, their faces tight with concern.

The waiting room was silent, each second stretching unbearably. Jay's fingers drummed against his knee, Hank's eyes never leaving the double doors to the operating rooms.

Finally, a nurse appeared, clipboard in hand, her expression a careful balance of professionalism and reassurance. The unit was quick on their feet once they saw her. "Is she okay?" Jay asked.

"Right now, your friend is in surgery. She was shot in the top of her head, but it wasn't deep. Besides that, she has a dislocated shoulder and some lacerations. Right now she's stable. The surgeon will give you an update as soon as the surgery is over."

Jay gave her a nod. "Thank you." The nurse gave them a comforting smile, before returning to her job.

Hank ran a hand through his hair, eyes dark with determination. "We're going to find whoever did this," he said, his voice low but firm. He looked around the room at his team. "I want you all back at the district. Start working a timeline— figure out what led to this."

Jay's jaw tightened. "I'm staying."

Hank didn't argue. He knew Jay's mind wouldn't rest, and Amy's recovery was just as important as catching the perpetrator. "Alright," Hank said. "Once she is out of surgery and stable, talk to her and find out what she knows." The Detective just nodded.

They quickly went back to the district.

Hank strode to the front desk as the rest of the unit moved upstairs in a hurry. He stopped in front of Kim, his tone clipped. "Burgess, I need you out on the field."

Kim's eyes widened, and she stepped closer. "Yes, sir. What for?"

"Amy was attacked tonight. Someone shot her."

Her mouth went dry, and she barely had time to process before Trudy, who had been nearby, spoke up. "I'll have someone cover the desk. Let's go, Burgess."

Hank nodded at Trudy, then turned back to Kim. "I need you at the crash site."

Kim blinked, swallowing hard. "I'm on it, sir."

Trudy quickly asked a colleague to watch the desk. "Come on!" she urged, and the two women rushed out, urgency driving their steps.

Jay sat in the waiting room, hands clasped tightly, eyes flicking to the double doors every few seconds. Time crawled, each hour stretching longer than the last.

A surgeon approached, clipboard in hand, expression calm but serious. "Detective Halstead?"

Jay sprang to his feet. "Yes, sir. How is she?”

"She's fine," the surgeon said. "The surgery was successful. She's stable and resting in her room. Would you like to see her?"

"Absolutely. Thanks, Doc." Jay followed him down the hall. When they reached the room, the surgeon opened the door, gestured for him to enter, and quietly closed it behind him.

His eyes landed on Amy, lying on the bed. A bandage wrapped around her head, a sling on her right arm, stitches on her cheek from the crash. Smaller cuts dotted her face— by her eyebrow and the other cheek— but they hadn't needed stitches.

He approached slowly, and her eyes found his. She looked exhausted.

"Jay," she whispered.

"Hey," he said gently, sliding into the chair at her left. Normally he might have commented on her calling him Jay, but this wasn't the time. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine... just tired." She hesitated, then pushed on, needing to get it out. "I was followed from the district... they forced me off the road."

Jay leaned forward, placing his hand on the bed. "You don't have to tell me now."

"I want to." She grimaced as the memory hit. "It was my aunt, Jay. She was there... she shot me." Shock flashed across his face. "We have to tell Voight."

He nodded. "I will." Not wanting to leave her side, he sent a quick text to Hank instead of calling.

Then he turned back to her. Even knowing she was okay, worry— and a twinge of fear— shadowed his eyes.

Amy noticed. She reached out, taking his hand in hers. "I'm okay."

Jay squeezed her hand, refusing to let go. He stayed by her side, visibly shaken by the reality of what she'd endured, yet unwilling to leave. Words failed him, so he just nodded, eyes slightly glistening.

They let the silence take over the room. The quiet was heavy, broken only by the occasional beep from the machines beside her bed.

Jay's phone buzzed against his leg. He glanced down to see a message from Voight— she left town.

Jay's thumb hovered over the screen, tempted to read it aloud to her, to reassure her. But as he looked down, he felt her hand in his grow limp. Slowly, he realized she had fallen asleep, exhaustion finally claiming her.

He swallowed and let the phone rest at his side. Instead of pulling away, he kept his fingers lightly wrapped around hers, refusing to let go. For now, he'd wait— let her rest. He would protect her, quietly, until she woke.

The room was calm, save for the soft hum of the machines and the steady rhythm of her breathing. Jay stayed where he was, watching over her, the weight of worry pressing on him, but tempered by the quiet comfort of being close.

////

MORNING LIGHT SPILLED into the hospital room, soft and steady, cutting through the lingering shadows of the night. Amy was already out of bed, sitting on the edge.

Jay walked in, a bag in his hand, giving her a small, reassuring smile. "Erin left these for you," he said, holding up the clothes. "Figured you'd want out of here sooner rather than later."

Amy gave a faint nod, standing and heading toward the bathroom, leaving the door ajar. Jay stayed in the main room, leaning against the wall.

"The nurses suggested you stay another night," he said casually, watching her shuffle behind the door.

"That's not happening," Amy called back, her tone firm but playful, making him chuckle quietly.

Inside the bathroom, she pulled on her underwear and leggings without issue. When it came time for the t-shirt, she paused, holding it up. Popping her head out, she asked, "Jay, can you help me with this?"

"Of course," he replied, moving into the doorway to assist.

As he guided the t-shirt over her injured shoulder, his hands careful but steady, he leaned slightly closer. "Here's the plan: we swing by your apartment to grab a few things, then you stay with me for a while. Safe, quiet, and no unexpected visitors."

Amy gave a small smile, nodding. "Okay. Sounds good."

Once the t-shirt was in place, Jay helped her pull on the sweater and then bend down to assist with her shoes. Every movement was careful, every touch measured—protective and steady, making her feel a little more grounded after everything she had endured.

Finally ready, she stood tall, put on the sling, adjusting it and giving him a grateful look. Jay gave her a reassuring nod, his expression soft but firm. "All set?"

Amy nodded, taking a deep breath. "Yeah. Let's go."

They got to the car and started heading toward her apartment. She kept glancing at the side mirror as he drove, letting out a small huff. "I want to cut my hair."

He glanced over, a bit surprised by the sudden statement. "Yeah? Why?"

"I've had it long for a long time." Her voice was casual, but her gaze dropped— briefly catching on the scar along her throat. The memory lingered, heavier than she let on. She pulled her sweater up slightly, fingers brushing the fabric against her neck, as if to cover it.

Jay noticed the shift, the way her posture changed, but he didn't quite place it. He assumed it was from everything that had just happened.

"Hey," he said, keeping his tone easy, "we can stop by a hairdresser if you want. There's one near your apartment. You grab your things, and we'll go. If you want."

Amy looked over at him, then nodded. "Okay."

They were able to quickly get their first two tasks done—grabbing her things from her apartment and getting the haircut. After that, they made it back to Jay's apartment without much trouble.

Amy stepped inside, taking in the quiet, the familiar space. It was calm— safe. Exactly what she needed.

She moved toward the mirror, almost without thinking.

For a moment, she just stared. The shorter hair framed her face differently now, sharper. There was no hiding behind it anymore. Her eyes drifted lower, landing on the scar along her throat.

It was more visible now.

Her breath caught slightly, her shoulders tensing. She swallowed, but the feeling didn't go away.

Jay noticed from across the room, the way she'd gone still. "Hey, what's wrong?" he asked, stepping a little closer.

Amy didn't look at him right away. "I shouldn't have cut it," she said quietly.

Jay frowned slightly. "Why? It suits you."

She finally met his eyes, her voice softer now— more vulnerable than he'd heard it before. "It makes it more visible." Her fingers hovered near her throat, not quite touching.

Jay's expression shifted as the realization settled in. He stepped closer, careful not to crowd her.

"It doesn't change anything," he said gently.

Amy shook her head slightly, her eyes glossing over. "It does. I see it every time I look." She let out a small breath. She hated how weak she felt— on top of everything else.

There was a pause. Jay didn't rush to fill it.

Then, quieter— steadier— he said, "I see you." Her gaze flickered, searching his face. "You're still you," he added. "Nothing about that changes because of a scar."

Her shoulders eased just a fraction, though the emotion was still there, just beneath the surface. Jay stayed close, not pushing— just there.

The next few days passed quickly.

With each day, Amy felt a little stronger. She moved more easily, relying less on Jay, slowly regaining her independence. Small things became easier— getting dressed, moving around the apartment, taking care of herself without hesitation.

The memories still lingered. The Rangers, the scar, the crash, the gunshot, her aunt still out there somewhere— it all sat in the back of her mind, never fully quiet. But it didn't stop her from moving forward.

Amy hadn't mentioned going back to Intelligence, and Jay didn't bring it up. He didn't push, didn't question— just let her take the time she needed.

Once she got a job offer from the Homicide unit— she saw the opportunity. After a long talk with Jay, Amy decided to take it. He didn't try to steer her one way or the other— just made it clear the choice was hers.

The Sergeant from that unit— Marcus Quinn— had called her and they set a meeting so they could talk and he could show her around the workplace.

Amy found herself sitting in front of the older man almost a week later— not much older than her. He was the polar opposite of Hank.

Marcus smiled easily, talked more than she expected, and had already made a point of telling her to call him by his first name.

"Before anything else, I want to thank you for your service." Amy paused, a bit caught off guard. "Enlisted at 18, served four years. That's serious work. So— thank you."

She gave a small nod. "I appreciate that.”

A small beat, then his expression lightened again. "You worked on patrol in New York, promoted to Detective pretty quickly. Then Hank Voight himself reached out and wanted you in his unit."

"That's right."

"Impressive. You're exactly what we need here." Marcus leaned in, his arms on his desk. "Now, I'll be honest with you— this unit runs differently than Intelligence. Detectives here work more individually. You follow your case, build it, and bring it in. Less group work, more autonomy."

Amy nodded as he spoke, attentive.

"Some of my Detectives work out in the bullpen," he added, gesturing vaguely toward the door, "others have offices." He pointed lightly at her. "You'll have your own."

Marcus pushed himself up from his chair. "Come on, I'll show you around."

Amy stood, following him out of the office and into the hallway.

The unit was quieter than Intelligence. No constant movement, no overlapping conversations— just a steady rhythm. Detectives worked at their own pace, focused, barely looking up as they passed.

Marcus gestured lightly as they walked. "Takes some time getting used to if you're coming from Voight's unit," he said. "Less noise, fewer people in your business."

Amy glanced around. Good.

They stopped at the end of the hall. Marcus reached for a door, pushing it open.

"This is yours."

Amy stepped inside.

It was simple— desk, chair, computer, a window letting in natural light. Nothing fancy, but it was hers.

No one across from her. No one watching. No one waiting for input.

Just space.

Her space.

Marcus leaned against the doorframe. "Figured you'd appreciate having your own place to work."

Amy gave a small nod, her gaze still moving around the room. "Yeah... I do."

He watched her for a second, then pushed off the frame. "Take your time getting settled. Like I said— no rush."

"Thanks, Marcus."

He gave her a quick nod before stepping away, leaving her alone. She moved further into the room, resting her hand lightly on the desk.

For a moment, she just stood there.

This was different.

No unit. No constant voices. No one to rely on but herself.

And for the first time in a while, that didn't feel overwhelming.

It felt right.

After her visit to the district, Amy headed over to Marco's store to grab a few things. She walked down the aisle, eyeing the items, trying to decide what to get.

There wasn't much she needed— a few Red Bulls, some ingredients for a simple meal and the bag of candy Jay seemed to like so much.

She reached for it without thinking, then moved toward the register.

"Hey."

Amy glanced up, recognizing the voice immediately. "Nadia."

Nadia smiled, brighter than she remembered. "I didn't know you were coming by today."

Amy gave a small shrug. "Just needed a few things."

Nadia nodded, stepping around the counter as Amy set her items down. She started scanning them, talking as she worked.

"It's been really good here," Nadia said, a small smile still on her face. "Marco gave me a chance when I needed it. It's steady, you know? I like it."

Amy listened, her expression neutral but attentive. "That's good," she said simply. "I'm glad it's working out."

Nadia smiled a little more at that, clearly appreciating it.

She finished scanning the items and told Amy the total. The Detective paid without hesitation, grabbing the bag once it was ready.

"It was good seeing you," Nadia said.

"You too," Amy replied with a small nod. With that, she turned and headed for the door, stepping back out into the street.

Nadia watched her go for a second, something thoughtful settling in her expression. She turned toward Marco, who had been nearby. "Hey, do you think I could do what she does?"

Marco didn't hesitate. "Yeah," he said confidently. "I think you could." Nadia looked back toward the door, a small, hopeful smile forming.

Amy didn't just want to head back to the apartment— it was early and she wouldn't have anything to do. So she decided to pay a visit to her, now, old unit.

She made her way toward the office and knocked lightly before stepping in. Hank looked up from his desk. "Hughes."

"Sergeant."

He leaned back slightly, studying her for a moment. "Jay told me you took the job."

Amy nodded. "Yeah. I did."

A small pause followed. Hank gave a short nod. "Figured you would," he said. "Homicide suits you."

She didn't respond right away, but her expression softened just slightly. "I spoke to Quinn," Hank added, glancing down briefly before looking back at her. "He's already talking you up. Says he's looking forward to having you."

Amy let out a quiet breath through her nose. "Sounds like him."

Hank's lips twitched faintly— almost a smile. Another beat passed before his tone shifted, just a little more honest. "You did good work here," he said. "I'll miss having you in the unit."

It wasn't something he said lightly. Amy held his gaze. "I learned a lot here." That was as close as she'd get to saying it mattered.

Hank gave a small nod, understanding exactly what she meant.

A knock sounded lightly against the doorframe. Erin stepped in, her eyes landing on Amy almost immediately. "Well, look who it is."

Amy turned slightly. "Erin."

Erin crossed the room, stopping beside her. As she greeted her, her hand brushed lightly against Amy's arm— brief, casual, but intentional.

"It's good to see you," Erin said, a small smile forming.

"You too." Amy returned it— subtle, but there.

Erin glanced between her and Hank. "He giving you a hard time yet?"

Amy shook her head faintly. "Not yet."

Hank scoffed quietly. "Give it time." That earned a small, shared smile between the two women.

Something tugged at her— quiet, almost imperceptible, like a thread pulling at the edges of her thoughts. She didn't know what it was yet, and didn't have to.

It was just a feeling, subtle and persistent, sitting beneath the surface.

But she couldn't dwell on it, because she had work to do. Then four months passed. The sling was replaced by bandages, but the memories stayed.

"THE VICTIM IS FEMALE. GSW TO THE NECK AND CHEST!" The paramedics rolled April into the back of the ambulance before getting in. "We're losing her!"

The ambulance was speeding towards the hospital. A heart monitor had been set up, and the paramedics were stopping the bleeding while performing chest compressions. "Come on! Come on! Stay with us, ma'am! Stay with us!"

꧁ THREE WEEKS EARLIER ꧂

APRIL KNOCKED ON THE DOOR AND WAITED FOR HER MOTHER to answer it, which she did moments later. "April, what are you doing here?" Karen looked surprised to see her daughter.

"I'm giving this another try," April admitted. "Even though my gut is telling me this is a bad idea."

"... what can I do for you, dear?" She put on a fake smile.

"Henry Andrews." April watched as Karen's smile faltered. "I knew he had something to do with this." She stepped into the house.

"April—" she cut herself off mid-sentence when April continued into the house. Karen closed the door and went after her daughter. "You can't be here."

April turned to her mother. "Why not? I am your daughter, after all." She sat down on the couch. "So, why don't you sit down and face me like a woman? Tell me... what is your connection to Henry?"

Karen exhaled as she sat down opposite April. "There's nothing between Henry and me."

April raised a brow at her. "Anymore?"

"Ever," Karen scoffed. "Is this why you came over here? To ask me if I'm in a relationship with Henry?"

"No," April shook her head. "I'm here to ask you about his involvement in Sheri's death."

"I don't know anything."

"What about John Smith? What's his real name?" Karen didn't reply. "I thought we were family."

"We are."

"Family don't keep secrets from each other."

"... John's real name is George Matthews," Karen admitted. "Henry's friend."

"And you were involved with George, right?" Karen hesitantly nodded. "So Henry and his friend killed Sheri, right? Decapitated her— shot her and then raped her. Right?"

"April—"

"What do you know?" April stood. "You know both of them. You've been in contact with both of them. How are you involved?"

Karen stood too. "I'm not involved, April."

"That's bull. Is it true that George is dead?"

"... yes."

"Did you kill him?"

"How can you ask me that?!"

"... you know why. Did you know that they were going to kill Sheri?" Karen remained quiet. April stepped closer to her, with an angry expression on her face, "did you know?!"

"April—"

"You did," she stated. "You did know." April stepped closer, a dark look on her face— the same look that had terrified Rebecca. "I can't believe it! I cannot believe this! Why?! What did I ever do to you?!"

"You ruined my life!" Karen yelled back. April took a small step back. "You ruined me!"

April shook her head as she teared up. "No! I didn't do shit to you!"

"You left!"

"BECAUSE YOU SIDED WITH MY ABUSER!" Karen's eyes went wide as she took a step back. April exhaled as she tried to calm herself down. She blinked back her tears. "He abused me for years, mom. He abused me, and he raped me. I came to you, and I told you everything... and you didn't believe me. Do you know how hard that was for me? Do you know how hard it was for me to tell you that?! And for you to just tell me I was lying?! That I just wanted attention?! I just needed my mom, and you weren't there," she cried, not being able to blink back her tears. "He was going to kill me that night, and you didn't believe that either! I acted in self-defense, and again you didn't believe me! You testified against me in court! You're the problem, not me!"

"You're wrong," Karen whispered, her eyes filled with tears. 

"Am I?! Because last time I checked, dad killed himself! And I finally understand why! It was because of you!"

"No, he did it because of you!"

April shook her head as she wiped away her tears. "You're a damned liar! You always have been. There's nothing good inside you... nothing. So, maybe dad had the right idea."

"... you still believe him." April scoffed. "Nothing of that was real, April. He was a man, for god sake. Men don't get raped. It just doesn't happen and—"

"SHUT UP!" April yelled at her, cutting her off mid-sentence, taking her by surprise. "YOU DID ALL OF THIS!" Tears threaten to spill again. She took a step closer to her mother in an attempt to intimidate her. Her expression, which once was sad, had been replaced with vengeance and homicidal rage. "YOU'RE RESPONSIBLE FOR SHERI'S MURDER! YOU ARE THE ONE WHO RAPED DAD! HE IS DEAD BECAUSE OF YOU! SO TELL ME WHY I SHOULDN'T KILL YOU RIGHT NOW!" Karen was speechless and genuinely scared as she looked at her daughter. She looked into her daughter's eyes— they were cold and dark— and it terrified her.

Karen stepped away from April immediately. "Let's not do something we will regret."

April scoffed. "I won't regret this."

"Stop." April stopped, but not because her mother said so, but to think about what was happening and what could happen. She didn't want more blood on her hands. "April, please... let's sit down and talk about this. I love you. I would never hurt you. I didn't mean what I said about your father... it's just been a long day." Her words reminded April of Nicholas— that was exactly what he would say after beating her.

April shook her head. "Those are just empty words that I've heard before, mom. I'm not going to do it again. I didn't mean to. You didn't say no. You wanted it."

"April—"

"No," she cut her off. This time she didn't fight back her tears. "Is that what you said to dad? It's that what you told him? I was nine years old when I found him... because of you. I lost him because of you. I-I-I can't look at you." April went to leave, but she couldn't get the door open.

"You can't leave," Karen told her.

"No," April cried— all being too familiar for her. "Open the door!" She pulled in the door handle, but it didn't budge. "Open the damn door!"

"I'm sorry."

April frowned at her mother. "What?" Before she could react, someone put her in a headlock, cutting off her air supply— and she struggled against his hold. The man squeezed more as April tried to gasp for air. Karen just watched as this happened. She just watched as her daughter stopped struggling and fell unconscious on the floor.

꧁  TRIGGER WARNING FOR THE FOLLOWING SCENE: RAPE!! ꧂

2013.

APRIL WALKED INTO HER HOUSE, CARRYING A BAG OF groceries in each hand. "I'm home," she called out to her husband as she closed the door. She was still wearing her lab coat.

Nicholas walked out of the bathroom. "Where have you been?"

"I finished work early, and I decided to go to the store." April went to the kitchen and tried to avoid the noticeable bulge in his pants. She placed the bags on the counter and started to take out the items.

Nicholas went behind April, pressing his body against hers. He rubbed his hard member against her behind, the sensation making him groan lowly. April tried to get away, but his hands had a firm grip on her. "I've had a long day," April tried to come up with an excuse to get away as he kept grinding on her.

"Me too." He moaned.

"I don't want to do this." April managed to turn her body around and pushed him away. Nicholas' eyes turned dark, making her gulp.

"April," he was breathing heavily, "I need you." Nicholas took a step closer, and April was pinned against the counter so she couldn't back away. "I need you." He slowly raised his hand, making her flinch.

"I don't want you."

Nicholas grabbed his crotch, rubbing it. "You know how to turn me on, April." He groaned. His hand went to her throat, and he choked her— not hard enough to stop her air supply. He stepped closer. "You know what happens if you say no, April," he whispered in her ear. Nicholas looked into her teary eyes, which looked scared. "I want you to beg, April. Beg me to stop." April shook her head— tears were rolling down her face. "DO IT!" The sudden noise caused her to flinch.

"Please," she cried desperately.

"Please what?"

"Please don't." Her words caused him to groan in pleasure. He turned her around so her back was facing him. Nicholas took her lab coat off and dropped it to the floor. She cried as he ripped her clothes off.

"I want to hear your voice," he growled into her ear as he took off his pants and boxers.

"Please, stop," she cried out. Her eyes were red from crying.

"You keep doing that, and I'll finish before I can start," he chuckled. But nothing about this was funny or amusing.

"I hate you," she muttered. April flinched when he shows himself into her. Nicholas let out a low moan. The same man who once gave her love and pleasure was now causing her pain. And she blamed herself for not fighting back. Nicholas picked up his pace— slamming into her.

"Ahh!" He moaned. Nicholas pushed her down, so she was bending over on the counter. "Let me hear you." April couldn't get herself to say anything. Instead, she cried and sobbed— which seemed to work for Nicholas because he was getting closer to his climax. He pounded into her, making her cry even more. "AHH!" He groaned loudly as he reached his climax. He leaned his head back as he breathed heavily. "Wasn't that amazing?" He pulled out before pulling his pants on and making his way to the bathroom. April is left alone— shaking and crying.

That was when she decided: enough was enough.

"Apriiil," Karen dragged out her name— this being the first thing April heard when she came back to consciousness. She blinked to adjust to the light. "Finally."

April looked around and realized she must be in the basement. She saw that she was tied to a chair— which felt like karma because of what they did to Rebecca. "Let me go."

Karen scoffed as she held up a knife— which April hadn't noticed before. She pointed the sharp object at her daughter. "You came into my home and threatened to kill me." Karen held the knife closer to April's face. "I can't just let you go."

"What are you going to do, mom, huh? Torture me? Is that what you're into?"

Karen let out a low chuckle. "Don't be making jokes now, April. I don't like what you did." April glared at her. "This is my home."

"Then go on with it. Unless this is how you've planned to kill me; boredom. It's working because I really feel like I'm dying." April gave her mother a sarcastic smile.

The knife touched April's cheek. "I haven't decided yet." She smiled.

April leaned forward, and Karen held the knife completely still, which created a deep cut in April's cheek. But she didn't flinch. Instead, she looked into her mother's eyes. Karen was taken aback by this and remained quiet. April leaned back— blood dripping down her face. "What about you let me go now?"

꧁ ꧂

AFTER LEAVING HER MOTHER'S HOUSE, APRIL WENT HOME, where she sutured the cut in her cheek and cleaned her shirt— because she didn't want to change it.

She was sitting in Annalise's office, which was something she has found herself doing a lot. "I had to handle something... with my mom."

"You missed class today because of your mother?" Annalise didn't look convinced.

April nodded. "Yeah." Annalise gave her an unconvinced look. "You don't believe me."

"Well, you can't blame me for that," Annalise shrugged, "you don't talk about her... ever."

"She's not a good person, okay? That's all I'm going to say."

Annalise glanced at her cheek. "Is she the reason you have that?"

"... it doesn't matter. I'm sorry for missing class."

"April—"

"I am," April cut her off mid-sentence.

"... is she hurting you?"

April looked down. "We fought... kinda."

Annalise sighed. "April..."

"It's fine," April brushed it off. She looked at Annalise. "Nothing I can't handle... right?" She nodded to herself before standing. "Well, it was nice talking to you." Annalise followed her out of the office.

Once they exited, they saw Michaela hovering over Bonnie, who was sitting by her desk. "— we're gonna fight."

"You get away from her," Annalise demanded. Michaela backed away immediately. "You want to know the truth? Asher was gonna testify against everyone in this house, so Bonnie told him that she killed Sam in order to save your asses!" Her words shocked April— she had no idea Bonnie did that. "Because that's what we do around here— ruin everyone's lives to save yours! Nate's, mine, and now Bonnie's. Who's next, huh? Whose life do you want to destroy to stay free?"

"Why didn't you just tell us?" Michaela asked.

"Because I'm trying to protect you like always! When are you gonna finally accept that?" Annalise glanced between her students. "Bonnie, Frank, in my office." April watched as the three older adults went into Annalise's office.

Michaela turned to face April, and that was when she saw the stitches on her cheek. She frowned. "What happened?" She asked in a low voice.

April turned to Michaela and then frowned when she realized she was looking at her. "What?"

"Your cheek."

"Oh." April shrugged, "just a little accident... I'm clumsy." Michaela nodded in return, believing the lie.

"So, about the drugs..." Connor trailed off.

April frowned. "Wait. Your drug problem is real? I thought you lied about that."

Connor nodded. "I did, but there's no harm in trying." He gave her a look.

"Have you tried it?" Connor shakes his head. "I have." He looked surprised. "It was amazing."

Connor grinned. "Don't encourage him," Laurel cut in before he could comment. Frank and Bonnie exited Annalise's office. April watched as Frank grabbed his keys from the table

"Uh, Bonnie..." Michaela trailed off.

"You're sorry," Bonnie said. "I know." She left along with Frank.

"Oh, my god." Laurel leaned against Bonnie's desk.

"What?" April asked as she sat down by the desk.

"You know who hasn't seemed worried this whole time? Who keeps sneaking off?"

April looked at Laurel for a moment. "You're not talking about me, right?"

"No. She's talking about Wes," Michaela told her. Her arms crossed. "He's the only one she really trusts. He knew what was going on all along."

"Wes?" April was confused, but she didn't really know him.

"Screw the puppy," Connor said. "He's a snake."

"How can you be sure? What are you going to do? Follow him?" The other three looked at her as if she just found the cure for cancer. "We're gonna follow him?"

Connor shrugged. "It's the only way to be sure," Laurel replied.

They were in Connor's car— he was driving, and April was in the front seat. Once they came to a stop, Michaela opened the door. "Levi?!" Wes and Levi turned towards the voice as they exited the car. As the four students made their way over to them, April realized who the other guy was. "What the hell is this? Are you two gay for each other?!"

"No!" Levi replied.

"I'll cut your balls off if you lie to me!" Michaela snapped at him.

"He's Rebecca's foster brother," Wes told them— taking them all by surprise

"What?" Connor was the first to respond— he was standing next to April.

"Oh, my god," she mumbled. Rebecca never mentioned him to her.

"No," Michaela was in denial. "I met him at the courthouse. He's just some guy who's—"

"He's eggs 911," Wes cut in.

"No," Michaela whispered as the rest turned to face her. "No, no, no, no, no. No!" She shook her head.

"Why would you keep this a secret from us?" Connor asked. He turned to April. "Did you know?"

"Rebecca never mentioned him," April replied.

"I needed to know the truth about Annalise." They turned to Wes.

"And we don't deserve that, too?" Laurel asked— clearly angry. "The people who've helped you over and over."

"Michaela, let me—" Levi stepped forward.

"Do not touch me!" Michaela yelled at him as April stepped in front of her, stopping him from touching Michaela.

"Hey! Keep your hands off of her!" She pushed him back harshly. "Where's Rebecca? Huh? Since you're her foster brother, you should know that."

"I don't," Levi denied her statement.

"Yeah, like we can believe anything either of you two say," Laurel said, her hands on her hips.

"Rebecca's dead," Wes said out of the blue. "Levi never heard from her again after the 911 text, so we think someone killed her."

"Not someone. Annalise and Frank."

"No. Frank would never do that." Laurel refused to believe that.

"Of course he would," Wes told her.

"What makes you think Rebecca's dead?" April asked them.

Wes took something out of his pocket. "This." He was holding a key.

April scoffed. "A key? Really?" That was when they heard the sirens. Two cars drove towards them.

"Oh god. It's happening," Michaela said. April nudged her side.

"Keep your mouth shut," she whispered to her. An officer exited the cop car, and a detective exited the other.

"Levi Wescott," the detective approached them. "This your car?"

"Yeah. What's this about?"

"Let's pop the trunk. We'll tell you."

"No."

"Fine. We got a warrant." Another detective broke into the trunk of Levi's car. He took out two bags that contained drugs.

"What the hell. What's not mine."

"Yeah, right, Heisenberg." The detective cuffed Levi. "You're under arrest for possession of meth with the intent to distribute." The student watched as the detective took Levi away— who was repeatedly telling them the drugs weren't his. He was brought into the police car, and they watched them drive away.

Wes opened the door to the storage locker— April, Connor, Laurel and Michaela behind him. There was a suitcase in the middle of the room and nothing else, which looked creepy. "I'm not touching that thing," Connor spoke up.

"Me either," Michaela added.

April sighed. "I'll do it."

"No," Wes held his arm in front of her to stop her from walking in further. "I should."

"Are you sure?" Wes nodded before walking up to the suitcase. He kneeled in front of it before laying it down. Wes hesitantly opened it as the others watched— except Michaela, who was leaning on Connor, too afraid to look.

"Oh, god. Oh, god. Oh, god. Oh, god," Michaela kept whispering in Connor's shoulder.

"Just warn us if it's her," Connor told Wes.

Wes lifted the lid and dropped it. April saw what was inside, and she let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. "That's not Rebecca." The others looked down at the suitcase seeing the same thing as April and Wes; money. A lot of money.

"Befriending a drug dealer, and now this?" Connor asked. "Now, once again, waitlist just drags us down the rabbit hole to hell. Great." He chuckled as he turns to leave.

"You let me have sex with eggs 911." Michaela went after Connor, who was in the car.

"It's a suitcase full of cash," Wes stated.

"Yeah, no shit, Sherlock," April said sarcastically.

"Clearly, it has something to do with Rebecca." Wes ignored April's comment.

"Or it has nothing to do with her," Laurel said. Her arm crossed.

"No, this is obviously—"

"Wes, stop!" Laurel cut him off as he stood up. "Please. Just stop," her voice a little softer. She got in Connor's car.

Wes turned to April, who was standing by his side. "April..." he trailed off.

She looked at him. "I went to see Rebecca when she was tied up in the basement," she told him. "I told her that everything was going to be okay and that when she got away from there... she could stay at my place, and she agreed. Annalise told us she was gone, and she didn't show up."

"... you believe me?"

April nodded slightly. "It's the only explanation, and after everything that has happened... it doesn't seem so crazy. She was my friend, and I want to know what happened to her. We're going to find out what happened, but we have to stay low."

Wes nodded, agreeing with her words. "Okay. Fine."

"Hey, April!" Connor stuck his head out of his window. "Let's go!"

Wes nodded slightly. "Go. It's fine." April gave him a nod before she got in Connor's car.

"What was that?" Michaela asked from the backseat as Connor started the engine.

"COME ON. COME ON," CONNOR KEPT MUMBLING AS HE DESPERATELY tried to stop the bleeding. His hands were soaked— there was a lot of blood. "Come on." His eyes were filled with tears and panic.

"Oh, god," the panic increased when he realized that she had been shot in the chest as well as the neck. She was gasping for air, and he knew that she wouldn't make it. "April," it came out as a whisper. This couldn't be happening.

꧁  TWO MONTHS EARLIER  ꧂

HAVING DECIDED TO MOVE ON, APRIL WAS AT HER PROFESSOR'S house. She wasn't leaving yet, so the best thing to do was attend the classes— it was better than being locked up in her apartment. "An alibi for the night that their parents were killed or their aunt?" She heard Asher ask when she entered the house. "I'm just trying to keep track. There's so many murders."

"Alleged murders," Annalise corrected him, "and we're only dealing with the aunt today." April entered the room, and the professor is the first to notice her. "Dr. Coleman, how nice of you to join us," she said sarcastically.

"Sorry I'm late," April replied in a low voice as she tried to avoid looking at her Professor. She made her way to the couch, where she sat down and took out her laptop.

Annalise watched her before turning to Frank. "Frank, try to get a copy of the sealed warrant." He walked away. "Bonnie, with me. But first," she turned to April, "I need to have a word with Dr. Coleman." April looked up from her laptop.

April followed Annalise out of the house. "You ignored my calls, and now you won't even look at me."

April forcefully moved her gaze to Annalise. "I was busy."

"Too busy to attend class?" April didn't respond. "Why are you doing this, April? You have so much potential and so much knowledge."

April huffed. "I'm here now, so why does it matter?"

Annalise paused before responding, "get in my car." Her words caused April to tense, but her professor didn't notice. "We're having this conversation."

"Talk," Annalise demanded.

April was looking out the window, not wanting to look at Annalise. "I don't have anything to say."

Annalise scoffed. "I don't believe you."

"What do you want me to say?" She snapped at her. "I don't know what you want to hear." She finally looked at her— but the image of Sam's dead body kept appearing in her head.

"I want you to tell me the truth."

"About?"

"What's going on with you?"

April scoffed. "Nothing is going on, professor Keating."

"That's bull."

April exhaled as she turned away. "I'm— I— I don't feel like talking about my feelings with you."

"Why not?" Annalise scoffed. "You've done it before."

April hesitated— she was gazing out the window. "It's everything that has happened. I'm just... trying to figure it out".

"Is this about Sam?" April didn't answer. "You've killed before, so why is Sam different?"

April scoffed at her words and turned to face her. "You think that because I killed my husband, I'd be fine killing Sam?"

Annalise shrugged. "I never questioned it when I heard you were all put together the whole night. That you were calm and collected when everyone else was breaking down. You came up with a plan. You decided to burn the body and chop it into small pieces. Then it hit me... murder doesn't bother you."

"You don't think it bothered me?" April almost growled at Annalise. She scoffed. "I took responsibility that night because I am the one who killed him. I grabbed the trophy, and I hit him," her voice was stern. "You don't think I wanted to break down? You don't think I wanted to leave? I couldn't do any of that because it was my responsibility to protect them and the only way to do that was to come up with my plan. My brain— it's all I have. So, of course, I stayed calm and collected. Someone had to. And now... every time... every time I look at you, I see him," her last words surprised Annalise.

"What?"

"The image of his dead body pops up in my head. I see his eyes staring right back at me. That's why I've been avoiding eye contact." April opened the car door and got out.

April was back in Annalise's living room— she was sitting on the couch and looking at her laptop screen. "Someone sext you a peen pic?" Connor asked.

April looked up and saw that he was looking at Michaela— who was glancing at her phone. "Uh, I was just looking up what judge is presiding over Nate's hearing," she replied as she sat down next to April.

"Michaela, you are not going to Nate's hearing," Laurel told her, her voice lowered but stern. She made her way over to Michaela.

"I never said I was. Okay, I can't be the only one who wants to go."

"I want to go too," April spoke up. "I'm thinking of getting an I killed Sam Keating tattoo on my forehead beforehand, though." Connor grinned as Michaela gave her an unimpressed look. "Besides, Annalise would kill us."

"I'd kill you," Laurel added.

"Why are we killing each other?" Asher entered the room. They all turned to face him.

"Uh, Oliver is HIV-positive," Connor spoke up, confusing April. "And Laurel was just saying that she would kill me if I had sex with him before my prep kicks in." Laurel went back to her old spot.

"Wait," Asher walked up to Connor. "He has HIV, and you're gonna have sex with him?"

"Yes. Lots of sex."

"Dude, no. Look, I get the O-man probably has a really sweet ass and all, but you could, like, die."

April had a thoughtful look on her face. "Who's Oliver?"

Michaela immediately looked at her. "Where the hell have you been?" April shrugged. "He's Connor's boyfriend." April nodded before looking back at her laptop. "Why are you looking up the University of Virginia?" Michaela was glancing at her screen.

The others started listening in to their conversation. "It's a good college."

"You're leaving?" Laurel asked.

April shrugged. "I've been thinking about it."

"You can't leave," Michaela scoffed.

"Why not?" Michaela remained quiet, not knowing how to answer the question. "I haven't made a decision yet. Don't tell professor Keating."

"... don't worry. I won't."

////

APRIL SPOTTED ANTHONY STANDING OUTSIDE HER DOOR WHEN SHE got back to her apartment. "What is it I'm hearing about you leaving?"

April huffed as she neared him. "Who told you that?"

"Michaela called me. She sounded worried."

"Yeah, right," April scoffed. "Michaela and I are not friends, and she wouldn't care if I left."

"Then why did she call me? Can you at least tell me why you're leaving?"

"You know why, Tony. I can't be here anymore. I feel suffocated— all the time."

"Look, I get it. I do, but this is your future. And after everything that has happened, Annalise hasn't kicked you out of her class. She could be the only one willing to give you a chance and... I wouldn't risk it."

"... I haven't made a decision yet, Tony. I'm gonna expose my mom... and then we'll see." April unlocked her apartment.

"You need to be careful, April. You don't want to make the wrong people angry."

"I'll be fine. Bye, Tony."

Tony nodded slightly. "Bye." He turned and left as April closed the door and locked it.

Her phone rang— seeing it was Tamara that was calling, she answered it. "Hey, what's up?"

"Hey, April. I just visited David."

April grew curious. "And?"

"He won't talk to me. He said that he only wants to see you."

April huffed. "Of course he does," she mumbled. "Do you think that's a good idea?”

"If you want to find out what happened. He's our only lead."

"Then fine," April nodded to herself. "I'll be right there." She hung up.

"It's good to see you, April," David spoke into the phone.

"You too." Her face was blank. The two would speak Spanish because the others didn't understand— and they would gossip.

"You never visited me. Not even once."

"... I need your help."

David smiled a little. "That's what I heard."

"Does the name John Smith ring a bell?" She watched as his expression faltered. "I take that as a yes."

"It's just an alias, though."

April leaned on the table. "What's his real name?"

"I don't know."

April sighed, annoyed. "What do you know exactly?"

"I know that this is bigger than you think, and you need to be careful."

"I've had many people tell me that, David, but that doesn't help me find out if my mom killed Sheri."

David sighed. "You're right. Look, the guy, John Smith, I think he was murdered a couple of days ago."

"Are you serious?"

David nodded. "You need to confront your mother."

"She won't talk, David. What else can I do? Come on— you said that you'd help me. Talk to me."

"... your mother was seeing this guy in Virginia. His name is Henry. He's some white guy. I'm pretty sure they were dating."

"You think he could be involved in this?"

David shrugged. "It's worth looking into."

"Anything else?"

"... I can't tell you everything now, or we won't have anything to talk about the next time we see each other." He grinned.

April looked less than impressed. "Fine. I'm leaving now." She hung up the phone. David gave her a little wave before he was taken away.

////

"IT HAS ONLY BEEN TWO DAYS," DAVID SAID. "Did you miss me?" He grinned.

"I came here to get answers. Sheri's death is linked to Nicholas's death. Whoever killed Sheri knew Nicholas, and I think you know something that you're not telling me."

David smiled. "Maybe."

"So, tell me."

"Why?" His smile faltered. "What do I get from this?"

"I could convince my professor to take your case. She's one of the best lawyers in the city."

"I don't believe you."

"Since when?" David remained quiet. "Sheri was your adoptive sister. You grew up together. Don't you want to bring her justice?"

"Why? It doesn't bring her back."

"No, it doesn't. But how can you live knowing the person who did it is out there?" David remained quiet again. "Please, Dave. Help me."

"... fine."

April opened the file she brought. Taking out some photos and lining them up. "Do you recognize any of them?"

David looked over the photos before pointing at one. "I've seen that one with your mother. Henry." April grabbed the picture and looked at it. "You know him."

April nodded. "He was my brother-in-law. Makes sense." She gathered the photos. "Thank you."

"You're gonna visit again, aren't you?"

"I'll try."

David smiled a little. "Good enough for me."

////

"WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU?" CONNOR ASKED MICHAELA. He was driving— they were getting Oliver to help them with the case.

"What do you mean?" She frowned at Connor from the passenger seat.

"You've had a stick up your butt since April told us she's leaving. I mean, you were already uptight, but..." he trailed off as Michaela glared at him.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Connor scoffed. "I know you don't hate her."

"Yeah, I do."

"No, you don't. Because if you did, you would let her confess to Sam's murder, but you haven't. And I noticed how you stepped in front of her that night... with Rebecca at Waitlist's apartment."

"This is ridiculous. What are you insinuating?"

"That you like her. I mean, you more than like her."

Michaela shook her head. "You're being ridiculous."

"There's nothing wrong with having a crush on her, Michaela. I mean, is she a murderer? Yes, but she's also gorgeous, smart, and a total baddie."

Michaela scoffed. "This is so stupid."

"Let's say I'm wrong... how do you feel about her?"

"I respect her because she's smart, and she pulled us through... that night. She's not afraid to stand up to anyone. And we're becoming friends. There's nothing there. I didn't even think of her that way, but now I will because you mentioned it," she snarled.

Connor grinned. "You're welcome." Michaela rolled her eyes.

"Welcome to the Philly PD database."

"That was easy," April said— sitting next to Oliver, who she just met for the first time. "You have to teach me how you did that."

Oliver chuckled lightly. "Sure."

Michaela sat on the couch, on Oliver's other side, with a glass of wine in her hand. "How do you do that?" She asked, amazed.

"I'm surprised my blabbermouth boyfriend hasn't told you already."

"I'm so sorry about that. Asher shouldn't have said anything about you being HIV positive. He's a jackass."

"That's what I said," Connor stated, walking in.

"Hey, buddy. You're not allowed to talk right now," Connor told him. "Consider it practice for keeping your mouth shut." He turned to Michaela. "Sorry about your fiancé."

"Oh, did Connor open up his big mouth about that too?" Michaela glanced at Connor.

Oliver chuckled. "Yep, said he was maybe bi or something."

April frowned. "I thought he was gay."

"Let's not talk about it," Michaela said.

"No, let's. Let's talk about how you have terrible taste in men. I mean, like that guy at the courthouse today."

"What guy?" April asked.

"His name was Levi, and he was hot and—"

"He wasn't my type," Michaela cut him off.

"What's your type?" April asked.

"Gay," Connor answered before Michaela could— his answer caused Oliver to laugh.

"I'm with Oliver," Michaela stated. "You don't get to talk anymore."

"Well, speaking from experience, I say go out on the date. I mean, look at me. I never thought I'd end up with a self-absorbed pretty boy." Oliver turned back to his laptop. "Oh, wow."

"What?" April asked.

"The police ran two DNA tests on the aunt's crime scene."

Connor went to stand behind the couch. "Why would they run two tests?" He asked.

"It's obvious," April stated. "They didn't find anything the first time. The DNA was planted in the crime scene before they ran the second test."

Michaela nodded along with her words. "This could help our case." Her eyes on April, who agreed with her. Michaela turned to Connor, who was giving her a knowing look.

////

"I'M SURPRISED YOU SHOWED UP," April said once her mother reached the table.

Karen sat down opposite April. "Why wouldn't I show up?" She smiled. "You're my daughter, and you needed to see me."

"Let's skip the small talk and tell me why you're friendly with my ex-brother-in-law." She watched as her mother's smile dropped. "Or better yet, you tell me which one of you killed Sheri, and then you tell why you did it, and I'll be on my way."

"April—"

"No," she cut her off. "Let's get one thing straight: I'm not here to waste my time. I'm not going to sit here and let you pretend like you care about me— like you actually want to get to know me. I contacted you because I want to know the truth, so you either tell me the truth or I'll leave. Your choice."

Karen shook her head slightly. "You've got it all wrong. I'm not the bad guy here."

"You're not gonna tell me, are you?" Karen didn't respond. "Well, I wish I could say it was good seeing you. But that would be a lie." She stood.

"April, please."

"What? You want to lie to me? Stop wasting my time with your bullshit." She turned to leave.

////

CONNOR HAD ONE HAND ON HER NECK AND ONE ON HER CHEST— trying to stop the bleeding. "She's dying," he told Wes, Laurel, and Michaela, who were rushing over to the balcony. "She's dying."

"Oh, my god," Michaela mumbled. She was the first to reach Connor, and she was shocked. "Oh, my god." She couldn't move— and she couldn't look away from April, who was now passed out.

Wes and Laurel stopped in their tracks when they realized that April was seriously injured and covered in blood— as were Connor's hands. Laurel was the one who stepped up and kneeled next to Connor— her eyes on him. "We have to leave."

Connor shook his head. He couldn't seem to get himself to look away. "She's dying. W-w-w-we can't l-leave her like t-this," his voice was shaking, and his hands were trembling.

"Connor, the police are on their way right now. We have to leave."

"No." His eyes were filled with tears. "How are you okay with this?!"

"I'm not!" Laurel snapped back at her. "I'm not okay with this! But we don't have a choice, Connor! There's nothing we can do for her or Annalise."

"Laurel is right," Wes spoke up, sadness in his eyes. "We have to leave." He grabbed Connor's arm and ripped him away from April. And he dragged him away— Michaela and Laurel in tow.

TEN DAYS LATER.

"STATISTICALLY, IF YOU'RE GOING TO BE MURDERED, your killer will be someone you know... an acquaintance, a friend, a family member... your lover. Why is that? Why are we more inclined to hurt the ones we love the most? And what challenges does that present a defense attorney?" Annalise moved her gaze around the room, from one student to another, when they raised their hand to answer the question. April had noticed how the professor had been giving her weird looks ever since Rebecca disappeared— but she didn't know why. "Mr. Walsh?"

Connor closed his laptop and stood. "The challenge for the defense attorney is that—" the sound of the door opening cut him off mid-sentence. The students turned their heads to see Wes entering the classroom.

"You were saying?" Annalise asked Connor to get him back on track. April watched as Wes made his way to his seat— he had been acting differently.

Connor turned back to Annalise. "Right. Um, the challenge is that sometimes the police only look at loved ones when trying to find a suspect."

"It's a big uphill battle if your client knew the murder victim. So your best strategy is to... find a different acquaintance to pin it on," a student answered.

"But before you do that?" Annalise asked. "Miss Pratt."

Michaela stood. "Attack the police investigation. Use the idea that they're so used to thinking it's the husband or boyfriend that they fail to look at other suspects."

"Glad someone showed up to class today." Annalise gave Wes a look as she said this.

"The defense won commonwealth v. Ferber by proving the police had bias. Detectives' records even showed they never considered other suspects other than Mr. Ferber," Laurel stated.

"Now, what if your client is the spouse of the murder victim, and you know he did it? What would be your defense strategy... Mr. Gibbins? Mr. Gibbins?"

"Pass." This caused everyone to look at him, and some immediately started talking.

"I'm not professor Hahn. No one passes in my class."

"I just did." The tension in the room grew.

"Stand up." Wes did as he was told as Annalise started to make her way to him. "You come to my class late, and then you flaunt, in my face, that you're unprepared." This reminded April of their first day when Wes was unprepared. "Either way, this doesn't mean that we can't use this opportunity to exercise your brain. So, think. What would be a good defense for a spouse who's killed his lover?"

"Pass."

"Mr. Gibbins—"

"I don't know the answer. That's what pass means. So either keep wasting everyone's time or move on— your choice." Wes sat down. April shared a look with Michaela, who was sitting all the way down on the first row.

April walked up to Annalise as the rest of the class left. "What's this about?"

Annalise crossed her arms. "I need to know what's going on with you."

"Nothing is—"

"That wasn't a question," Annalise cut her off. "You're acting like you did when you were drinking. Did you relapse?" April remained quiet, knowing her professor would be disappointed. "April—"

"I have it under control."

"Is this about Sam?" Annalise lowered her voice. "You could talk to someone and just pretend you're talking about your ex-husband. You have it easy."

April scoffed at her words. "Easy? You don't know what you're talking about."

"Then tell me. Why did you start drinking again?"

"Family trouble," April replied hesitantly. "Nothing I can't handle."

Annalise didn't look convinced. "Stay out of trouble." She grabbed her bag and left.

////

APRIL MADE HER WAY DOWN TO THE BASEMENT, where Rebecca was tied up. She walked up to her. "Didn't think you would show up," Rebecca snapped at her. She looked upset.

April remained calm— her expression blank. "I came to apologize." Rebecca frowned. "For all the things I said to you. I don't regret what I did... killing Sam. He was going to kill you."

"Did Annalise send you down here? To make me talk?"

April shook her head. "I'm sorry. That's what I came here to say. This is all going to be over, Rebecca. Annalise will let you out, and my door is open if you need a place to stay— it's the least I can do."

Rebecca scoffed. "To keep me quiet?"

"You're my friend. An argument is not going to change that." After a short pause, Rebecca nodded, agreeing to April's suggestion.

////

APRIL WAS SITTING BY THE BAR WITH A DRINK IN FRONT of her, which she hadn't touched. She glanced at her watch, patiently waiting.

"Captain," a voice said.

April turned to the person, and she forced a smile, "you don't have to call me that anymore. I'm not Captain."

"Old habits." The woman took the seat next to her. "A cocktail, please," she told the bartender before turning back to April. "I was surprised when you contacted me."

"Why's that?"

"We haven't talked since you left."

April paused for a moment. "You know why I left, Tamara."

"Still," she shrugged. "Wouldn't hurt to stay in touch. How is Anthony doing?"

"He's not involved in this," April dismissed the question. "Keep his name out of it."

The bartender placed the drink in front of Tamara. "What do you want?" Her glare was set on April.

"I need your help."

Tamara scoffed as she shook her head. "You don't call or text me for over a year, and you expect me to help you? This is ridiculous, Gina, you know that."

"It's April." Tamara frowned. "Gina was just an alias."

Tamara scoffed at her words. "Unbelievable," she mumbled.

"I chose an alias to protect myself, but right now, I don't care about that. My girlfriend was murdered— beheaded— and my mom was involved somehow. And I can't figure out what to do, and I hate to admit that I need help."

Tamara nodded slowly. "I do know how much you hate asking for help."

"Will you please help me?"

"Fine," she sighed. "We haven't teamed up in a very long time. What about we go back to my place, catch up, and come up with a plan?"

April nodded, liking the plan. "Sure."

////

APRIL HAD BEEN AVOIDING ANNALISE'S PHONE CALLS AS WELL AS the texts she had been receiving from some of her classmates— and some from Bonnie and Frank. She was set on unraveling the truth.

"Why are you avoiding your professor?" Tamara asked as they made their way down the street.

April spared her a glance. "No reason," she lied, not wanting to reveal more than she had to. "Mind telling me why we're going to the tattoo parlor?" April asked before Tamara could comment on her answer.

They stopped outside a tattoo parlor. "The Artist works here."

April was surprised by this information. "Violet works here?" Tamara nodded. "Makes sense." They entered the parlor. "How cozy," April mumbled sarcastically as she looked at the black walls covered with human skulls.

"Hey, what can I do—," the woman stopped in her tracks when she recognized the people standing in front of her. She looked shocked to see them in the parlor. "What are you guys doing here? I quit that life a long time ago. You pardoned me."

"That's not why we're here, Violet," April told her.

"Then why are you here?"

April forced a smile. "To get tattooed."

"Obviously," Tamara added, not bothering to hide her blank expression nor forcing a smile.

Violet didn't seem to be believing their lie. "Fine. Follow me."

"So, what have you been up to?" April asked casually as Violet tattooed her arm.

"Cut the crap, Coleman," Violet snapped at her. "Why don't you tell me why you're really here?"

April and Tamara shared a look before they both nodded. "What do you know about Sheri Bennett?"

"Nothing," Violet replied, but her facial expression suggested the opposite.

"What do you know?" April asked.

"I don't know anything."

"Cut the crap, Phelps," April used her own words against her. "What do you know?"

"I know that she had a dark past. She was a drug dealer... she was my dealer. There's a rumor going around that she killed her parents. That's all I know."

Tamara gave her a slight glare. "That's all you know? Girl, that's a lot of information. How do you know all of this?"

Violet shrugged. "You know me." She stopped tattooing. "All done." She wrapped the tattoo.

April looked down at the tattoo for a quick second, which was on her upper arm. "Looks good." She turned to Tamara. "Your turn." They switched seats. "What do you know about her death?"

"She was decapitated and then shot postmortem," Violet replied as she got ready to tattoo Tamara. "She was tortured."

April frowned. "How do you know she was tortured?"

"I know people," Violet shrugged.

"We think April's mom was involved."

Violet laughed as she started tattooing Tamara— same arm and side as April. "Obviously."

"What does that mean?" April asked, same confused expression as Tamara.

"David met your mom once, and he knew immediately that she wasn't good news. I trust his gut."

"You've been seeing David?"

Violet gave April a quick glance. "You haven't?"

"It wouldn't look too good if I went to visit someone in prison, now would it?"

"Right. You being a murderer and all."

April nodded. "Right."

"I could talk to David. He'd tell me everything he knows. Anthony works for the police so he could make some calls and—"

"We are not involving him," April cut her off sharply. "We can do this without him."

"Fine," Tamara sighed. "It'll take longer."

"I'm a law student. I could say that my professor is looking into re-opening his case."

"You're gonna lie?" Tamara raised a brow at her.

"I— is it... lying?" She held her arms slightly out.

"Yes," Tamara and Violet replied.

"Whatever," she brushed it off. "We need him, so who cares?"

"The family of the person he killed might care," Violet speaks up.

"You're right," April pointed at Violet. "The pedophile's family will definitely care." Violet remained quiet. "I'll make some calls, and hopefully, we can see him as soon as tomorrow."

"Do you really think they let us see him tomorrow?" Tamara looked doubtful.

"If I can manage to, casually, point out the fact that I'm white, they might."

Tamara nodded— she looked thoughtful. "It's worth a shot."

Violet shook her head slightly. "You guys are ridiculous," she mumbled.

////

"HOW MANY EXES DO YOU HAVE?" TAMARA ASKED BEFORE TAKING A shot of vodka. They were sitting in April's living room.

"One," April replied before taking a shot of her own.

Tamara immediately turned to April with a shocked expression. "What do you mean one? There's definitely more than one."

"I'm counting the ones that are alive. Cheryl killed herself, Daniel was killed by a cop, I killed Nicholas, and Sheri was killed by my mom."

Tamara looked at her for a moment before pouring vodka into her glass. "Damn," she mumbled as she shook her head. "If I were you, I'd be a raging alcoholic." April paused at her words— she quickly took a shot before Tamara could notice that she hesitated. "I have a lot of exes. I miss Vanessa. She was great in bed," she chuckled.

"You've told me," April recalled as she grimaced slightly.

Tamara turned her body towards April to face her fully. "I want to know more about you. I've told you literally everything about me. I'm leaving after this, and we might never see each other again."

April took a shot, then paused. "Fine. What do you want to know?"

"Your darkest secrets." April gave her a look— as if she was going to do that. Tamara scoffed. "I had a threesome in high school, I set the gym on fire, I screwed my history teacher... come on."

April chuckled slightly. "I—," she hesitated. "I never graduated from high school." Her statement shocked Tamara. "I was the valedictorian—"

"Obviously," Tamara cut in, still shocked.

"And I was supposed to be on stage, and I wrote my speech and everything," April continued, ignoring Tamara's input. "I got suspended before graduation."

"I— I wasn't expecting that." April nodded slightly. "Why were you suspended?"

"Does it matter?"

"Yes!"

"I started a protest... again. They gave me a warning and I didn't listen. I feel like a fraud."

"You've killed someone, and getting suspended is what makes you feel like a fraud?" Tamara frowned at her as she tried to wrap her mind around the situation. "How did you get into Columbia if you didn't graduate?"

"I told them which high school I attended and that I'm a genius, and I got accepted."

Tamara nodded slowly. "Was that your big secret? Do you have more?"

"I spent a hundred days in jail after the protest because my mom didn't want to bail me out. I found my dad's body. And also Cheryl's body. When I was six years old, I wanted to become a firefighter."

Tamara exhaled. "I— girl." She poured them more vodka. They took the shots.

"One more thing."

Tamara's eyes went wide. "One more?"

"It's not that bad. I'm considering going back."

"What? No. You're a law student, April. You could be going places. Become a good lawyer. Maybe get David out."

April shook her head slightly. "I— since we're opening up... I can't do this anymore."

Tamara frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I killed my professor's husband, Tamara. I see her in class, and I'm reminded of that night— every damn time. They got the same title and the same last name— Professor Keating. I..." April trailed off. She blinked to stop herself from crying.

"April—"

"This is what I do," April cut her off. "I've done it before. I killed Nicholas, and I decided that I no longer wanted to become a scientist. I killed Sam... maybe I can become a firefighter after all. Or maybe a cop." She paused before shaking her head. "No. Firefighter."

"April, it would be a mistake. You don't want to go back."

April rolled her eyes. "You're making it sound like a cult, Tamara."

"That's how it feels."

"It's a fight club. And you're still in it."

"They need someone to lead them. You gave me your role. Remember?"

"Even if I don't go back... I can't stay here. I'm going to figure out the truth about my mom and Sheri... then I'll leave."

APRIL HAD BEEN QUARANTINED EVER SINCE HER CONVERSATION with Annalise at her apartment— in an attempt to sober up again. She had gotten her phone back, and the first thing she noticed was the text she got from Laurel about Rebecca.

She entered Wes's apartment building. "Took you long enough," Michaela commented.

April glared at Michaela. "What's going on?"

"Rebecca lied," Wes replied. "We think she killed Lila."

April laughed. "Seriously?" She stopped laughing when she saw the serious expression on their faces. "Rebecca?"

"Why else would she lie?"

"What is this?" April turned around, and Rebecca was looking at them more confused than ever.  

"We need to talk," Michaela told her.

"Spit it out, psycho," Connor demanded. "You killed Lila, right?" April was standing left to Laurel— both leaning against Wes's desk. "And you played Waitlist here," he motioned to Wes, "like— like some loser."

"You played April," Michaela added. "You played all of us."

"Why are you letting them do this?" Rebecca asked, her gazing moving between April and Wes.

Michaela stepped in front of April to block her from Rebecca's view. "No, you're not gonna get to manipulate your way out of this one."

"I didn't manipulate anyone!" Rebecca tried to defend herself.

"But you lied!" Connor snapped at her. "You said you didn't know this Rudy guy."

"I didn't."

"Then how come he ended up in a mental institution?" Laurel asked.

"How should I freaking know?"

"But you do know," April spoke up. She moved around Michaela to look at Rebecca. "You called the police on him the night Lila died."

"He was having a nervous breakdown."

"Caused by the drugs you gave him?"

"I didn't give him drugs!" Rebecca snapped at her.

"I don't believe you!" April snapped back at her. "He saw you that night, Rebecca. You were wet. You were there when Lila died— maybe you witnessed the whole thing."

"I didn't!"

"He saw you. The news would come out that Lila was found in a water tank, and he would put two and two together. He would rat you out— you couldn't let that happen, so you gave him drugs. Making him an unreliable witness and sending him to the mental institution in the process. It's a smart plan, Rebecca— I give you that. I mean, who would believe Rudy? Someone who uses drugs and is crazy on top of that?"

Rebecca shook her head— her eyes glossy. April knew that Rebecca didn't kill Lila, but knowing that she had kept so much from her, made her realize that she was hiding something. She knew more than she was saying. She turned to look at Wes. "Wes..."

"No, do not look at him!" Michaela snapped at her. "You ruined our lives! Don't you get that? I was supposed to be getting married, and I'm not anymore. Aiden called off the wedding because of you. You dragged us into the horror show that is your life, and now we're all screwed— forever. So, you're going to tell us the truth, every horrible secret about that night that you haven't told anyone, or I swear to god, I will personally destroy you. Tell us the damn truth, Rebecca. Did you... or did you not... kill... Lila?"

Rebecca turned to Wes, expecting him to defend her. "Answer the question."

"I found the campus cop. His name's Rodger Loftus. He was fired a couple of days after Sam disappeared. Some sorority girls filed a report that he was stalking them. I'm guessing that was Annalise and Frank, right? They knew we couldn't have him around, or he might remember what he saw that night. So, they just made him go away. He had to move to Delaware to get a job. He works as a security guard at the Mega Super Mart. Guess that's why he never saw the news. Don't make me call him."

April scoffed. "I should have let Sam kill you." Rebecca tried to look tough, but her words hurt. April got closer to Rebecca. "I know you didn't do it," she whispered, "but you're not doing yourself any good right now. And if I find out you were involved, you will wish you were dead." April's eyes were cold like Rebecca had never seen, and it frightened her.

Someone knocked on the door— knowing it was Annalise, Wes opened it. "What the hell's going on?" She sounded pissed. Wes didn't respond; instead, he just opened the door wider. Annalise stepped into the room, she was confused, and she looked between her students to figure out what was going on. Wes closed the door. Connor was sitting on a chair, and the women were standing. April was standing behind Connor's chair, her hands on his shoulders, in an attempt to comfort him— he was obviously freaking out. "Speak." No one did. Laurel made her way to the bathroom, Annalise behind her. She opened the door, and April could only imagine what she must be thinking— and it was nothing good.